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I found the boys helping Corbin in the police garage, with a guest.
"Good morning, Norman," I greeted the mayor's son, sitting on a stool next to my boys. "Why aren't you in school?"
"Oh, I am. Heard about commotion on the police scanner last night and I just had to be here. Dad made a few phone calls and I am now on a field trip. It will look great on my apps." Norman Timberland was a high school senior, planning on career in law enforcement. Norman winked, "Besides, too many cousins in this room. Best to have a witness."
"Sneaky, and logical," I winked back. "Sounds like a lawyer's kid to me."
"Hey, Mom, look at all this stuff," announced Travis with glee. "Hold your breath though, it stinks!"
"Boo, did you have to find him in the dumpster?" Corbin sighed, leaning against one of twelve tables set up and covered with trash. "I thought I was making a good impression on the Chief, until last night."
"At least you haven't been taken off duty. If it is any consolation, he doesn't seem to like me much either, except as a suspect." I tried to cheer him up.
"Still?" Hunter looked to me.
"Not for long, boys." Corbin reassured them. "That is why I put you to work with this mess, remember? So, we could separate your family things from possible clues."
"Yeah, Mom, there is a lot of our stuff in here." Skylar accused.
"No wonder you got carried away and dropped the calculator." Hunter finished his twin's thought.
"But why did you throw away my Z-top transformer?" Travis complained.
I looked into his sad eyes, "Three reasons. I was tired, it was dark, and if you cared so much, then you should have taken better care of it. Now, let's go. You don't want to be late for practice." I reminded them. To Corbin I added, "I hope you sorted it by kind of trash bag first."
I turned to leave and ran smack into Chief Flint, causing yet another embarrassing moment in the short span of our relationship. He caught me as I bounced backward, but quickly released, once assured I wouldn't end up with my rear end on the floor.
"I'm sorry." I said, trying to walk past him.
"Just a minute. What did you mean about the garbage bags?" He asked.
"The bags? That is simple." I point to the garbage tables. "See the thin, cheap white ones? Janice Peterson, the owner of Power Fitness, insists on buying those even though it usually requires double bagging the trash and usually costing more."
I walked to the next tables, "Those thin black bags belong to Mr. Cummins. A few years back, he plowed into his garage after a night of drinking. His wife kicked him out unless he promised to never drink again. He gave it a good try, but he just couldn't give it all up. Now he drinks in the garage at home. He puts his bags filled with beer bottles in our dumpster at night, trying to hide his drinking from his wife."
"But these black bags over here belong to the Carter family. Some weeks of the year their family of seven children fills their one city approved trash can to overflowing. Mrs. Carter sends the youngsters over after dark with the extra trash to save on the extra trash fee."
Chief Flint asked, "Are these more of your typical observations, Mrs. Bailey?"
"Yes, but you can check for yourself. Though Mr. Cummins will probably deny it, Mrs. Withrow on the other side of the drive can testify to it. Beware, she is the block busybody and will probably give you an earful." I said. "I do hope this doesn't get the Carters into trouble. If you do go asking around, please be easy with the Carters. Mr. Carter is a proud man raising a proud family and Mrs. Carter works to pinch pennies to keep them afloat. I am sure he doesn't even know about the late-night trips."
"And boys," I turned to my sons, "I expect the information told here to go no farther. You know how I feel about gossip. I only told the chief because a major crime has been committed, which trumps minor issues. Now say Good-bye. Time to go."
After proper goodbyes to Corbin, Norman and the Chief, the boys raced down the hall toward the front door. Behind me, Norman confirmed the Carter's bags were indeed on top of Harvey. It sounded like Corbin might soon swap garbage duty for a road trip with the Chief.
By the time I reached the boys, Mrs. Dillon had them starting five hundred jumping jacks for running in the hall. "Mrs. Dillon, I need your assistance in receiving copies of my day planner."
"Chief mentioned that. If you have a minute, we can do that now." Mrs. Dillon offered.
"Yes, please." I replied, at the same time all three boys said, "No."
Hunter added, "Mom, we can't be late again."
