13

“Why in the world did you tell her that?” Grace demanded of Nellie.

We were in the file room the Monday following Lester’s incident. Predictably, it turned out to be a heart attack.

Nellie had kindly informed me that when she’d been out with Cecil over the weekend she’d heard “folks” were talking about the heart attack.

And blaming me.

“I just thought she’d wanna know,” Nellie said as she rearranged some files that had gotten out of sequential order.

Lester’s heart attack was a shock to no one but him. He was a posterboy for unhealthy habits, from smoking to overeating.

And I'm sure the stress of not having his license and getting sued by a lot of creditors didn't help matters.

As it was, he was out of the hospital in a few days. But apparently there was some talk around town how he saw me in the store, got upset, and had the heart attack. Just like when I was prosecuting him, Lester managed to blame me for his own catastrophes. And some people bought it.

Could someone tell me again why I wanted to stay in Devil Springs?

Lester's incident became the big talk of the town rather than any big snow, which turned out to be a big non-event. We merely got a dusting, if it could even be called that. Everyone in town had rushed out and stocked up for nothing. There had been a few slick spots here and there, but only the usual winter road hazards.

But the days did continue to be cold and dreary. I could at least walk to work from my home a few blocks away; I didn't need to get my battered car out and test just how icy the roads had become.

In addition to finally getting my own work computer (only after two weeks on the job), Grace had gotten me a key to the building. I was delighted to find that there was a second door on the far wall of the file room which opened onto a hallway in back of the courthouse. Locked on the hall side, I could use my key to come into work in the back and slip into my office relatively unnoticed.

Over the next few weeks, I fell in love with my office, especially all the natural light. Even though it was winter, the thin sun offered a peek into the future of warmer, sunnier days of spring and summer. The garden print had grown on me. It often pulled me out of the doldrums on cold, dreary days.

There seemed to be a lot of them that winter.

The windows also afforded a great view of goings-on out back of the courthouse. Usually this meant seeing prisoner get loaded and unloaded from the jail van and shuffled into the courthouse in leg chains and handcuffs.

But it so happened that I was gazing out the window, fretting about the lawsuit and the election, when I saw someone plow into Sophie’s vehicle during lunch one gloomy Wednesday morning.

Grace, Nellie, and Sid all immediately ran into my office, offered no greeting, and peered out the back two windows.

You had to take your entertainment as it came in Devil Springs.

“Doesn't look too bad,” Nellie said. “Who is it?”

“Delaney—and who is that in the other car?” Sid asked.

“Looks like Sophie,” answered Grace.

“Isn’t that Ginger’s SUV Delaney was driving?” Sid asked.

We hurriedly gathered our coats and went outside.

Dalton, Brock, and a city cop were already on the scene by the time we made it outdoors. The four of us walked closely together down the narrow concrete path leading out the back of the courthouse. Stopping a reasonable distance from the tableau, we stood near a concrete bench positioned beneath the bronze statue of a pioneer.

Dalton helped Sophie out of her vehicle, which didn't seem to be too badly damaged, and walked her over to the small bench. After admonishing her to stay there, he returned to the accident.

I went and sat by her, and Grace joined me, leaving Nellie and Sid standing and surveying the situation. The last thing I heard was Sid commenting that he thought Delaney had failed to yield right of way as she turned into Sophie's path.

Ginger was crying as she nearly tumbled out the passenger side of her SUV. Brock dipped his head to her, looking like he was offering words of comfort, then gently led her to his cruiser.

”Idiot," Sophie muttered. She was perched on the edge of the bench, like me, in an effort to minimize any contact with the extremely cold surface.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Air bag didn't deploy, thank goodness. Can't say the same for Delaney, though.” Sophie smirked, which struck me as inappropriate, despite my general dislike for Delaney.

“What happened?”

“Delaney pulled right in front of me. Wasn't even looking. She was looking down at something, most likely her phone.”

I looked back at the wreck. I could faintly make out the whiteness of the airbag through the windows of Ginger’s SUV.

Some EMTs hovered around the open driver's side door and appeared to be talking to Delaney, although I couldn't be sure because the airbag obscured my view.

“Looks like they're taking Delaney to the hospital,” Nellie said.

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Drama queen.”

