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BOB DIDN’T EVEN look up from the cribbage board when Reebok handed him a note. He kept his face straight when he read it. "Thanks, Garner. Make a note of it, will you?" He checked his cards and moved his peg.
Fortunately, nobody seemed to pay any attention. Bob played out that round, admitted defeat, bringing a wide smile to his father-in-law’s face, and stood. He headed for the bathroom under the stairs.
Nicholas Foley DMD under investigation by state dental assoc for endangering a patient.
After he added a scoop of sawdust to the composting toilet, he wandered over toward the office.
As soon as the door was locked behind him, he asked, "Did you find out who the complainant was?"
"She wouldn’t tell me, of course. She had to look up the Martinsville police department phone number and call me back, but I’d forwarded the calls to here, so when it rang I answered like I was in the station."
Bob nodded. "Good thinking." He was doubly glad he’d unplugged the phone in the kitchen.
"Like I said, she wouldn’t tell me at first. I asked if the name might be Hubbard Martin, and she still wouldn’t say anything, said they were still looking into the complaint." He glanced down at his notebook. "Since September eighteenth, which is when the complaint was filed. But then I told her I was investigating last night’s murder of Hubbard Martin. I mentioned I could subpoena their records, and she couldn’t cough up the information fast enough."
"Hubbard Martin?"
Reebok nodded.
Bob felt sorry for the clerk who’d given Garner the details. Come Monday, that person might out of a job.
"It was listed as H Martin from Martinsville, but there aren’t any other H Martins in town as far as I know."
"How’d you find somebody at work there on a Sunday?"
"I know somebody."
"Of course. Don’t you always?"
Garner gave a self-satisfied smile.
"Hubbard puts in a complaint to the dental association." Bob was thinking out loud, but that was the way he operated sometimes, and Garner knew it, so he kept quiet. "Nick finds out about it somehow. Then Nick kills Hubbard? How would he have known, though? Known it was Hubbard who turned him in?"
Reebok rolled his eyes. "They informed him."
Bob grunted. "Great. It never occurred to them they were supplying a perfect motive for murder?"
"The woman I talked with said it had been a clerical error that H. Martin’s name wasn’t deleted from the notice they sent Dr. Foley."
"What was the complaint about?"
"Is Dr. Foley your dentist?"
"No, Biscuit and I go to Dr. Carleton up in Braetonburg. Always have."
"Good."
Bob didn’t like the tone. "What’d he do?"
"Apparently he’s not as careful as he needs to be about wearing a face shield or gloves or something. He spread"—Reebok turned a bright crimson—"he spread an STD. Even though he knew he was infected, he didn’t take extra precautions."
"Whoa!" Of everything Bob could have thought of, that was the very last. "Foley finds out in mid-September, and Hubbard Martin gets pushed off the cliff the next week."
"Uh-huh."
"Whoever pushes him assumes he’s dead."
"Logical," Reebok said, "what with him falling that far."
"And doesn’t even bother to go down and look. Finds out the next day that he survived, but Hubbard is in the hospital, out of circulation."
"So to speak."
"No chance to get to him, but it doesn’t matter because Hubbard can’t communicate, and everybody in Martinsville knows about it."
"And then," Reebok said, "they end up stranded in the the same house."
"And Hubbard starts to say a few words."
"Bingo." Reebok snapped his fingers. "Do we arrest him now?"
"We still don’t have proof."
"But—"
"No. He’s not going anywhere. Not as long as he doesn’t know we suspect him. We need more details, more hard facts. We’ll need to think about this carefully before we move."
Reebok sighed and picked up his hot chocolate. It was cold.
~ ~ ~
"THIS NEXT ONE," IDA said, "is from April 1780."
"It doesn’t look like there are that many pages left," Maddy said.
"We already knew that," Charlie told her.
I could almost hear the 'Duh' on the end of her sentence.
What is a duh?
I looked at Sadie, whose eyes were narrowed dangerously.
"As I was saying," said Ida.
