nineteen

“It’s Zed,” the man said through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to harm you. We just need to get out of sight.”

Francine stomped on his foot and gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs. His hand unexpectedly came off her mouth. “No, we’re not,” she said. “If you want me to trust you, you’re going to have to play this my way.”

He nonetheless continued to pull her toward the booth. “The police are looking for me.”

“They’ll never see you here in the crowd. I don’t even see any around.”

“Trust me, they’re here.”

“Why should I trust you at all?”

“Because you stand to gain something people have searched for and never found.”

“Doc Wheat’s treasure?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“How is it yours to give?”

“Have you read your grandmother’s diary that I gave you?”

“I barely got through the one that William had with him.”

“You didn’t read the one I gave you?”

“You don’t know what my life was like yesterday. It was nonstop from morning to night. I get tired. I’m old, you know.”

“You’re one of the youngest old people I know.”

He said it as though it should have some significance. She took it as a compliment. They stood beside the booth. He dropped his arm from her shoulder and took possession of the two bags containing food and clothing. It was clear to her he was not going to try to drag her inside. She took a step out of his reach.

This gave her a chance to examine him. The voice was craggy and sounded like Zed’s. But he was clean-shaved, his hair was cut, and he smelled of Old Spice. He was still intimidating because of his size, but he no longer looked like a mountain man. He was dressed in khaki cargo pants and was wearing an oversized ugly brown sweatshirt with pumpkins, footballs, and spray of colored leaves.

“Nice sweatshirt,” Francine said.

“Thanks. They’re pretty easy to find around here.”

Francine started to cross her arms over her chest, but stopped, preferring to keep them loose in case she needed to defend herself. “You’re wanted for questioning in the death of my cousin William.”

“And you expect me to turn myself in?”

“It would be the right thing to do.”

He shook his head. “Wanted for questioning is the same thing as being wanted. I’ve been a nuisance to the people around here for a long time, and the authorities would love to get something on me. It would be Involuntary Manslaughter, but still chargeable.”

“You don’t feel any remorse?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t kill him. He didn’t die from being in the coma. He died because he was poisoned while he was in the coma.”

The news startled Francine. “Can you prove that?”

“I don’t have to. The coroner will.”

“But you know who did it?”

“I am familiar with the work of the person who did. But that’s not what I came here to talk about. So, you did read the first diary, then, the one William had?”

“I skimmed it last night.”

“And?”

“My great-grandmother had a child out of wedlock.”

“Which means?”

Francine knew people were streaming by them, but she couldn’t see them. She was facing Zed, who was backed up against the black cloth separating the booths. She sensed there were not many behind her, and they moved quickly. She knew Jonathan would be looking for her. “I don’t know what it means.”

“Your grandmother and William’s grandfather were only half brother and sister.”

“We’re still blood relatives.”

“But only through her mother’s side.”

“What are you getting at?”

He seemed frustrated at her denseness. “You are the father’s heir, not William. If you’d read the second diary, it would give you some inkling of the significance of what I just told you. Our conversation would have gone very differently, but …” His voice trailed off.

“Okay, so give me a chance to read it. I’m sure I’ll have questions for you by then.”

“No doubt you will. But this is the last you’ll see of me.”

He was running from the law. “Are you going away?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He seemed sad.

She threw him a questioning look.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but the worst was being smug. So certain I knew what I was doing. Now I wish I had that clarity, even knowing now how flawed I am.”

He took a step forward.

She took one backward. Then she realized he was not advancing toward her but preparing to leave. “Earlier you talked about the secrets of the Roseville Bridge. It’s gone now. What were they?”

“The diary should help you figure them out. In many ways it helps that the bridge is gone. I find it ironic. The person who wanted the secrets it contained has caused its destruction.”

“You know who set the fire?”

“Shortly you’ll have all the information you need to put together the mystery.” He gave her a wry smile. “The only clarity I have left is the sense that it’s time for me to go, to finish the task I should have taken care of ten years ago.” He looked away from her, up into the nothingness of the air, and she could tell he was blinking back tears. “My life has no purpose without her.”

Francine had simply become too confused with his vague references. “Who is this person you’re talking about? Is it my grandmother?” She asked it even though her grandmother had been killed in a traffic accident much longer ago than ten years.

