Pawing Through the Past (25 page)

55

The sleet turned to ice bits which turned to snow by mid-morning. The first snow of the season arrived punctually, right on November first.

Harry felt prepared, having driven her four-wheel drive F350 dually to work.

It was also the day of Bob Shoaf’s funeral in Buffalo, New York, and Rex Harnett’s in Columbia, South Carolina, where his mother was living. No one had organized memorial services in Crozet. When shopping in Market Shiflett’s store, Ted Smith, a fellow in his seventies, displayed a little gallows humor when he said, “Funeral. You guys need a bulldozer to dig mass graves.” Market didn’t find that funny.

Nor did he find it funny when he asked Chris Sharpton to the movies and she allowed as to how he was a good man but she wasn’t going out with anyone from his high-school class ever again, and if she ever saw Dennis Rablan again she’d tell him a thing or two.

In a fit of loneliness he asked Bitsy Valenzuela, later that morning, if she had any unmarried girlfriends from her hometown. He’d travel for a weekend date. She very kindly said she couldn’t think of anyone off the top of her head, but if she did she’d let him know.

Morose, he waved but didn’t smile when Harry threw a snowball at his window. She entered the post office as Miranda hung up the phone.

“They found Dennis’s van!”

“Where?”

“Yancy’s Body Shop.” Yancy’s also specialized in painting automobiles.

“No one noticed?” Harry was incredulous.

“Yancy’s on vacation, hunting in Canada. The shop’s been locked since the weekend. Cynthia said they’ve cordoned off the place and are dusting for prints, searching for any other evidence.”

“Locked, but is there anyone in town who doesn’t know where the key is? Over the doorjamb. It’s been there since we were kids.” She unwound her scarf. “Hey, it’s something, I guess.”

Tracy came in, bringing them a pepper plant. “Needed something cheerful on the first snowy day.”

“Tracy, I appreciate you keeping watch, but really, I have the animals.”

The three furry creatures smiled.

“Yes, but now you have me, too. And while it’s on my mind—”

“Honey, they’ve found Dennis Rablan’s van!” Miranda interrupted him, then told him everything she’d just heard.

Harry called Susan, who called Bonnie Baltier in Richmond. One by one the remaining senior superlatives heard the news, including Mike Alvarez in Los Angeles. BoomBoom called Hank Bittner in New York. More worried than he cared to admit, he thanked her for her thoughtfulness.

“Dennis has to be hiding somewhere close by.”
Pewter felt drowsy. Low-pressure systems did that to her.

“Underground.”
Tucker used the old term from the underground railroad days.

In a manner of speaking, he was.

56

The following day, clear in the morning, clouded up by noon. The bite in the air meant snow, big snow. Snowstorms usually did not hit central Virginia until after Christmas and then continued up to early April. Then spring would magically appear. One day it is a gray, beige, black, and white world and the next, pink, yellow, white, and purple cover the hills.

The earliest snowstorm within Harry’s memory was an October snow, when the leaves were still on the branches, and the weight of the snow with the leaves brought down huge limbs throughout the region. She remembered doing her homework that night to the sound of branches being torn down, screaming since the sap was still in them.

Market dashed in to get his mail. “No more toilet paper. Miranda, I put a six-pack inside your back door. People are crazy. You’d think the storm of the century was approaching.” He paused. “The barometer sure is dropping, though. Ought to be a couple of days’ worth or one big punch.”

“I’ve got my snow shovel at the ready.” Miranda winked.

“And Tracy to shovel it.” Harry tossed a pile of fourth-class mail into the canvas cart.

“He’ll do yours, too. He is a charitable soul.”

“Bet the supermarket is running low on canned goods. I should have ordered more last week. But you know, I watch the weather and you’d think it was one volcano eruption, tornado, or hurricane after another. It’s not weather anymore—it’s melo-drama. So I don’t much listen.”

“I go by my shinbone.” Miranda reached down on the other side of the mailboxes. “Hey, almost forgot, Market, here’s a package from European Coffees.” She handed it over the counter, worn smooth and pale from use.

“Thanks. Oops, looks like Bitsy at the store. Better head back.”

As he left, Harry waved. They’d discussed the finding of the van yesterday. There wasn’t much more to say. Market didn’t like being in the store alone but he had to make a living. He said he didn’t think he was in danger. He wasn’t part of the Ashcraft-Burkey-Shoaf “in” group but things were so crazy, how could one be sure?

“I’m going to walk about before the snow gets here. Anyone want to come along?”

“Murphy, it’s twenty-seven degrees Fahrenheit out there,”
Pewter protested.

“I’ll go,”
Tucker volunteered.

“You two are always showing off about how tough you are.”
Pewter hopped in an empty mail cart, curling up with her tail draped over her nose.