Tuesday 18 April 1780
There is such unrest in town, as families are divided in what they believe to be the best course. Fortunately, General Cornwallis controls all of this colony, so we appear to be safe from the forces of Mister Washington.
"She was on the redcoat side?" Anita sounded thoroughly indignant.
Carol sighed. No wonder. We’d already covered this ground before Anita arrived. "Both sides had valid reasons for the stance they took. Remember that the status quo is easier to support than any sort of upheaval."
"Experience hath shown," Maddy said, and Carol shot her an appreciative look, "that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed."
Anita glared at Maddy. "What on earth are you spouting off about?"
"That’s a quotation from our Declaration of Independence," Maddy snapped, "which every one of us in this room ought to recognize right off. Jefferson was saying exactly what Carol just did. People generally go along with a lot of awful stuff for a long time before they work up the gumption to do something about it."
I was glad I’d recognized the quotation. Of course I would. Bob and I read the Declaration of Independence before breakfast every July fourth. It was something my late husband and I used to do, and when I married Bob I asked him if he’d like to continue the practice. When you’ve read something twenty or thirty times, you tend to remember it. Especially something that remarkable.
There is no need for an army of any sort to invade our quiet valley, though. I do believe Silas Martin chose well in finding this place for us, although I find myself wondering how the people of Brandtburg fare in the conflict. I know not whether they are involved in any way, for neither the newspaper nor the few travelers we receive bring us news of happenings that far to the north. After all, the people of our former home do not live in one of the thirteen colonies.
"At least she’s not afraid to mention Brandtburg any more," Rebecca Jo said, which of course necessitated an explanation of Homer’s ban on mentioning that name. At this rate, it would be next summer before we got through the rest of the diary and the letters.
As if to punctuate my complaint, rain spattered even more heavily on the roof, and I noticed that it was getting considerably warmer up here. The outside temperature was obviously rising, and the wood stove didn’t seem to be needed as much. If this kept up, everybody would be leaving soon. Didn’t I hope.
I took off my fleece vest and hung it over the back of my chair.
My grandchildren Jerrod and Marella continue to bring much joy to our small household. I had hoped that my son might remarry—it has been eight years since his wife’s death—but he shows no desire to do so. Although my days might be easier with a younger woman here, I find that I have become so used to managing this household, I rather enjoy the comparative freedom I have, and John does not appear to be lonely. It is good to see him so well respected by the townsfolk, and I hope to live long enough to see Jerrod grown into a position of authority as well.
"But," I said, "Jerrod won’t get to be the town council chair until John dies."
"I can’t believe that’s what Mary Frances means," Ida said. "She certainly isn’t hoping her son dies before she does."
"Maybe," Glaze suggested, "by this time they’d started to divide up some of the responsibilities of the council, and she hoped to see him in one of those positions."
"Conjecture," Carol said, her tone sharp enough to quell any further guesses.
I cannot help but wonder what life will be like in this valley fifty years from now, a hundred years. Will this town thrive, or will our young men and their families drift away as so many have done? There has been a recent exodus of sorts to towns farther up the valley, as Garner Creek and Breetonburg
"Oh," Ida said, "Breetonburg with two e’s. You’d think it would have stayed that way instead of changing the first e to an a."
"Martin’s Village changed to Martinsville," Maddy said. "I can’t see why all the other names couldn’t have changed, too."
Without waiting for other comments, Ida read on.
as Garner Creek and Breetonburg have spread so into sizable settlements. Many, too, have left to join in the fighting, some on the side of the King, and some with the rebellious few. I will not list the ones who have gone, toting their many rifles and their few swords. To date, none has returned, and there are many women feeling alternately hopeful and bereft. Enough of our men remain, though, to sustain the workings of the town. We still have ample arable land to support many more families. Glad I am that my John is happy to remain here and lead the town, for I could not in good conscience leave my husband’s grave.
I glanced over at Anita and Clara. They both probably thought she was talking about Homer Martin’s grave. Just as well, although I didn’t know how much longer we’d be able to avoid bringing Clara—and Anita—up to date.
