The Hollow Tree at Dead Mule Swamp (6 page)

Dee could not lift her leg high
enough to step into the Jeep, but I managed to pull in beside the open steps
that led to the trailer, and with our help, Dee awkwardly got into the passenger
seat. Jimmie hopped in the back, and we headed for Cherry Hill.

"We need to go to the
Sheriff's Department, I said. You live outside the Cherry Hill village
limits."

"Oh, no! I can't do
that," Dee said. "I want to talk with Tracy Jarvi."

Tracy is our young, female Chief of
Police. She's very popular. In fact, Tracy is one of my favorite people in my
new hometown. She was doing a terrific job of making friends and slowing down
the rate of petty thefts and vandalism that can pull a small town into a steady
decline.

"She'll just have to turn the
case over to the county."

"Well, she can do that if she
has to. But I saw her on television. I think she'll understand. I'm not talking
with any Sheriff."

I hadn't met the actual Sheriff,
and knew the case would probably be handled by a woman detective, but I didn't
want to do anything that would make Dee change her mind, so I drove directly to
the Cherry Hill police station, which is located beside the court house, just
north of the village park. I pulled into the parking lot and stopped in the
shade of a tree.

"I can't get out," Dee contended. "Maybe she can come out here?"

Jimmie reached over the seat to pat
his mom on the shoulder reassuringly, and I went inside to explain things to Tracy, and ask her to come outside.

Tracy and I returned to the car in
a few minutes. I was still afraid Dee might chicken out, but apparently she
really had no idea that Bert hadn't even provided Jimmie a heated place to stay
over the winter, and was now thoroughly angry, although frightened. She poured
out the story to Tracy, who listened and asked appropriate questions. In
addition to the bruises on her mid-section, Dee also showed us black-and-blue
spots on her arms and legs.

Dee was winding down her story, and
Tracy said she would go call the Sheriff's Department. She tried to assure
the unhappy woman that no one was going to blame her for Jimmie's living
conditions.

After Tracy left, Jimmie spoke up.
"What about Beth and Lindsey, Mom?"

"I don't know, Jimmie-boy, I
don't know. Their dad has custody, but I'm sure we can visit them if I can lose
some weight. I don't know how I got this way."

"OK, I miss them."

"I know you do. I'm so
sorry," Dee whispered.

"It's OK, Mom," Jimmie
whispered back.

"Three branches?" I asked,
and he nodded.

Tracy returned in a minute and said
a deputy was on the way, and also an ambulance to take Dee to the hospital in Emily City. Emily City is actually in the next county, but Forest County's population is
so sparse, we only have a small out-patient clinic.

"They'll want to do a forensic
examination, and check your general health, Mrs. Pickard," Tracy said.

"Oh, is that necessary?" Dee looked uncomfortable.

"Absolutely. You want to make
these abuse charges stick so that Bert Fowler can't get revenge. The case will
be even stronger if he's been preventing you from getting necessary medical
treatment."

"OK," she said in a small
voice.

"From the things you've told
me, he's already looking at domestic abuse, child endangerment, and theft. Lets
make sure we do it right."

I looked at Tracy and nodded in
full agreement.

Tracy continued. "It's going
to take at least a half-hour for the ambulance to arrive. They said it was
still out on an emergency."

Dee added quietly, "Bert said
he'll be gone till tomorrow sometime, so I guess a few more minutes won't
matter."

 "How about if Ana and
Jimmie walk over to the Pine Tree and get you three some lunch? We'll
buy," Tracy said. This was the second time I'd known Tracy to buy a meal
for a witness. It was an interesting police tactic, but I was sure Jimmie would
be happy. For all I knew, Tracy was buying the food with her own money.
"Just tell them to put it on my tab," she added.

Dee said she wanted a tuna sandwich
and some kind of fruit, with a diet cola to drink. I was surprised she didn't
order a hamburger and French fries, based on her size. I have to admit I don't
always feel very compassionate toward heavy people.