“See ya!”
Both animals pushed through the dog door in the back. It hit the wall with a magnetic thwap.

Harry looked up in time to see the gray door flop back. She figured they had to empty their bladders.

Mrs. Murphy lifted her head, inhaling the sharp cold air. She and Tucker moved along, since they stayed warmer that way. They headed toward Yancy’s Body Shop, a block beyond the railroad track underpass. Both animals stayed well off the road, having seen enough squashed critters to know never to trust a human behind the wheel.

They reached the closed-up shop within ten minutes.

Rick Shaw had removed the yellow cordon tape but a few pieces of it had stuck to the big double doors of the garage. They circled the concrete structure. At the back a black plastic accordion-style drainpipe protruded from the corner. A cinder block was loose next to it, the mortar having crumbled away years ago.

“Can’t you push it out? You’re stronger than I am.”

“I can try.”
Tucker leaned her shoulder against the cold block. Little by little it gave way.

“Good!”
Murphy wriggled in and turned around.
“Can you make it?”

“If I can push out the second block, I can.”
Tucker wedged the cinder block sideways just enough so she could flatten and claw her way under.

The light darkened with each minute as the clouds grew gunmetal gray outside. Mrs. Murphy squinted because the old odor of grease, oil, and gasoline hurt her eyes. Both animals walked over to where the van had been parked. It was easy to discern the spot since every other inch of space was crammed with vehicles in various states of distress or undress.

“I give them credit,”
Tucker, nose to the ground, said.
“Usually they muck up the scent but it smells like only two people were here.”

“Tucker, I can’t smell a thing. The gasoline masks everything. Makes me nauseous.”

“Funny, doesn’t bother humans much.”
Tucker lifted her black moist nose, then stuck it to the ground again.
“Dennis was here all right. There’s a hint of the darkroom plus his cologne. Cold scent. I think the only reason there’s scent left is the closed van kept it safe and the moisture coming up through the concrete floor held some of it, too.”
She sighed.
“I have good powers but if we had a bloodhound, well, we’d know a lot more. There’s also that English Leather smell—the same smell I picked up in Crozet High, upstairs.”

“Great,
” Mrs. Murphy sarcastically said, for she was hoping that scent wouldn’t be found. Guarding against two humans is harder than guarding against one.

Tucker looked at Mrs. Murphy, her deep brown eyes full of concern.
“Two. Two for sure.”

Murphy wanted to sit down a moment but the greasy floor dissuaded her.
“Tucker, let’s get back to the post office.”

They ran back to the post office. Cynthia Cooper’s squad car was parked in the front.

As they pushed through the animal door, Pewter bounded to greet them.
“Dennis Rablan called! He threatened Mother.”

“What
?” Tucker and Murphy shouted.

“Yes, he called about five minutes after you left and he said, ‘Butt out, Butthead.’ Then he said, ‘Ron Brindell lives!’ Mom called the sheriff, and Cynthia, who was around the corner, got here in less than two minutes, I can tell you. No one knows where he called from but Mom said he sounded like he was right next door.”

Miranda kept her eye on the door. If someone came in she would go directly to the counter and help if they needed her. Cynthia and Harry sat at the table.

“He’s not far, Coop. And he wasn’t on a cell phone. The reception was too clear.” Harry, surprisingly calm, spoke. “But Ron being alive? I don’t believe it.”

“I called 360° Communications just in case, got E.R. Valenzuela. He’s checking every call within the last ten minutes.”

“Can they do that?”

“Yes. The technology is amazing and evolving by the minute. They’ll work backwards, from your number. Harry, go over the conversation again. In case something occurs to you, an inflection of voice, a background sound, anything at all.”

Harry folded her hands on the table. “The phone rang. I picked it up. I recognized Dennis’s voice immediately. His voice was clear and firm, I guess is how I’d describe it. He didn’t shout or anything. He just said, ‘Butt out, Butthead’ and ‘Ron Brindell lives’ and hung up.” She furrowed her brow. “Wait, he breathed out hard and I heard a clink. A metal sound but I can’t tell you what really. Just something like metal touching metal.”

“He knows you saw him, obviously.” Coop ran her fingers across her forehead, then squeezed the back of her neck. She felt a whopper of a tension headache coming on.

“But we know Dennis is alive.”

“Yes, that makes it easier. Now we have to find him. Do you think his saying ‘Ron Brindell lives’ is meant as literal truth or is it part of the revenge scenario?”

“I don’t know. People saw Ron jump from the bridge. How could he live?”

Miranda walked back to them. “There have been a few survivors since the Golden Gate Bridge was built, but Dennis doesn’t want to hurt you, Harry. I truly believe he’s warning you. What ‘Ron Brindell lives’ means, who knows?”

