Creeps, Cache, & Corpses, page 6
As she drove in the direction dictated by her GPS and specified in part one of the cache, I took in the patches of snow lingering on the dark soil in the vast fields and skeletal forests in the landscapes of the family farms, blurring as we whizzed by. The girls tossed around ideas for the solutions.
“What’s a Code Talker?” Kindra asked.
The pretzel contortion I performed to face the back seat caused them to laugh. “Code talkers were Native American United States servicemen who used their indigenous languages to send secret, encrypted messages. In World War I, Choctaw, Cherokee, and Lakota soldiers trained to send encoded radio and telephone transmissions. During World War II, the Navajo, Hopi, Meskwaki, and Comanche United States Marine Code Talkers relayed communications the enemies never understood.”
Kindra continued scanning the cache description. “Who’s Winnie Breegle?”
“Wow. That’s a blast from the past.”
“Do you know who she is?” asked Carlee.
“In one of my classes, I watched a video she headlined. Winifred Breegle enlisted in the Navy as a WAVE in World War II and trained as a cryptographer.”
Patricia touched my shoulder. “Like you,” she mouthed.
“Maybe in my dreams.” A snicker escaped and I added soberly, “More than four hundred bilingual Marines used the Navajo language to exchange messages indecipherable to the enemy.” Patricia watched my lips and I articulated carefully. “Winifred was one of the women who learned the skill and, in her way, helped win the war.”
Carlee’s fidgeting stopped.
Kindra tilted her head and handed me her phone. “How does that help with this cache description?”
I read the name of the cache, ‘Yá'át'ééh,’ the blurb, and the hint. “Good one.” I searched for the Code Talker dictionary on my phone and handed both phones back. “What do you think?”
A pencil and paper appeared from Carlee’s backpack, and the girls bent over the screens, pointing, scribbling, signing, and whispering.
As we crested a large hill, I sucked in a breath at the magnificent sight of the mirrored surface on a large body of pewter-colored water surrounded by rolling hills. We drove under a hanging wooden county park sign, the painted words peeling in chips of black and white.
“What a view,” Jane said. Gravel crunched under the wheels as she pulled into the empty lot. “We’re here.” She shifted into park. One hand released her seatbelt and the other popped her door.
Carlee jammed her index finger into the air. “One sec.”
Jane unlatched the tailgate and clipped a leash on Renegade. As I lassoed Maverick, the girls jumped out.
Patricia lifted bright eyes and a beaming face. “C-U-L-V-E-R-T.” she pronounced the letters as she signed.
Scraggly trees, just coming awake from their winter dormancy, formed a channel we navigated to the water’s edge. Trickling rivulets of melting ice ran off the stones and splashed to life in the lake. Bird song gave a suggestion of warmth to the crisp air, hinting at spring.
We untethered the dogs, and they raced back and forth, down to the water and up into the gentle hills, tracking unknown scents, zigzagging in and out of sight. When they were gone too long, I trekked off the path to get their attention and called them back. Maverick returned from one excursion, dragging a narrow, pointed branch. When I envisioned the sharp end impaling him or Renegade or someone else, I ordered him to drop it. Thinking it was a game, he played keep away until I latched on to the sharp tip. Immediately forgotten, he dashed near the girls and the charred end crumbled in my hand, dusting my pants with steel gray ashes. I tossed the offending stick over a tiny ravine and into the trees beyond, bringing to mind a javelin or flaming arrow.
“I’d call that about a two,” Jane said, laughing at my extreme lack of distance.
I brushed my dirty fingers on my pants, leaving dusky smudges, and we continued onto the grounds. The coordinates brought us to a small boat landing. Fifty yards south, a narrow car path crossed over corrugated steel.
Their eyes met, and the girls bolted to the possible hiding place, legs churning, hair flying, arms flailing, giddy and giggling.