That brought his attention back to her. “Someone I treasured as much or more than her. I’m going to give you a hug. Will you let me? I won’t hurt you. I could never hurt you.”

For whatever reason she believed him. “Okay.”

He embraced her and held her tight, as though it would be the last human interaction he would have. She felt his strength, then his gentleness, then his weariness. His body started to rack with what might have been sobs, but it stopped. He cleared his throat and spoke quietly. “Prove you are worthy of her. Find who killed William, and the truth should become evident to you.”

From out of nowhere she heard Alice exclaim, “There she is!”

Francine turned to see Alice about a hundred yards away. Where did Jonathan go? Alice had three sheriff’s men with her. They stood where the bare path intersected the main road, but they didn’t remain still for long. The second after Alice finished identifying Francine they were in motion, running toward Zed. He turned and charged into the hanging black cloth, crashing into the vendor on the other side of it.

Zed ducked to the ground and crawled under the cloth, continuing to pull on it. The aluminum frame strained, but it wouldn’t give. Francine wondered if he were trying to pull the entire construction down. Then she smelled popcorn burning and something else too. Something less recognizable. She looked closely and realized the cloth was smoldering. It began to throw up smoke. Something behind the cloth caught fire. Flames began to lick the bottom of the cloth. The deputies trying to get fight their way through the cloth backed away. They ran up the path toward the paved road but a voice yelled, “Fire!” Francine was certain it was Zed.

It was then she felt Jonathan’s hand. “I’m here,” he said. “I was searching the aisles looking for you when I heard Alice.”

The crowd erupted into a frenzy. People stampeded away from the booth. She knew Jonathan was trying to hang on to her but her wrist was being twisted and she cried out in pain. He had to let go or risk breaking it.

Francine found herself swept up in a growing mass of bag-toting women and junk food–carrying men heading toward the bridge. She spotted Joy and the Channel Six news van and tried to steer toward them, but the current of the crowd was too strong. She tried to fight her way out. As they neared the Bridgeton Bridge she caught a break and stumbled out of the crowd toward the river bank. Her momentum carried her forward, farther than she wanted to go. Soon she teetered on the bank, her feet tangled up in each other. At the last moment she was able to regain some balance and she managed her fall into the river so that she landed in a deep pocket of water.

The coldness of the water shocked her system. She gasped and stood up. Willing hands from bystanders helped her up the bank. When she finally reached terra firma, she found herself shivering in the chilly air and surrounded by a bank of cell phones, cameras, and the Channel Six news team recording the incident.

In the end, she was reunited with Jonathan, who found her towels so she could dry off. A vendor donated an authentic souvenir Covered Bridge Festival wool blanket for her to wrap up in, which she wore while being interviewed by Joy for a Channel Six news story.

Next, she had to talk to the sheriff’s department. She told them about how Zed had grabbed her out of the crowd to talk to her. She did not, however, admit to having been there to meet with him. Feeling like she ought to throw them a bone for rescuing her, she did tell them about Zed’s accusation that William had been poisoned.

They left to return to their temporary home in Rockville immediately after that. Francine insisted on going with Jonathan in his truck. Charlotte wanted to go with them, claiming she would have less motion sickness in the front seat of the truck. Joy joined the group in Jonathan’s truck, which had a back seat. Alice and Toby took Francine’s car, Alice driving.

“What is it about you and wet clothing that attracts such attention?” Charlotte asked. Francine sat between her and Jonathan in the front, still wrapped in the souvenir blanket trying to warming up.

“I’m glad you’re doing better now that you’ve had some Dramamine,” Francine said, “but that doesn’t mean I’m going to honor that stupid question with a response.”

Joy looked up from her cell phone. “The news van had set up a WiFi signal for me, but it’s gone now. Honestly, there’s no reliable cell service anywhere in this county.” She sighed. “And you needn’t be so nasty to Charlotte. I didn’t ask any tough questions, you know. You’re lucky it was me interviewing you so I only touched on the wet sundress incident last summer. If you hadn’t taken off so much of your wet clothing while the camera was pointed at you, it wouldn’t have come up. Déjà vu.”