Murphy yowled.
“The Old Gray Mare! I get it. Ain’t what she used to be.”

“Hush, sweetie.”
Harry picked her up to pet her.

“Don’t let your guard down!”
Murphy put her paws on the table.

“Guess Dennis was Ron Brindell’s boyfriend. Bittner was right.”

“Oh, that’s another thing.” Coop spoke to Harry, then glanced up at Miranda. “Dennis called Bittner, too. Told Bittner he was next.”

The Reverend Herb Jones stomped his feet, bent over to pick something up, then opened the door. “Three beautiful ladies. I’ve come to the right place.” He turned over the soggy white envelope that he’d found on the ground outside. “Addressed to Mrs. George Hogendobber. Now Miranda, this has to be someone younger than we are. They should know that you address a widow differently. It should be Mrs. Miranda Hogendobber. The old ways let you know the important things, right off. No wonder the young waste so much time. They’re slipping and sliding trying to find out the essentials.” He laughed. “Listen to me! I’m getting old!”

“Not you.” Miranda took the envelope.

“Must have slipped out of the door. It’s been stepped on.” Herb leaned over the counter as Miranda opened the note.

She read, “His power to punish is real. He is God’s servant and carries out God’s punishment on those who do evil.” She thought a moment. “Romans, Chapter thirteen, Verse four.”

“You know the Bible better than I do!” Herb complimented her.

She read the note again. “Cynthia, I think you might want to look at this. It could be a crank or it could be Dennis trying to justify himself.”

“Dennis?” Herb’s eyebrows raised in puzzlement.

“He’s alive.” Harry then told him what had just happened.

As she was filling in the good Reverend, the phone rang.

Miranda picked it up. “Cynthia, E.R. Valenzuela for you.”

Cynthia listened, then hung up the phone. “Wasn’t a cell phone.”

“He’s here,” Harry said with resolution.

“There are two and one of them you can’t see, I mean, none of us can see. We take him for granted!”
Murphy howled.

“Here it comes.” Herb called attention to the big snowflakes falling from the glowering sky.

57

“Don’t drive to New York. We’ll be stranded in the storm.” Dennis, right hand chained to the passenger door, pleaded. His left hand was chained to his belt. His wrists were raw from the handcuffs he’d been wearing since Saturday.

Ron Brindell started the car. “You might be right about that. I’m bored, though. Hey, I’ll get Harry.”

“She hasn’t done a thing to you.”

“She saw you,” Ron said. “You know. I don’t care. I just feel like killing someone else from the bad old days.”

“I had a ski mask on,” Dennis said wearily. “Look, just kill me and get it over with. You don’t care if she saw me or not. I called her and Hank. Want me to call BoomBoom and Baltier, too?” he asked. “Just kill me. You’re saving me for last, anyway.” Dennis held no illusions that Ron had a scrap of sanity left but he tried to reason with him.

“Why, Dennis, what a courageous thing to say,” Ron replied sarcastically.

“All right then, let’s drive to New York.”

“I
will
get Bittner. Maybe not tonight but I’ll get him.”

“He didn’t
do
anything.” Dennis, haggard from his ordeal, stared at the closed garage doors.

“Exactly. He opened the door, saw what was going on, and closed it. Did precisely nothing.”

“In shock, probably.”

“He could have gotten the coach.”

“We were all kids. Kids make bad decisions. He was probably as scared in his way as I was in my way. He’s a father now. Have you no pity?”

“No.” Ron turned his cold eyes on Dennis. “Why should I? I was pinned down, raped—and they laughed. Called me a faggot. I was a faggot. Do you know where the word ‘faggot’ comes from, Dennis? From the Middle Ages, when people burned witches. The woman was tied to the stake and surrounding her were homosexual men who were set on fire first. Instead of bundles of kindling, we were the kindling. I have
no
pity.”

Ron checked his watch. “Lie down. I don’t want your head to show.” As Dennis squinched down, Ron reached over and stuck a rag in the poor man’s mouth. “You should have stood up for me, you know. You just stood there. Oh, you told them to stop. I believe you said it once. If it had been you I’d have fought. I’d have given my life for you. Now you can give yours for me. Lie down, damnit!”

Dennis didn’t even look at him as he slid down as far as he could. Since Ron had threatened to kill Dennis’s two children, Dennis would do anything Ron said. Meanwhile, his brain overheated, trying to find a way out. If there was no way out, then he was determined to take out Ron. But how?

Ron hit the electronic button to raise the garage door, then pulled out into the snowy darkness.

“Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work I go,” he sang as he headed through town. Everyone was snug inside, their lights shining through the falling snow.