Jane held tight to Renegade after seeing Maverick lurch from my grip. He barreled after the girls, loping and barking, overtaking them. Carlee reached the spot right after he did and bent over at the waist, panting. Maverick snuffled the ground, occasionally yapping. Kindra followed closely, nabbed the end of his loose lead, and waited for her sister. Patricia jogged into position. Maverick continued woofing. Still breathing heavily, Kindra tightened her hold on Maverick’s leash and gave Patricia the go-ahead.
Patricia briskly rubbed her hands together and grinned. She knelt, examined the opening, and reached in. The tube devoured her arm up to her shoulder. Patricia burrowed deeper. Still unable to find anything she leaned away and peered into the pipe. We heard a plaintive cry. She rolled back and quickly crab-walked away, her face wearing a mask of horror.
ELEVEN
Thirty minutes later, I stood beneath a wooden shelter answering official questions, shivering.
“These aren’t ideal conditions for hiking the county park trail.” The thin, nervous, young officer had introduced himself as Deputy Gray. He jotted another note on his electronic tablet. “Tell me again what you were doing out here.”
“Geocaching.” Nothing but his intense eyes moved, shifting to look at me. I shuddered, remembering the first body I’d found while geocaching. “The coordinates took us to the boat landing, and the hint brought us to the culvert where we found the body.”
“Which one of you called 911?”
“I did,” said Jane, standing guard over the girls.
He went back to his notes. “Did you know the victim?”
I breathed deeply. “It’s Edith Farthington.”
He stopped writing. “Do you know anyone who would have wished her dead?”
I didn’t appreciate the look he gave me and shook my head. “We just met her last night. We’re staying at the White Star Inn.” I straightened and willed myself more backbone. “Ask Mr. Farthington.”
“You do know you’ve compromised the crime scene.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “How else could we determine if she needed help?”
The collapsible metal gurney rattled across the lawn. Two EMTs transported the remains to a black bag, hoisted it to the gurney, and tightened the straps before rolling the body back the way they’d come. Jane wrapped her arm around Patricia, hugged her, and continued to console her as Kindra signed calming words. When they’d clattered out of sight, I turned to the young man. “What else can I tell you? Deputy Gray, I need to get the girls out of the cold.”
Renegade and Maverick curled up next to Carlee. Her eyes scanned the road, waiting for a response to the text messages she’d sent her dad and Galen. When a giant truck barreled into view, kicking up a plume of gravel, Carlee pulled her coat tighter, and her voice hitched. “Dad.”
Before the dust settled, CJ dropped from the cab. Under duress, his limp was more pronounced, and he hobbled to Carlee, wrapping her in a huge embrace and planting a kiss on the top of her head. Galen stood tall, a foot behind CJ in unparalleled support.
CJ drew himself to an imposing height. “Officer—”
“Deputy Gray.”
“Deputy Gray.” Gray shook the hand offered. “Dr. Chantan John Bluestone. This is my daughter.” He tugged Carlee closer. “And these are her friends. Why are they being kept outside, in the cold? If you need to talk to them, surely you have an office. We can meet you there.”
Deputy Gray closed the cover on his tablet and said, “You’re all free to go but please don’t discuss anything that’s happened here with anyone else. We haven’t yet notified next of kin.” He pivoted with military precision and then turned back and added, “It’s crucial you stay in town. Sheriff Zasko will be stopping by the inn later.”
Jane whistled. I saw her astonished recognition of the name we’d overheard in the salon, Zasko, and she tried to conceal it by talking animatedly to the girls.
Kindra, Patricia, Maverick, and I filled Jane’s seats and trailed CJ, Carlee, Galen, and Renegade to the inn. The silence in the vehicle allowed for terrible thoughts to swirl in my head. I couldn’t believe Edith was dead. Murdered. Edith hadn’t crawled into the culvert herself.
Dry grass clung to the front of my jacket. I brushed at my muddy knees, further fixing the damp dark stains in the denim, and I wrinkled my nose. I scraped light colored dust from beneath my ruined nails and chewed the inside of my cheek. It had been quite a job for Jane and me to dislodge Edith from the pipe, hoping for a chance to save her. But the bloody wounds on her head and in her chest had done their deadly deeds. It hadn’t been self-induced.