"So, John didn’t go off to war," Sadie said. "I’m glad. I would have hated for him to be hurt."
"He could have been hurt crossing the street at home," Charlie said. "Hit and run."
"With a farm wagon?" Dee sounded disgusted.
"War hurts people in other ways. Not just bullet wounds or"—Sadie gestured toward the diary—"sword slashes. Nobody goes to war and returns the same."
There didn’t seem to be any reply to that, but Sadie wasn’t finished. "Nobody can kill another person without being affected deeply, no matter how much they think it’s justified."
I watched as a muscle twitched beside Charlie’s eye. I found myself tensing, just in case.
In case of what?
Nobody else seemed to notice anything. I caught Sadie’s eye and shook my head slightly. She was playing with fire.
Fire? What fire?
Marmalade sat up suddenly and looked around.
Carol’s head whipped in our direction and she stared at Marmy for a moment, then seemed to relax. I wondered what that was all about.
"That’s it for this entry," Ida said. "Amanda?"
"This is the last letter." She held it up. "It’s dated October eighteenth, 1786."
"Eighty-six," Pat squawked. "What do you mean eighty-six? What happened to"—she leaned to her left and looked behind her at the stack of already-read letters on the card table—"to 1780 and the rest of those years?"
Amanda spread her hands, and the letter fluttered gently. "It’s not my fault. That’s what the date says."
I jumped in before Pat could object any more. "What about the diary, Ida? Mary Frances must have written something covering those missing years."
Ida raised an eyebrow. "There’s another entry all right, written at the end of October."
"Breaking her pattern again," Rebecca Jo said. "That’s good. Maybe now she’ll write more often."
"So I can relax." Amanda leaned against the back of her chair. "It’ll be six years till her 1786 letter to Myra Sue. Get busy reading, Ida."
Ida gave her a funny look that I couldn’t interpret, but lifted the diary into the lantern light.
31 October 1780
I thank Providence that the harvest is complete, for my bones feel afire with aching. I will not complain, though. The bounty of the harvest will carry us through this time of uncertainty ...
"The American Revolution," Ida said. "Is it still going on? Is that what she’s talking about?"
Carol nodded. "Most likely. The fighting didn’t end until 1783."
... although we were hard put to complete the harvest with so many of our menfolk gone. I will not list the ones who have died in the conflict, except to say that two of my nephews did not return. Constance is bereft, so much so that I wonder if she will ever leave off her mourning clothes. Her sons fought on opposing sides. I had hoped they did not have to face each other on a battlefield. I cannot bear to think of them fighting each other, but we learned, when we heard of their deaths, that they were indeed in the same battle. A 'skirmish' our informant called it. Now they lie together, just as they died together, so far from home in a grave marked only with a wooden cross.
"If they were buried together," I said, "they must have seen each other. Recognized each other."
"I just hope they weren’t the ones who shot each other," Melissa said.
I gestured to the diary. "Did the—what did she call him?—the informant tell her anything else?"
"Apparently not. Or at least she doesn’t mention it in here."
"Poor Constance," said Rebecca Jo. "I wonder how long she wore black?"
"A year and a day, most likely," Maddy said. "That was the convention at the time."
Sadie waved her hand back and forth, as if to erase something. "It wouldn’t matter. The hurt to her heart would always be there."
"I think," Carol said, "there was a lot to be said for the year and a day of mourning that so many people observed. Nowadays we’re gung-ho about keeping your chin up and getting back into a routine. But I’m not sure that helps the people who’ve lost someone, even if that loss was months before."
We all looked at Sadie, who nodded. Before Ida could begin reading, though, Sadie said, "I think I carried it on a little too long. Fifty years was definitely overdoing it."
The man who brought the unwelcome news has chosen to remain here in this town. He remarked on how difficult it was for him to find the opening to Russell’s Gap, and I daresay he prays that no-one from his company will follow him and haul him back to the fighting. As to the harvest, the oats and barley alone could keep us fed for months, and the root cellar that John and Silas dug for us into the steep rise next to the house is full almost to overflowing, and more yet to be harvested from the kitchen gardens.
