Amid the hubbub in the café, a stoat leaned over to Vera. “You going to write an article on that?”
“Count on it,” Vera snapped, her hackles rising. Not only would she write an article about Orville forcibly bringing Joe in for questioning, she’d get some new information to add that would actually illuminate the situation for her readers.
But she couldn’t just follow Orville back to the station. That wouldn’t do at all. Instead, she would head back to the orchard, where it all began, and learn what she could at the scene itself. That was the first step. Once she got a clue there, she’d know where to go next.
When she arrived back at Cold Clay Orchards, however, she was at a loss for exactly what to look for. The apple picking crew had moved on to the next row, leaving the area by the cordoned-off hole where the bones had been discovered very quiet.
By this point, the bones themselves were gone. Orville had directed the unearthing of the remainder and had them all sent to Dr. Broadhead’s office.
Vera padded around the perimeter of the hole, looking down into it, but also outward, toward the surrounding fields and forest edge. What brought the creature here? What caused it to drop dead here? And most importantly, why had the body been buried at all? That meant someone had come upon the dead creature and chose to hide the body rather than tell anyone. Very strange indeed.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a young rabbit hovering nervously at the end of the row of trees. She was too young to be one of the pickers. She looked like she ought to be in school.
“Excuse me, Miss Vixen,” said the newcomer. Ever since the Ruby Ewing incident, every creature in town knew Vera’s name, although she had no idea who this was.
“Yes,” she said kindly, as the rabbit seemed extremely nervous. “Can I help you?”
“My name is Winifred. I’ve got something to show you.”
She struggled to keep her expression neutral as she considered Winifred with interest. The rabbit looked toward the area where the apple pickers worked, then dangled something shiny from her paw. “Here.”
Vera bent her head to take a closer look. It was a locket of some kind, with a broken chain. It was silver, with a hinge on one side. Vera took the necklace in her own paw and released the catch that opened it. Inside was a small photo of a moose, a young male of the species, with a rack of antlers that fit rather perfectly in the two lobes of the heart-shaped locket. He looked vaguely familiar to Vera, but as she only knew two moose in her limited experience, it was hard to be sure if they all looked the same, or if this photograph was of a creature she knew.
Vera locked eyes with Winifred, who was watching her closely. “Odd sort of thing for a leveret to be carrying around,” Vera noted.
“Oh, it’s not mine. I found it out in the orchard.”
“You were out there yesterday morning? Shouldn’t you have been in school?”
Winifred said earnestly, “No, that’s just the thing. I didn’t find it yesterday, not in the… grave. I found it years ago, back when I was little. It was summer then, and really hot, even at night. That’s why I wanted to go to the orchard early in the morning, before it got hotter. Anyway, the locket was lying in the grass below a tree. I noticed it only because it was sunny, and the sun shone right on it.”
“So you picked it up,” Vera said. “Natural enough. Why do you think the locket has anything to do with the grave, though? Someone might have lost it at any time.”
Winifred gave a quick shake of her head, and her long ears flipped about. “I found it right near where the bones were uncovered. The moose bones.” She nodded significantly toward the locket, which did suggest a link to moose.
“Tell me,” Vera said. “Did you ever meet Joe’s wife?”
“No, but I remember when she left town. My mother and aunts went on about it when they thought we all were asleep. I was young, but I know it was same summer I found this.”
“I see.”
“Please take that locket, Miss Vixen,” she urged. “Maybe it will help you find out what’s going on here.”
The rabbit rushed on, glancing around again to make sure that no one could overhear them. “Mr. Joe has always been so nice to me,” she said, “and I don’t want anything bad to happen to him. I know that you will find out about that body.”
While Vera was flattered by Winifred’s confidence in her abilities, she wasn’t certain that the locket would help Joe’s cause. Despite the rather suspicious coincidence of this moose-adorned locket showing up near the grave, she felt certain that Joe was innocent of any wrongdoing. But how did she really know for sure, and how would it look to others?
Rather than reveal any of her inner turmoil to a creature that she just met, Vera smiled and patted Winifred on the shoulder. “I appreciate your trust in me,” she said slowly, “but why not take it to the police?”
“The police spend their time fishing,” Winifred replied, a statement that was certainly true of half the police force, though it also implicated Orville by association. “What can they do? I know that you’ll search for the truth.”
Vera thanked the young rabbit again and took the locket with her as she said her goodbyes. She desperately wanted to delve into this case more, but how would she do that without upsetting Orville and the official police investigation?
On her way back to the Herald, Vera decided that for the moment, she would keep her investigation to herself if at all possible. However, time was of the essence. Vera could foresee a future where Joe got accused of a most heinous crime, based merely on bones and a bit of speculation. He and his business would not survive if he were imprisoned. Joe Jr. would never be able to keep the café going on his own. And how long would it take before the young moose learned that his mother had been murdered, perhaps by his own father? It didn’t bear thinking about. Vera had to learn the truth before things went rapidly downhill.