Jimmie and I walked east on Lincoln to Balsam, and then south to Main and to the Pine Tree Diner. It was only a couple
of blocks. The small restaurant is Cherry Hill's one surviving eatery. It won't
win any awards for décor, but the food is always excellent. We were soon on our
way back toward the police station with two bags filled with food and several
cans of pop. We each carried one bag. I'd ordered the same as Dee, but Jimmie
went for the burger and fries. However, he wasn't in any danger of getting fat
soon.

Because it's a prettier walk, and
because it's also slightly shorter, instead of taking the same way back, we cut
through the village park. The park pretty much fills the block bounded by Main and Mill Streets to the south and west. The Petite Sauble River, the same river that
creates Dead Mule Swamp near my house, runs on through town, and forms the
north border of the park. To reach the park we only had to walk west on Main, about a half block. However, this took us past Volger's Grocery. 

Adele's radar must have been
working overtime. I have no idea how she knew we were there, but she was
standing on the broad stone stoop, under her big maple tree, waiting for us as
we passed the store.

"Hello, Ana. I see you've made
a friend." she said.

"We only have a minute, Adele.
Someone is waiting for us." I was trying to be circumspect. "This is
Jimmie Mosher. Jimmie, Mrs. Volger."

"We know each other,"
Adele said. "Jimmie shops here." I suddenly realized he probably
bought most of his food with the spare change he kept from the envelope.

"We have lunch for my
mom," Jimmie said proudly.

"Oh? Where is your
mother?" Adele was clearly fishing for news.

"She's at the police station.
We're not going to live with Bert any more." I was surprised the secretive
Jimmie would give out so much information, but Adele has that effect on people.

"Good for you!" Adele's
ample bosom jiggled as she nodded her pleasure.

"We should be going," I
said. "The food, you know."

"Sure, sure. Come see me
later."

"I will," I assured her.

"Nice to see you," she
added, to Jimmie.

"Things will be better now, I know
they will," Jimmie said to her over his shoulder as we walked on.
"She's nice to me too," he added to me. "I know she usually
gives me more food than I pay for, but she doesn't like me to say anything
about it."

We crossed the street and entered
the park. A sidewalk followed the east side of the park, behind a row of
stores, until it reached the river, and then angled northwest to follow it
until reaching Mill Street. Mill is aptly named, as a shingle mill was once
located where the river passed beneath the bridge. The water along this section
was channeled into a mill race, and although the mill is long gone, the
concrete walls of the race still forced the water into a speedway, where it
moved quickly, even in summer. Now, in the spring, when the water was high, the
liquid churned and boiled through the deep, narrow space. A fence separated
pedestrians in the park from the dangerous channel. 

At Mill Street we turned north and
crossed the bridge. A truck door on the opposite side of the street opened, and
Bert Fowler approached menacingly. He must have come home early and found Dee gone.

"What are you doing with my
boy? You've got no right, you motherf…."

"Run, Jimmie!" I hissed,
spinning around and pushing him back in the direction we had come. I hoped
Jimmie would run around the block and get Tracy or Kyle, the deputy. Or maybe
Tracy and Kyle. At least the river prevented Bert from getting around me to
reach the boy. I turned back to face the angry man.

Bert advanced. "Where's Dee?"

"Dee?" I asked, feigning
ignorance.

"You lying bitch. Don't you
think I know she's in your car at the police station?" I'd heard the
expression "mad with rage," but I don't think I'd ever realized it
could be a real condition. It seemed as if his eyes were on fire.

He sprang toward me, and I struck
with the only weapon I had, swinging the bag of food at his head. Fortunately,
the cans of soda were in my bag, making it heavier than the one Jimmie had been
carrying. The bag broke, and Bert's cowboy hat was knocked to the street. The
action must have surprised him because he stepped back. A fruit cup had burst
and bits of melon lodged in his hair. He wiped juice from the side of his face,
and a can of 7-Up rolled away into the raging water. 

I saw it go out of the corner of my
eye, and I didn't like how vulnerable I felt on the bridge. The railing was as
old as the bridge itself, made of rusting, fitted pipes and very open. Not all
that high, either.

"Now you are going to learn
not to mess with me," Bert growled. He unzipped his jacket and I saw the
grip of a handgun protruding above his belt.