"Clara, that’s your house she’s talking about."
Clara looked up at Ida with some surprise.
"Does it still have that root cellar?"
"No. Well, it had it, but it was dark and smelly. I had Hubbard brick up the door."
Her tone left no room for protest, but Maddy had to comment anyway. "Maybe there was a body in there."
~ ~ ~
1854
JANET MARTIN WAS exceedingly glad that her husband’s grandfather had dug such a capacious root cellar into the hillside. She only wished the door had been a bit wider. In the years since her marriage, her outline had spread considerably, and even now she had to turn to one side to manage the door. That, combined with a large basket of potatoes and squash, made it near impossible. It sent her back into a spasm almost every time as she twisted to one side in order to balance the basket on her hip and try to keep from setting her own skirts afire.
She had asked Ketchum repeatedly if there were something that could be done about it.
He saw no reason, he told her repeatedly.
She still complained repeatedly.
He was not the one who had to negotiate his way into the dreadful hole with a wavering candle and an unwieldy basket.
It had been some years since her son Tobe had lured his sister Aleeza into the cellar and then barred the door so she could not escape. The child’s screams had alerted everyone within a quarter mile. To this day, Aleeza would not enter the root cellar. To this day, Tobe most likely had scars on his behind from the lashing his father had given him all those years ago.
~ ~ ~
ANITA AND CLARA DIDN’T even bat an eye. They both knew—as did everyone in town—of Maddy’s preoccupation with murder stories.
"Is that it?" Dee asked.
"Nope," Ida said. "There’s more."
I am surprised that I can keep awake even to write this short entry. When people have been deprived, as we were on the last legs of our journey here, will they ever be able to stop blessing the plenteous foodstuffs that I—that we all—used to take so for granted where we lived before?
Perhaps, too, because I was deprived of my love on that journey, I am able now truly to rejoice in the presence of my son and his two children.
"That’s all she says for this entry." Ida held up the old book. "Don’t shoot the messenger, but her next entry is the last one. The very last one. She wrote it on Thanksgiving Day in 1800. That’s twenty years after this one about the harvest."
Amanda heaved an enormous sigh. "I guess it’s my turn, then." She held the Myra Sue letter for a moment before starting to read. "I’m just sorry to see these end."
"Perk up," Sadie said. "Maybe we’ll find another journal. We still have about a third of the attic to sort through."
"Not before supper," Pat said. "I’m getting hungry."
Glaze pointed to the letter and then the diary. "Do you want to finish these before we go downstairs?"
"Or save some suspense till tomorrow?" From the tone of her voice, I could tell Maddy was going to vote for the suspense part.
For me, I wanted everybody to leave tomorrow. There had been steady rain all day, enough to melt a lot of the ice. Maybe the electricity would come back on soon. I guessed nobody could leave until that happened, but I wanted my house back to myself. Myself and Bob.
And me.
And Marmalade.
The rest of the attic could wait.
"Let’s finish them now," Rebecca Jo said, with enough authority in her voice that nobody objected. "After all, we might be getting out of Biscuit’s hair tomorrow if this warm spell keeps up."
She must have read my mind.
18 October 1786
My dear Myra Sue,
I am loath to end these letters to you, but this is the last of the paper I have hoarded so carefully. Each year on the eighteenth of October I have sat, prepared to begin writing to you, but have been unable to bring myself to mar the pristine surface. I have feared for some time that the paper would grow brittle with age before I set words upon it. I wonder, too, if my memory has re-written any events I might recount to you.
"That reminds me of that old Lettermen song," I said.
What is a ledder mansong?
"Huh?" Maddy asked, at the same time Carol said, "The Lettermen were three men who used to sing together."
Maddy said thanks, but Carol pointed to Marmy. "I was explaining it to her."
"What old Lettermen song?" Dee asked.
"It was called Memories, I think. Anyway, it had a line in there about time re-writing every line."