At the thought of Joe’s Mug, Vera changed her route. She could use a cup of coffee, after all, and the events of the day prevented her from getting one earlier. The café was busy, just as usual, though there was a sense of chaos in the air that was certainly not usual. Joe Jr. was in the kitchen, frantically running about from the stove to the sink and back, trying to do three jobs at once. A few bar towels hung from his antlers.
Behind the counter stood Esmeralda Von Beaverpelt in her crisp uniform of a striped dress and starched white apron. No one would have guessed that she was once considered a snobby heiress. She wore a nametag that said “Esme” and had a pencil stuck behind one ear as she rang up a customer’s bill.
“Ten eighty, Mr. Fallow. Exact change appreciated. Ah, thank you. And what a nice hat, sir. New? Very dashing.” Even as she took the money given to her by the rat, she called back over her shoulder, “Joe, how’s it coming? I’ve got that order for table five. Four grillies and a basket of zucchini fries!”
“Coming up!” Joe shouted back. “New pot of coffee is ready!”
With a satisfied hmming, Esme spun around to grab the coffeepot by the handle with one paw, flip the counter up with another, and then she walked through into the main dining area. “Who needs refills?” she barked out.
Several paws lifted mugs into the air, making it look rather like they were all proposing a toast. Esme hurried around the café, pouring coffee as if she’d been doing it her whole life, rather than just a few months.
The beaver maid spotted Vera just then. “Coffee, Miss Vixen?” she asked.
“Yes, indeed.” Vera slid onto one of the stools at the counter and flipped over the mug that had been placed there. “Busy day.”
“They’re all busy,” Esme replied, pouring a steamy, rich brew into the mug. “But it’s way tougher with the original Joe not here. I never realized all the stuff he did without ever thinking or talking about it! Hope he gets back soon.”
“We all do, I’m sure,” Vera said, knowing she spoke for the town. Everyone liked Joe. He was a fixture of Shady Hollow, always ready to offer a warm plate of food and listen to his customers with a kind ear. Folk shared good news and bad with Joe. But who did he confide in? Vera realized just how mysterious the gentle giant of a moose was.
“I wonder, Esme, if you think you could spare Joe Jr. for a moment? I’d like to ask him something.”
“Oh, not now, we’re going to get a rush. How about after closing? Or when Joe gets back?”
“Sure, I’ll come by after closing,” Vera said. She hastily took a sip of coffee, mostly to avoid saying her fear out loud—it might be a while until Joe left the police station.
Esme bustled around, attending to more customers. Vera twisted in her counter seat, enjoying the coffee and looking over the outwardly normal scene. Maybe I’m just borrowing trouble, she thought. It was perfectly possible that Orville had already asked Joe some general questions and then sent him on his way. He tended to get overly formal in new situations—she remembered that aspect of their very first date, when he held all the doors for her and pulled out her chair to be seated at dinner. Vera was all for equality, but it was awfully nice to know that chivalry still existed in the world. She was sure that no matter what the situation, Orville would be treating Joe with the same courtesy he showed everyone.
In fact, she ought to go to the police station just to prove it. She was a reporter, after all. She would report what she discovered, and have a tidy little column about Orville’s policing techniques. That would be what BW called a “feel good” piece, not to mention that Orville might be more apt to share details of his investigation with her after a flattering article appeared.
“Hey, Esme, box up a couple slices of apple pie for me, would you?” she called out. She had an idea.
Moments later, a white paper box was deposited on the counter, with an apple drawn onto the top with red ink in Esme’s bold style. Draining the last of the coffee in her mug, Vera dropped a bill on the counter and gathered her things. She slipped a paw into her bag, feeling the heavy locket nestled there. She really ought to tell Orville about it. It could be evidence.
“Then again, it was found a long time before,” she muttered to herself as she walked down the street. “It’s not as if it’s a murder weapon or something like that!” Justifying her failure to share information with Orville made Vera a little squirmy—it was one thing to be sly and quite another to be dishonest—but she could always show it to him later. “I’ll just see what’s what.”
The police station was in a handsome brick building farther down Main Street, and it didn’t take Vera long to reach the front door. Burdened with the pie box, she pushed it open with her back, already hearing voices in a heated exchange.
“Just answer the question, sir!” That was Orville, sounding frustrated.
“I can’t. I don’t remember. That’s the only answer I can give.” Joe’s voice was a lower pitch and a tad calmer, though he too was clearly running out of patience.
She saw them sitting on opposite sides of Orville’s large wooden desk, both appearing to be rather drawn out, which was understandable, if the questioning had gone on for so long. Then again, Joe wasn’t behind bars in one of the cells, so that was a positive sign.