We all watched as Delaney was escorted into an ambulance, and Grace, Nellie, and Sid soon wandered back inside.

"Too cold out here," Nellie said as they left.

Dalton motioned to Sophie, calling her over to him.

Time for me to get back inside. I was freezing. But I wanted to make sure Sophie was okay.

"You need anything?" I asked, standing with her before she went to Dalton.

Sophie shook her head. “I don't think the vehicle is too damaged. Likely drivable. I think I’ll just go home and rest a bit today.”

“Come and get me if you need a ride or anything, okay? And I’ll give Dalton my statement on what I saw from my window.”

She smiled and nodded. "Thanks. But I’m good.” She patted my shoulder before walking over to Dalton.

It wasn’t true. Maybe she’d emerged unscathed from the wreck, but she wasn’t good. Pain took its time, liked to hang around, preferred to overstay its welcome.

Later that morning I got a call from my father reporting that my mother had come down with the flu. He recited a grocery list and asked me to pick up the items and bring them to the dealership, since my mother forbade me from coming to the house. He apologized, explaining he couldn’t do it because he had a meeting with some manufacturing bigwig at the dealership.

My mother was very particular about groceries and my father—well, he just wasn’t a good shopper.

While he could usually find what was on a list, he frequently strayed from it and bought a lot of impulse purchases, particularly candy. But he also had a tendency to make odd purchases, like multiple cans of sardines (claiming he hadn’t had them in years), weird cheeses (one with mango and hot peppers was especially memorable), and all the bags of gummy candies (because they were on closeout and the store wasn’t going to restock them).

After my recent experiences in the grocery, the anticipation of another trip there was mildly anxiety inducing as I pondered what new disaster I might encounter. But I managed to get through the shopping adventure without having the fire alarm go off, a SWAT team descending on the place, or even breaking a jar of pickles. The worst that could be said for the trip that day was that I had forgotten my coupon for fifty cents off a package of my favorite cookies, which I bought anyway.

When I arrived at the dealership late in the morning to deliver the groceries, I found my father standing out front and watching as new cars were being unloaded from a hauler. He told me to pull up in front of the showroom and that Ivan would load the bags into his car.

“He’s back?” I asked.

“Yeah, showed up, wanting his job back. Said he needed employment so his probation wouldn’t be revoked. I gave in. He’s a good mechanic and for some stupid reason, I feel sorry for him.”

“What did he say about where he was?”

“I didn’t ask. But one of the other guys in the garage said he’d heard something about Ivan being mixed up with some ginseng poachers. First I thought that was crazy, but then I remembered that guy that came here looking for Ivan—the one you said you’d prosecuted. Real rough-looking.”

Wild ginseng fetched a pretty price, and it was generally illegal to harvest the plant without a permit or out of season. Poachers looked for it in any forested places they suspected they could find it, often taking immature plants and threatening its overall survival. Since our area contained remote forested state and federal lands, reports of ginseng poaching were common.

“Ivan involved in ginseng poaching? That’s hard to believe.”

“Don’t look so surprised. It goes on all over the place around here,” my father said. “I gave Ivan a good warning about that, and about disappearing as well. Told him next time he pulls a no-show, he’s fired.”

After the requisite comments about my car and the alleged necessity of replacing it, I moved it next to my father’s vehicle as Ivan emerged from the garage. I popped my trunk and began to help with the unloading.

“Don’t bother with that, ma’am,” Ivan drawled.

I’d been ma’amed. I felt a million years old.

“I don’t mind,” I said as I studied him.

The thin layer of facial hair was gone, although he was still sporting that old leather hat along with his regular dark gray work clothes.

He seemed thinner than I remembered, if that were possible. Perhaps it was because he looked tired.

I decided to see what I could pull out of him.

“Where have you been, Ivan? My dad was worried about you.”

“My lawyer told me not to say nothin’.”

“Oh, of course,” I stammered. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry—”

“But I don’t care no more,” Ivan said as he finished putting the last of the bags into the trunk and slamming it shut. “No use denyin’ I was out doin’ stuff I shouldn’t. Been ginseng huntin’ with Cletus in the hills. Had to tell the sheriff, then them state cops. Now they’re out lookin’ for Cletus. But it weren’t him or me that done in Dirk.”

