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Jacob smiled. He never knew he was a storyteller. He might just write a novel someday, too. He drank a little more beer. Stifled a burp. Picked up from where he had stopped.
“The handle broke off, setting the bucket free. It plummeted, landing hard on its side. The skeletal remains of a human hand bounced out.”
“Wow.”
“Dick screamed. Jumped up and grabbed the low end of the slanted bucket handle, brought it down and tied it and the rope around his waist. Shouted for Harry to get him out of there. Working in concert, Harry and Tom turned the crank faster and faster. Dick was nearly hysterical by the time his friends pulled him up to safety. He told them about the hand. Told them, all the time he was down there he’d been standing on top of a dead body. They hightailed it over to Homer’s grocery store a little ways up the state highway. A cashier called the police. The boys were told to go home. Officers were dispatched to the property. Long story short, it turned out to be the body of a woman. The hand belonged to a woman.”
“I understood the first time,” she said.
“All right, well, this is the strange part, at least to me. After an extensive investigation they concurred the woman had died accidentally. The detectives believed she’d gone for a walk, stopped at the well either for a drink of water or to sit down on the edge of it and rest, then fell in. The biggest detail the cops failed to deal with, though, was the fact that the body appeared to have been naked. No clothing, or any kind of cloth, was in or near the well. The COD, er, the cause of death, was a broken neck. But, did that occur before or after she went into the well?”
Cigarette smoke swirled up lazily, stinging his eyes. He had a satisfying gulp of beer. The plan he sought earlier had finally arrived.
“Sounds plausible to me. Fifteen feet deep? Sitting on the edge, perhaps leaning over to grab the bucket to get a drink of water? Yeah, it’s easy to picture her, or anybody, losing their balance, falling in, and breaking their neck.”
“Sure, but there were still some unanswered questions. First, where the hell were her clothes? I don’t know why, but I just don’t believe she wandered around the place in the nude, deliberately. Anything’s possible, I guess. The property is fairly isolated. Second, who concealed her body with dirt? Who put the boards in place?”
“Good questions. Why weren’t they asked back then when it mattered?”
“My point, exactly. No one’s lived there for years, so any explanation seemed reasonable. By the way, I don’t mean to criticize your theory, but if the bucket had water in it, I doubt it would’ve been hanging in midair. Usually, the bucket is placed on the edge of the well by the ladle. So I doubt she leaned over to get a hold of it. Just thought I’d mention it.”
“And so you did. That’s why you’re a cop and I’m not. Eh?” said BJ, resisting imitating Barnaby Thomas’s British accent, while at the same time, curious why she wasn’t angry over having another idea of hers being kicked to the curb.
Unsure how it happened, but the plan was clear as a window. “Other than my job, I’m not doing anything special with my time. How ‘bout I give you a hand with this story? Nonfiction type crime stuff. Right up my alley.” Jacob flinched over the wording of the last sentence.
“I-I don’t know.”
“It’s up to you, ma’am, but as you know, nonfiction is based on real facts. With fiction, you can just make the shit up as you go along.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d stop calling me ma’am.”
She didn’t respond to my offer of assistance.
A lengthy pause.
“Okay, scratch that idea,” Jacob said, grumpily. “You clearly don’t need my help to write a book. So how about this? One of these days, and only if you’re truly interested and only if I have as much time on my hands as I do now, I’ll drive you to the farm so you can view the crime scene firsthand.”
“I know you mean well. I’m just not too wild about the thought of going out there.” BJ twirled her hair in her hand, something she hadn’t done in a long time. She felt uneasy.
Jacob had grown weary of her whining and indecisiveness. Before, she seemed so much older and wiser than a lot of twenty-six-year-olds.
A throaty wheeze. “It’s up to you, Miz Donovan, but if you ask me, I think the story would read a lot better if you described the place using firsthand knowledge rather than relying solely on your imagination. But then, I’m not able to walk around in your imagination, so there’s that.”
BJ frowned. What?
Jacob finished the bottle of beer. Hurried to the kitchen for another one.
“From your perspective, I guess, it does make more sense. How can I write effectively about a place I’ve never seen?” Or have I? Something hiding in the dark corners of her mind refused to reveal itself.
“Good. Let me know when. Maybe I won’t be tied down with a new case.”
“I realize that, but you see, I’m not quite ready to visit the place. I mean, I need to outline the story. Do some research. Have a general plan for what I’m doing.” BJ looked at the wall, unable to believe her own bullshit. “I’ll get back to you, ASAP. Is this good?”
“I’ll be waiting. In the meantime, I’m not sure what else I can tell you about the place. If you need any other information, police procedurals, that kind of stuff, feel free to call me.”
“I do have one question. I’d like to know what type of firearm a police officer carries. One of my new characters is a cop, you see. I want to get the facts right, even though it’s fiction.”
“Sure. I have a Glock.”
“Thanks, Detective Schein. You were far more helpful than Detective Cantin.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.” Said the spider to the fly.