I stepped back, not daring to turn
away from him, and he reached for my arm. Just then, a shot rang out, and Bert
stumbled, clutching his left shoulder.

"Hold it right there, Bert
Fowler." Tracy must have come from the police station, and down Mill Street. She was now standing on the opposite side of the street to get a good angle on
us.

All in one motion, Bert reached
inside his jacket and turned to face Tracy. She shot again. I didn't see where
the bullet hit, but the force of the blow pushed Bert against the railing. His
slippery cowboy boots scrabbled on the old concrete, and he grabbed for the
railing, but his left arm, at least, was useless. Without a word, he went over
backwards into the roiling flume. The last thing I saw were his eyes boring
into mine, still filled with hatred.

You might think no one would have
attended the funeral of a man like Bert Fowler, but you would be wrong. There
was no church service, however, only a short graveside observance. Of course,
his friends from the bar were there. I only knew Bud, and at that, I didn't
know Bud's real name. But, Chief Tracy Jarvi went too, just because the police
attend local funerals. I went to be with Jimmie, who insisted he wanted to see
the man be put in the ground. The local press was represented by Jerry
Caulfield, distinguished owner, editor and primary reporter for the
Cherry
Hill Herald
. He stood next to me at the graveside and attempted to ask me
questions for a human interest story, before the burial service began. Although
Jerry was a nice person, I was uncomfortable answering with Jimmie at my other
side. Of course Adele was there. She never missed an important Cherry Hill event.

Dee, however, was still in the
hospital. As it turned out she was, indeed, not well. Her obesity was due, for
the most part, to serious hypothyroidism, which had gone untreated for at least
the three years she had been with Bert. They were trying to stabilize her, and
to get her medication levels adjusted. Jimmie was overjoyed that his mom was
going to get well.

The ceremony was brief, and to the
point. No one, not even Bud, had any eulogies to give for Bert Fowler.

After the service, Jerry Caulfield
and Adele walked with Jimmie and me back to our cars.

"You should thank Adele this
service wasn't for you," Jerry opened. His tone was lighthearted, but I
knew he was serious.

"So I've heard."

"She called the police just as
soon as she saw Bert Fowler get out of his truck."

"That cowboy hat always did
make him easy to identify, and there's a clear sight line from my store right
through the park," Adele said."

"Thanks, Mrs. Volger,"
Jimmie added. "I was running around the block, but I couldn't get there
any faster because of the river." He sounded apologetic. "And I
dropped the lunch too."

"That's all right, Jimmie. You
were doing just the right thing," I said. "You got away, and Tracy got there in time."

"Come by my house, Ana,"
Jerry implored. "You certainly don't want next week's
Herald
to
print an incorrect version of events."

I still wasn't used to the concept
that everyone had to know about every local event. However, I had to admit a
shooting on the second-busiest street in Cherry Hill was probably news.
"I'll call you," I promised

Jerry accepted this, and headed off
to his car.

Adele was simply bursting with
something she wanted to share. "I have just the most wonderful thing to
tell you. You and Jimmie both. Mostly Jimmie, actually." She turned to
him, "But first, I want to be sure you have a place to stay."

"I'm staying with my new Nana
for a few days," Jimmie said, grinning.

"Nana?" Adele looked
confused. I wondered how this would go, since Adele and Cora don't get along
very well.

"He's staying with Cora until Dee is out of the hospital," I explained. "She has two empty bedrooms."

"I could have stayed at our
trailer. I can take care of myself," Jimmie put in.

"We know, but the county
doesn't like that plan," I said.

"Aw phooey, I could do
it," Jimmie added. However, he didn't sound upset about spending time with
Cora.

"Oh, well, I guess that makes
some sense. His grandfather was crazy about her. That woman has no sense,"
Adele said in a huff.

"I want to learn all about my
grandfather Jimmie Mosher, and maybe open the Cherry Blossom Restaurant again.
The Pine Tree is OK, but we need another place to eat here."

"I'm sure you can do it, if
you put your mind to it," Adele said.

"Jimmie is a pretty good
businessman already," I added. I put a hand on his shoulder and smiled at
him. "But maybe you'll need to wait at least until you're out of middle
school."