My stomach clenched with the realization that Ivan was afraid of more than Cletus.

Like being accused of murder.

Self-interest allowed me to be flooded with relief at the revelation. But my respite from anxiety subsided when my gut told me there was no way Ivan—wiry, naïve, ignorant Ivan—could be involved with the murder.

“Dirk? What did he have to do with any of this?”

Ivan gave me a sheepish look as he continued moving the groceries.

“Him and me used to go ginseng huntin’, too, see? Cletus taught me how to do it. One time, we went ‘round Dirk’s place out there in the woods. Dirk must’ve heard me and Cletus talkin’ about it. So then Dirk—well, he sorta said I should teach him how to do it, too.”

Translation: Dirk caught Ivan and Cletus trespassing on his land, maybe crept up on them as they talked about their poaching plans.

But instead of confronting them and telling them to get off his land, Dirk later told Ivan what he’d overheard. Made Ivan teach him how to hunt the stuff or take a share of the cut.

And if Ivan didn’t give in?

Well, he’d just call the authorities and Ivan’s little criminal side gig would come to an abrupt end. A wee bit of blackmail by Dirk to earn some bucks.

“But you said that this Cletus… he didn’t have anything to do with…”

Ivan shook his head. “No way. It weren’t Cletus. I went to Dirk’s place that Friday night before he died. He wanted me to come over, so I got me a boat from the marina—just borrowed, y’see. Didn’t steal it. I took it over to a little inlet near Dirk’s place. I came outta the woods around the water and walked toward his place when I seen someone lurkin’ outside. That sorta scared me—wondered if it could be Cletus at first, but then I figured it wasn’t.”

Ivan was scared, as he should have been. Cletus Purcell was a nasty piece of work, as I had learned from prosecuting him for his less-than-neighborly conduct toward his neighbors.

Suddenly that bad behavior made more sense to me: Cletus was scaring them away from his land, and away from his illegal activities. A bully like that could have easily coerced and cajoled someone like Ivan into a little illegal activity here and there.

And Ivan certainly wouldn’t have wanted Cletus to know he was moonlighting on him by “teaching” Dirk.

So if Ivan thought for a second that Cletus was hanging around Dirk’s place, it probably meant trouble—trouble which Ivan was wise to try to avoid.

“But how do you know it wasn’t Cletus you saw?”

“Person I seen that night wasn’t same size. Too small, too short. Reckon whoever I did see was the one to plug up Dirk’s propane line. Anyway, I hightailed it outta there. But before I could get back to my boat, I heard a screech of tires and a thud. Well, I knew what that was—someone had hit a deer out there on the road near Dirk’s place. I figured it was the person I seen messin’ ‘round Dirk’s place, tryin’ to get outta there quick.

“Anyways, next mornin’, I went out looking for that deer with Stan—I told him I was out there the night before and thought I seen somethin’. He didn’t buy that ‘cause he knew that if I thought there was a fresh kill there, I’d just have stopped then and there for it. So I had to tell him about the boat and goin’ over to Dirk’s. But when we got there, I seen skid marks where someone had slammed on the brakes to avoid the deer, but there weren’t no deer. I figured we just hadn’t gotten there in time, that some other lucky fella come upon the deer earlier in the mornin’ and hauled it off.”

Lucky—that’s how Stan described someone who had stumbled upon roadkill.

It often happened in the area. Any hunter who came upon a recently-hit deer would have been able to tell that it hadn’t been dead for long.

“Well,” I said, “whoever hit that deer probably didn’t think they were so lucky—they didn’t stop for it. But at least they were lucky enough to drive away. Didn’t you tell me that someone died in the past few months near there after hitting a deer?”

He confirmed my recollection. “I heard that poor lady was kin to Dalton, in fact.”

“Hey, Ivan,” my dad yelled from inside the garage. “Need you to take the tow truck out to Sophie Sharp’s place. Says her car is making a bad noise now after an accident and she’s afraid to drive the thing. And I need to you drop by the post office and mail a package for us, too, since you’ll be out.”

“Hang in there, Ivan,” I said as he walked toward the tow truck parked in front of the garage.

“I didn’t do nothin’ to Dirk,” he declared as he left me.

I believed him.

But the question remained.

Who killed Dirk?