Читать книгу Hell's Roundabout - Benjamin Vance - Страница 7

On Tuesday of the following week, results of fingerprinting were returned to the Sheriff’s Office. The prints for Mr. and Mrs. Davis were positive for the pair, but there were no fingerprints on file to match the third set of digits. The long wait for DNA and explosive residue results began.

The Coroner and Larry decided which parts would be submitted for explosive residue analysis and Les Gilbert alone took care of the DNA submissions. Deputy Clarence Shifley confirmed with a veterinarian in New York that the dog tag belonged to “Barf” Peterson, belonging to Mrs. Lois Peterson of St. Lawrence County, New York. The Sheriff was beside himself with the mystery of Mrs. Peterson and sought help from any duty Deputy he could find or corral. When he asked Army he was given an honest opinion he thought incredible.

Army offered, “For some reason, the folks in New York are mistaken about Mrs. Peterson being there. She was or is apparently a wealthy lady and there are thousands of schemes to pilfer people’s money, Sheriff. We hear about ‘em every day. Thieves are among the best inventors in the universe. As long as they can think of a way not to work and get someone else’s money, they’ll always come up with creative means. I think that’s what we’re up against here. Of course there’s always the possibility Mrs. Peterson got transported out here by a time machine.” He grinned.

The Sheriff didn’t catch the satire and was deep in thought. He responded with, “Perhaps some thieves or grifters took over her life and kept her in her home until they could get rid of her safely in some way. Maybe they stole her car or license plate and were making it to L.A. or Frisco with her money by the back roads and got caught up in this explosion at the roundabout, but why would they have her dog? Perhaps they used another dog for cover. Poodles are easy to come by, and they all look the same. Army, you wanna take a trip to New York? We have some DHS money to spend and I can consider this an explosion that needs investigating to rule out terrorism, so how about it?”

“Oh hell Boss, why me? What will I do about Charley?”

“My God man, you don’t have to ever worry about Charley. You have six or seven brother officers who’ll watch Charley. He can stay with me and Allie if you want. We’ll be glad to have him. You’ll only be gone a few days and it’ll get your mind off things here. You’ll have plenty of time to think and maybe come up with something substantial before the DNA comes back. Work with me Army; we need to show folks we’re occupied with this day and night and what better way than to send an officer of the county to New York to work with investigators there.”

“You make a great case Sheriff. I see where you’re coming from. Have you cleared it with New York yet?”

“Hell no, but I will just as soon as you let me know you’ll go.”

“Okay, sign me up, but you’ll have to advance me some money for a motel. I can handle the rest of it until I get reimbursed.”

“Thanks Army, don’t take a uniform, just your badge and ID. I’ll get your papers from the county today. Leave as soon as you can, and fly from the Bishop Airport. They need the passengers.”

***

We all know New York is butt-cold during December and Army took his winter clothes, but they weren’t nearly enough. It was four degrees Fahrenheit when he arrived in St. Lawrence County. He bought a parka and high over boots since the squeaking cold snow pack was already about 16 inches deep in drifts. He took the rental agency’s advice and rented a four-wheel drive vehicle and wished he had asked for an advance for that too. His motel was accommodating and warm, so it provided a nice attraction at the end of a day’s work. He checked in with the St. Lawrence County Sheriff’s Office and they allowed him unfettered access to Mrs. Peterson’s town and friends. They hadn’t seen the accident site; if they had, a deputy may have been assigned to accompany Army.

He started his quest in Star Lake, a community not much more than a wide spot in the road. He sought out the church Mrs. Peterson belonged to and found the Lutheran pastor, Reverend Shells and his wife. He seemed like a very nice man, and his wife insisted Army have lunch with them, since they didn’t get many out of town visitors in the winter and she was hungry for conversation. The rectory was old, but solid, warm and inviting. Lunch was chicken sandwiches, potato chips and drinks. The sandwiches were delicious.

Unhurried by the occupant’s demeanor or the outside weather, Army felt free and compelled to ask questions and explain why he was there, “I want to thank you for the delicious lunch and information about Mrs. Peterson, but I have to ask some more direct and perhaps personal questions regarding Mrs. Peterson, her life, friends and financial status. None of what you tell me will be made public, since I’ll be using the information to establish what Mrs. Peterson’s status is. However, if there is fowl play involved you may be called later to be deposed. Is that okay?”

The pastor and his wife gave the go ahead and Army asked and recorded those questions he’d outlined on the plane. He found Mrs. Peterson had many good friends and she was a regular tither and church attender. They both assumed she had wealth since she’d tithed very well, lived in a very large home and was never seen without proper conservative clothing. The pastor visited when she was sick and knew the home was full of priceless relics as well. She had a little white poodle named “Barf” and treated him like family, of which she had almost none. She doted on her only nephew, who the Pastor obviously didn’t like but prayed for, and she hardly ever left St. Lawrence County in her little Prius.

The Pastor and his wife both saw and greeted Mrs. Peterson during Bible study the night before she disappeared. Army asked if they noticed anything different about her that night and they both admitted she was her normal, quiet, kind self. That’s when Army asked the Pastor if he would accompany him to Mrs. Peterson’s home. Pastor Shells hesitated because he didn’t know who was sitting the house until Mrs. Peterson’s final disposition could be made. He asked to make a call and ended up making three, but finally decided that a local realtor could do more for Army than he could. He introduced Army over the phone and he made an appointment to see the realtor the next morning. The delay didn’t bother Army that much, because he was ready to get warm and shake the fatigue of jet lag.