“Who could have killed her?” Kindra asked in a soft voice.
“That’s not our job, hon,” said Jane. “Let the sheriff and his fine deputies figure this one out.” She gave me a side glance and said softly, “Do you think we’re safe at the inn?”
I thought for few seconds before answering. “No one here knows us. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt us, but we’ll discuss safety with Sheriff Zasko. Dr. Bluestone will know what to do.”
We pulled up behind CJ. In the light of the day, the fresh paint on the Tudor revival and meticulously cared for yard would have given the inn welcoming vibes if I hadn’t known better.
I breathed in and opened my door. We had to do more than make the kids feel safe. We had to ensure they were.
The nine of us trudged silently up the hill. Galen opened the door and we entered, following CJ to the dining room. He gestured for us to take seats around the table.
“This is not turning out to be the week we had planned.”
So caught up in the death of Edith, I’d forgotten for a moment the real reason we’d come. “What did you find out about Danica?”
CJ’s chin rose and his black eyes went flat. “I met with the head of the department who assured me, even though the hospital changed hands, they kept meticulous records. They searched three years before and after Carlee’s birthdate for any female bodies left at the hospital, identified or not. There were none. We do not know where Danica is.”
He cleared his throat. “It seems Edith worked evening admissions over the six years we searched, and if anyone would have known about Danica, it would have been Edith Farthington.”
“Dad, now we’ll never know.” Carlee burst into tears and buried her face in Galen’s chest.
When Carlee’s sobs eased, CJ said, “My initial meeting with the parish priest, Father Svoboda, was cut short. I have another appointment with him tomorrow afternoon. He believes a memorial Mass will give us the peace we seek, and I concur.” He touched the tip of Carlee’s nose. “We will hold the service on Monday afternoon after your grandparents arrive. You …” His open-handed gesture circled the table. “You mean the world to us, and Carlee and I invite you to share in the preparations, in whatever manner you choose.”
He forced out his next words. “After we talk to the sheriff, we should be free to come and go as we choose.”
The dining room door banged open. Ryker and his cronies tumbled into the room, laughing and jostling each other. They seemed surprised by our presence. “What’s going on here?” Ryker said, haughtily. “It looks like you’re holding a funeral.”
Galen rose so quickly, his chair screeched across the floor and slammed into the paneling behind him. In three strides, he had reached out, gripped Ryker’s collar, and lifted him to his toes.
“Hey man, what’s your problem?” Ryker whined and looked to his pals for support. They backed away when CJ rose.
“You’re my problem.” Galen twisted the collar and Ryker squeaked. “Man.”
“Galen.” At the staid sound of CJ’s voice, Galen conspicuously released his hold on Ryker and raised both hands. He patted Ryker’s chest with exaggerated movements, smoothing the fabric, and stepped back. His body language relayed a truce, but his eyes flamed.
Ryker straightened his shirt and snickered, suggesting he had not been impressed, but his words came out an octave higher than expected. “It’s been fun, folks.” He and his buddies turned and fled under CJ’s scrutiny.
“I think it would be best to avoid that crew whenever possible,” I said. “They’re on their spring break and know no boundaries.” Our kids nodded solemnly.
“We’re on our spring break too,” Galen muttered.
Lauren rushed in at the back of the room, arms laden with trays of fixings for sandwiches. “Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was waiting.” She slid the trays onto the sideboard and disappeared in a whirl. We looked at each other in confusion.
“Kids, remember what we were told at the lake.” I touched my lips and hoped they understood my inference not to say anything until Sheriff Zasko arrived,
Time had smashed together, and I hadn’t registered hunger until the soup tureen she brought back landed heavily on the countertop. “Help yourselves to Vomacka and my special pickled banana peppers.” She raised the lid on the soup and inhaled. “One of my best, even if I do say so myself.” She replaced the lid, and, before anyone could ask ‘what’s Vomacka?’ she vanished again.
Jane said, “Even if you don’t feel like it, I expect you all to fix yourself something. It’s noon. We don’t want anyone collapsing from starvation. Galen, why don’t you lead the way?”