"Maybe they read Mary Frances before we did," Dee drawled.
Ida puffed out her breath. "Re-written any events I might recount to you," she repeated.
Even if I have, you will without a doubt be able to sift the oats from the chaff.
"Oh," I said. "There’s another one."
Another what?
"What?" Amanda sounded like she was getting a bit peeved by these interruptions, but I couldn’t help it. "That poem or quotation or whatever," I said. "By Dinah somebody. I said something about it yesterday, or some time. Remember? About how good friends can talk to each other without filtering their thoughts because ..." I had to think for a moment. "The breath of friendship will blow the chaff away. I may not be reciting it exactly."
"Obviously not," Ida said.
There was a tragic death at Beechnut House a scant two years ago, when Bayard Griffin fell from the roof where he was installing his beautiful leaded glass windows—shaped like eyebrows, can you imagine?—on the front of Beechnut House.
"Your windows!"
I grinned at Ida. "Yep!"
"Don’t you think you’re a little hard-hearted," Pat asked, "to be so excited about the windows when this guy fell and died?"
I could see what she was saying, but at the same time I wanted to slap her upside the head. We’d all been together in this attic for way too long.
"I agree with Biscuit," Dee said. "It’s one more piece of the history of Beechnut House. And we’ve never heard of this Bayard guy, so it’s hard to feel too badly about losing him."
"But we have heard of him," Carol said.
Everybody looked as blank as I did.
"The glazier," she said. "The one who came to town with all his tools, remember?"
"That’s right," Melissa said. "Mary Frances mentioned him in one of her earlier letters to Myra Sue."
Amanda called us back to order.
Margaret told me that the windows, set into the brand new roof—much needed, for the old one had leaked for some time—were to have been all in glass, a special present from her husband. The death of Mister Griffin, though, with no one else to take his place, had them leaving the shutters in place on the windows at the back of the house. Someday, perhaps, the task will be completed, with glass all around.
"I’ll be doggoned," Sadie said. "Now we know."
Know what?
"Know what?" Carol asked.
"Why the front windows up here are so pretty and the ones on the back of the house are so ... so ordinary."
I couldn’t wait to tell Bob. He was probably bored out of his mind with all the card-playing. This would give him something interesting to think about.
~ ~ ~
REEBOK STROLLED OUT of the office and into the kitchen. The Chief looked up as he entered, and Reebok nodded as nonchalantly as he could manage. He needn’t have bothered. Nobody else in there gave a hoot.
"How’s it going, Garner?"
"Fine, Chief. I’m about a third of the way through those Keagan County traffic citations you wanted me to research." That should sound boring enough that nobody would ask him about it. "You can come take a look if you want to."
"Ha!" Dave said. "Like that’ll ever happen."
Reebok shrugged, grabbed a handful of potato chips and retreated to the office. He was maybe four feet through the kitchen archway when he heard Nick ask, "Traffic citations? What’s that about?"
"You know how it is," the Chief said. "I needed something to keep my deputy busy, and that was all I could think of."
"He’s probably gonna fall asleep over it," Dave said.
"Hmm. Maybe you’re right. I’ll go check up on him after we finish this hand."
Ten minutes or so later, the Chief came in, again locking the door behind him. "What do you have?"
"Dr. Foley’s sold his practice. He hasn’t announced it yet, but it looks like he’s planning to announce his retirement as of the first the year."
"Retiring," the Chief said. "That would solve a lot of problems."
"Right. He’s probably hoping to save face. In fact, if he relinquishes his license, the association says they may not press charges."
"The only problem it doesn’t solve is how to notify all his patients that they may need to have some tests done. It’ll make it hard on whoever’s bought the practice. Who was it, by the way?"
"Some woman who’s ready to give up her practice in the city and start over in a smaller town. Name’s Elizabeth Lange."
"She’s not trying to evade a problem, is she?"
"Nope. Dr. Lange checks out A-one. Good ratings from her patients, successful practice. She just wants to get away from the traffic."