“Excuse me,” she said, stepping fully into the room. “Am I interrupting?”
Vera wasn’t above a well-timed bat of the eyelashes, and Orville seemed momentarily speechless when he looked at her.
“Uh…no, Miss Vixen. Well, that is, I’m in the middle of an interrogation…” He trailed off when Vera held up the box from the diner. The smell of cinnamon and cloves wafted into the air. “Is that pie?” he asked.
“One for you and one for Joe,” Vera said cheerfully. “I imagine you’ve both had long days and could use a treat.”
Pie made for an effective truce, and soon both the police bear and his witness were devouring their slices.
“Mmmm, good stuff,” Orville said between bites.
“Not bad,” Joe commented professionally. “Tastes like Joe Jr. might have added a dash too much sugar in this batch. Or the apples weren’t as tart.”
“How do you know it was his batch and not yours?” Vera asked, genuinely curious about the answer.
Joe tapped his fork gently on the top of the golden, flaky crust. “The pinpricks in the crust. He always does a different pattern than I do.”
“My goodness.” Vera had never noticed pinprick patterns before, and she had eaten plenty of pie from Joe’s Mug since she came to town. “Well, I expect you’ll be back in the kitchen soon, putting your own pattern on the next batch.”
“That’s up to the deputy,” Joe said quietly.
Vera looked over to Orville, whose face was half-covered with a plate. He’d been licking the last of the apple filling.
He put the plate down hastily. “Um, right. Procedure, you know. I’ve got to ask all the questions.”
“And if the answer is I don’t remember, what do you do next?” Vera raised an eyebrow. “Joe’s been here for hours. He must have told you what he knows by now.”
Orville frowned, but didn’t reply.
“And if you think of new questions,” Vera added, in her most reasonable tone, “you always know where to find Joe. He’s going to be at work. Joe Jr. and Esme can’t wait to see him back. Not to mention all the customers!”
“I suppose so,” Orville said slowly. “All right, Joe, you can go. But I’ll have more questions for you later.”
“Come on down to the café and ask, then,” Joe said, lumbering up to his full height, which was quite impressive. He walked out of the station, leaving Vera and Orville alone.
Vera glanced about, noting the empty chair behind Chief Meade’s desk. “The chief is out again, I see.”
“Trout are running,” Orville said in explanation. “Probably the last big run before the cold sets in.” In most cases, the chief’s vice wasn’t an issue, since Orville preferred to do his policing without interference. Now he looked at Vera with narrowed eyes, very much in his role as deputy. “Why do you ask? Are you here as a member of the press, as a friend to Joe, or a friend to me?”
“Why do I have to choose?” Vera countered. “It won’t change the answers to my questions, will it? Come on, Orville. You can’t honestly believe Joe had anything to do with the bones buried in the orchard. He’s not the type to do something under cover of darkness…or whenever it was those bones got covered.”
“I’ve lived here a lot longer than you, fox,” Orville reminded her.
“And in all that time, did you ever see Joe do something violent?”
“No,” Orville said slowly, “but I do remember when his wife disappeared. He acted funny for weeks after that.”
“Maybe he acted funny because his wife left him.” Vera rolled her eyes. “Some folk handle rejection differently, you know. It doesn’t prove anything. And honestly, we still don’t even know if the body belongs to Julia. Do we?”
“Not for certain,” Orville admitted. “Dr. Broadhead’s preliminary work suggested it was a female moose, though, due to the size of the femur and the lack of any antlers.”
“So it could be some other moose. Maybe not even a resident of the Hollow.” Even as Vera spoke, she suddenly remembered the locket in her bag. If she could confirm that Julia once wore that locket, it would go a long way toward showing the bones were hers.
“I’ve got to do something,” Orville said, sounding unhappy. “I can’t allow bones to be discovered and then just stand around. Folk want action.”
“Investigation is action,” said Vera. “That’s what I’m doing.”
“What do you mean when you say you’re investigating?”
“Oh! I just meant that I’m going to write a story on it. Can I get a quote from you, Deputy?” She whipped out her notebook, and put on her interested-reporter expression, though Orville still looked skeptical.
“What do you want me to say?” Orville growled. “I’m investigating. The scene is off-limits until further notice. And folk have nothing to worry about. There’s no reason to think anyone is in danger today. Whoever it was, that body was buried years ago.”
Vera scribbled it all down. “Thanks! Well, got to dash!”
“I thought maybe you’d want to have dinner tonight?” Orville asked, in a much different tone.
Oh, no! She had already made plans to meet up with Joe Jr. after the café closed. “Um, I think we’ll both be too busy working. Maybe tomorrow?”
“All right then.” Orville nodded, looking a little sad.
Vera left the police station, feeling bad about standing him up on their almost-date. But it was true—they both had work to do.