Galen kept his eating eagerness in check and assembled only two sandwiches before returning to the table. I urged the girls to follow. They each put together a small lunch. “I know you probably don’t have much of an appetite, but you need to eat. Then maybe we can, parroting my dear friend, Ms. Mackey, do some retail therapy.” I filled cups with vegetables swimming in the rich, creamy broth, wafting with dill, and delivered them.
Galen left nothing on his plate nor in the cup but didn’t go back for seconds. The girls picked at the sandwiches, nibbling at the edges, but the warm, tangy soup was comfort food for us all.
Their troubled faces morphed into inquisitive expressions, and my students converted Edith Farthington’s tragic murder into an urgent discussion. They approached the issue with logic and detachment. Unfortunately, they’d had practice.
Concentrating on what had happened during the day and listening intently to each other, we never heard the front door open.
TWELVE
Carlee said, “I’ve been thinking about Mrs. Farthington. We didn’t know her long, but we saw how prickly she could be.”
“What about the fight we heard when we arrived last night?” Kindra said, slurping. “Someone didn’t sound very happy. You heard them, Ms. Wilk. Did you recognize the voices?
“One was definitely Mrs. Farthington, and the other was probably Reggie. I had a feeling there might have been a third individual, but I couldn’t say for sure. I never saw who was arguing.” I shrugged.
Carlee cleared her throat. “The women in the beauty shop didn’t have very nice things to say about Mrs. Farthington. They were downright mean. I’m sure the hairdressers would know the women. And what about that philandering Zasko guy?”
Before I could direct the colorful conversation in a new direction, Jane sat back and said, “There was also that man who came to the door last night while we were eating supper.”
Patricia’s head flew side to side, catching the volley of hypotheses. Jane put a calming hand on Patricia’s shoulders and waited for her to catch up. “Mrs. Farthington didn’t seem pleased with him either.” She looked up at a corner in the room, contemplating. “I guess it could’ve been Zasko.”
Patricia signed the words and said, “Mrs. Farthington acted inconvenienced and not happy when Ryker and his friends arrived last night.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed CJ’s shoulders tightened. He placed his hands on the table, on either side of his plate, and rose.
“That is enough speculation. We cannot make assumptions. We will not get involved …” His eyes fixed on me. “… again.”
No one moved until a soft knock on the jamb broke the stillness.
A round-faced, portly man with a bristly pate stuck his head around the corner. “Excuse me, but I need some help.”
CJ stood. “Come in. We are guests here but will do what we can.”
“I don’t mean to be a bother.” He stepped into the room. “I’m Sheriff Zasko.” The uniform and badge were a dead giveaway, and my heart quaked, the nervous flutter that happens when I see a police car pointing a radar gun even when I’m cruising at the speed limit. “You found the body of Edith Farthington,” he said. “I have a few more questions. Would you mind sharing your observations with me?”
CJ stiffened. Even though his October encounter with police in Columbia resolved in his favor, I imagined he might still be wary of officers of the law. He and the sheriff faced off, gauging the other’s weaknesses or strengths. Eventually, CJ relented. “Please, take a seat.” CJ introduced us and explained our mission in town.
Sheriff Zasko nodded. “After I read the statements you gave Deputy Gray, I checked you out. Columbia’s Chief West was reservedly complimentary.” His tone was slightly accusatory, very much like Chief Amanda West’s might be. I’m sure she had plenty to say. He ran a hand over his face. “Murder is a dreadful occurrence in any community, but this one is personal. I’ve known Edith since first moving here. I’m sorry your plans in our town have been disrupted.” He finally sat and pulled out a small notebook and pen. We stared at him. “Can you take me through it again?”
* * *
Sheriff Zasko identified the women in the salon; apparently everyone knew everyone in this town and the Saturday clients never altered their beauty makeover schedules. He showed us a photo, and we readily recognized Willy Zasko with his bushy eyebrows and shaggy moustache. He’d met Ryker and crew last evening when they had words at the festival, following a complaint by one of the customers.