"But without my planner, we will miss many other activities this week. It will be fine. Keep jumping." I countered.
I followed Mrs. Dillon as she carried the evidence bags of my purse contents to the copier room. Skylar and Travis finished counting to five hundred, with Hunter soon behind them. The room was a converted closet so I halted them at the door.
"What exactly do you need?" Mrs. Dillon inquired.
I thought about it for a moment. "Any idea how long he is going to keep my things?"
"I have no idea, hon," She replied. "Even if it turns out to have no bearing on the case, it could be months. If it is involved..." Mrs. Dillon let that hang in the air.
"Well, it is not involved," I asserted firmly, before my boys caught on to her implications.
Too late, as Travis questioned, "Mom, why would your purse be involved? Is that why you talked with the Chief so long? He thinks you killed Harvey?"
"Listen, boys, all of you. The police chief has to do his job, which includes looking through all the evidence for clues, interviewing people, and sifting through the facts that will catch a killer. You have seen the pile of trash they have to look through. One little thing in that mess might have come from the killer. So, we just have to be patient as they figure it out."
"Hey, goofus," said Hunter. "The police always have to check with the person who found the body. Their first suspect, but rarely the last. It is just a point to start, right, Mom?"
"Yes, Hunter, quite right," I said, "But watch your language. I have raised you to be nicer than that."
Turning back to Mrs. Dillon, "Let's have the next month of my planner, please, and my phone list from the back. That is four pages long."
Turning back to my sons, Hunter added, "Sorry, Mom. Besides, you can't even kill things you hate, like snakes."
"Thank you, Hunter, for being so reassuring." I rolled my eyes. Again. I was surprised they didn't just stay rolled in my head by now.
My patience and energy were truly waning, between the battle with the chief and the lingering headache.
"Here you go, Mrs. Bailey. This should do it for a little while." Mrs. Dillon called my attention back to the present.
"Thank you, Mrs. Dillon." I replied, glancing at my watch. "Boys, march, double time. Now!"
So excited to finally leave, they didn't see Doc McCarthy coming in the front door. Folders fluttered to the ground as Skylar and Hunter caught the older man before he could fall crashing to the ground.
"Whoa! What is the rush, my boys?" Doc McCarthy had delivered the twin speed demons, as he did all my children.
"Sorry, sir. We are late for jazz band," Skylar explained.
"Not too late to pick up the mess," I said.
"We know, Mom," Travis gathered some of the photographs and flipped them right side up.
"Thank you, boys, but be careful just to touch the edges of the photographs and not the pictures themselves." Doc cautioned.
"Cool! Body parts. Is this from the autopsy?" Hunter placed a pile into my outstretched hands.
I took one look at the pictures and wished I hadn't. My queasy stomach had enough of poor Harvey up close and personal last night.
My male offspring adore the morbid side of life. It started with mummifying a chicken for an Ancient History class. As we studied other time periods, many animals have followed suit at the hands of Hunter and younger brother Travis while Skylar preferred to research dungeons.
Thankfully the girls enjoy creating costumes and cooking delicacies from the same time periods. Not to be one-sided, the girls have helped with mummies and burials while the boys have cooked a few meals. Creative projects that inspire learning is un-schooling at its finest!
To calm my stomach and finish the job at hand, I concentrated on placing in order the numbers in the corner of the pages. Though with some numbers found in different corners, I still had a quick glance of each picture. Ugh!
As I glimpsed Harvey's body on the examination table, my mind raced back to the same question: Who could have done this to Harvey and why?
Harvey was a simple soul. For twenty plus years he had earned a living at the Workshop, a company that specifically hired those who were mentally delayed. In his off hours, we would see him wandering the streets through all kinds of weather, but always making it home in time for dinner.
"Thank you, my dear." Doc said, bringing my mind back to the present. "I need to drop these off for the Chief to fax copies to the state attorney."
"Good-bye, Doc. I apologize for my crew."
"No worries. Learn the lesson, boys, rushing does not equal safe arrival," Doc called as we hurried to the Purple People Eater.