“The sweater and the jacket were heavy and wet and cold. They had to come off so drying off the rest of the clothes and wrapping up in the hideous blanket would have some effect.”

Joy put the cell phone in her purse. “I thought you would be okay with it. I mean, you were so anxious to get those pinup photos I took of you and Jonathan …”

Charlotte started coughing. And coughing. Then she switched to gagging.

Francine looked at Charlotte with narrowed eyes. “I gather this is something you don’t want discussed.” She turned to Joy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joy got defensive. “Really? Charlotte’s been haranguing me to get copies made every chance she gets. She claimed you wanted them. It’s been tough because the station’s kept me so busy, but I did print them out. She snatched them up before we started the séance. I thought she’d given them to you.”

“I’m gonna throw up!” Charlotte bellowed. She opened the window and stuck her head out.

“No you’re not,” Francine said. “We all know you’re faking it. Now be quiet so I can hear about this.”

Joy pulled a couple of 4x6 photos out of her purse. “Charlotte took the two best ones, but here are a few others. I saw them when I put the cell phone away, which is what made me think to say something.” She passed them directly to Francine. “Those are sexy, Francine, and I don’t say that just because Jonathan is a fine-looking specimen, even at seventy. Or because I feel I coaxed the best facial expressions from you.”

Francine held the four photos side by side. The first three showed her and Jonathan in various stages of disrobing in the carriage, all while passionately kissing. The desperation in their eyes, which could be interpreted as anxiousness to get to making love, was palpable. It almost made her laugh, since the desperation had been all about getting the photo shoot over. But the fourth photo was the one that made her uncomfortable. It had been taken through the window of the carriage. Jonathan was laid back on the seat bare-chested with Francine lying on him, her blouse unbuttoned provocatively low. Though it was unclear just how much of their lower bodies might be unclothed, their hips were snug together. Francine’s face was the focal point of the picture, and her expression was a vacant one, like she was sliding into ecstasy and could think of nothing else.

Her face flushed. “This one can’t get out in public.”

“It’s too bad I’m driving,” Jonathan said, “because I need to see these. They sound hot.”

“Mary Ruth thinks this one should be December’s photo,” Joy said, leaning up and stabbing at finger at a picture, “because in her opinion if it doesn’t define ‘sexy,’ she doesn’t know what does. Period costumes, an unusual setting, a lot implied without revealing too much skin. I agree. Wow. I’m almost sorry the only other people who see it will be those few we give a calendar to.”

“That’s the reason I was pushing to get it,” Charlotte said, too quickly in Francine’s opinion. “I needed to get this to my friend who’s putting the calendar together. We reserved October and December for Francine’s photos. Now the calendar can be finished and printed.”

“To what end?” Francine asked.

“So we’ll all have copies to give our significant others for Christmas. Plus, I can check this off my Sixty List.”

Francine did not buy this. “It’s only mid-October. How long would it realistically take to get a few copies printed?”

“She’s very busy and needs time to make it look right before printing.”

Joy nudged Charlotte from behind. “That doesn’t change the fact it’s only mid-October.”

“Just what are you accusing me of ? Because let’s remember that we are in strange circumstances right now, what with two cases of arson under investigation and William’s death. Plus we have Mary Ruth’s challenges trying to manage a food booth at the Covered Bridge Festival when she can’t stop selling out of food. We have too much going on. What any of us is experiencing here is hardly normal behavior. Who is to say how any of us should respond under such circumstances?”

Francine caught Joy’s eyes in the rearview mirror and they exchanged glances. Finally Francine said, “We’re not accusing you of anything. And you have a point. But the calendar has nothing to do with any of those things.”

“Of course it does. It’s the starting point. If we hadn’t been at the Roseville Bridge that first morning, we wouldn’t be wrestling with any of this but Mary Ruth’s food booth, and it may not have reached the popularity it has without the additional television exposure.”

It all made no sense to Francine. She promised herself she would keep one eye on Charlotte to make sure she did nothing with the calendar.

But once they pulled in the driveway back at the mansion in Rockville, that promise became complicated. Sitting in the driveway was the Buick she and Charlotte had searched for twice. The one belonging to William and his wife, Dolly.