He inspected the small community from its roads and returned to the motel about 3:00 p.m., where he found a young lady waiting for him. She introduced herself in the lobby as Chiara Logan. She’d rented a small cottage and workshop from Mrs. Peterson and said she would like to talk to him about Mrs. Peterson. He was delighted and offered to buy her coffee or tea and chat. They both had coffee while they talked in the motel’s warm restaurant.

“So you rented a place from Mrs. Peterson? Was she a good landlady?”

“ Absolutely, she was never nosy and always asked if I needed anything from the store or drug store or wherever she went with her dog, Barf. Initially, I thought she was just being nosy, but eventually I realized she was just lonely. She had no kids, just a nephew that seldom came around in his big Mercedes. She said the only time he visited was when he wanted something.”

“You mean money?”

“No … apparently everything else, including assistance with things at the county level. I guess he thought because she knew some important people; she could get them to help her nephew with real-estate deals and zoning; stuff like that. Anyway, every time he left, she would come over and ask if his visit bothered me. What she really wanted to do was to talk about him and what he wanted.”

“What do you do for a living Ms. Logan?”

“Please call me Chiara if you can; I’m an artist. I do pottery, paint landscapes, create vine art and I write some. I work during the winter and sell the stuff like crazy in the summer. I do okay … hey I actually have a painting I did of Lois. You can have it if you like. I think it’s a great likeness of her if it would help. She was a great lady … or … is I hope. I still rent from her, you know.”

“I’d love to take a photo of your painting, but can’t take the actual painting back on the plane unless it’s small. So tell me … what she liked to do with her time and tell me about other visitors and anything else you think might help.”

“Well, she loved being involved in her church, she loved her flower garden, and she loved her poodles. Barf was her latest and he was only about a year old. She lost her last one about two years ago. She named him “Pete” after her late husband … that was his nickname. Back to the point, she was involved with a quilting group, and she loved to drive the back roads around the lake and the area around the mine and to the spot where her husband and father are buried; it’s the family plot.”

Army broke into her concentration and asked, “Exactly where is this graveyard or family plot. I’d like to see it.”

“Well, you’d never find it by yourself, I’m afraid. I can take you there if you’d like, if that’s not too forward.”

“No mam, I’d love the company. Do you think we could go today or will it get dark too soon?”

“It’s not that far. We could be back by six, easily.”

“Okay, great, can I get my camera from the room? I’ll be right down.”

Army also slipped his voice-actuated recorder into an inside pocket of his parka. Being alone in a car with an unfamiliar woman in an unfamiliar place was career suicide if one didn’t cover one’s ass. He and she were on the way within minutes amid a light dusting of new snow. He asked about the possibility of a storm and she said it was just a light dusting which happened constantly during the winter due to lake effects.

Surprisingly, it only took about twenty minutes to arrive at the location of the family plot. It was on a hill, which would have been beautiful during the summer, and it overlooked an area which appeared to be an old strip mine with a lake and other nature slowly reclaiming it. Chiara explained that she helped Lois with flowers from time to time and they would bring them up to the graves and she would sit in the car while Lois visited with her departed husband. Army noticed old depressions in the snow, almost covered, but plain nonetheless. Another vehicle had visited the plot just days before.

He asked, “How many days of snow have you had in the last two weeks”?

She said, “Only two; last Thursday and Friday and it’s been spitting a little snow ever since.”

Army broke a limb off a low pine and swept the snow away from the furrows and beneath the snow were beautifully defined tire tracks in the old snow. He took photos and told Chiara he’d like to follow the tracks as far as possible. She agreed and since there was no real hurry he followed the tracks in his SUV, attempting to discern the direction and driver’s intentions. The tracks circled the small cemetery plot and he saw faint foot tracks leading from the car ruts to a series of headstones. He got out and brushed away the snow again and found a set of small boot prints leading to the graves. Under the new layer of snow on the headstone marked Donald Lynch Peterson he found a small bouquet of frozen flowers. He stood to look pensively over the small plot and the wintery countryside, then turning toward Chiara saw she had tears in her eyes.

She offered, “Those are part of some flowers I gave Lois Peterson about a week ago.”

Army didn’t initially comment and thought better than to offer condolences to a woman he hardly knew. Instead, he said, “She must have loved him very much.”

Chiara didn’t speak, just turned back toward the SUV and its warm interior. Army followed her back to the car, watching her beautiful, snow-flecked auburn hair ruffle in the slight breeze. They followed the car tracks around the cemetery’s oval and then back to the county road, where he stopped the car and looked both ways uncertainly.

Chiara blew her nose and offered, “Lois often visited an overlook that allows one to see the entire old mine operation and the graveyard at the same time. The open mining pit is a beautiful lake now. You have to turn left here to get to it. It would be a gorgeous view if not for the mining scars. She might have liked it anyway though. It probably reminded her of her late husband. This was his mine you know. His family made millions during World War II and then it turned over a couple of times after they sold it ... post war. He actually came back in to run it for a while after one big union strike. They lost some important equipment during a big storm though and it finally shut down completely.”

Army turned left and drove, awaiting further instructions. It was getting dim and he didn’t want to drive far in the snow in any case. To keep the conversation going he asked, “What kind of equipment goes missing during a storm?”

“The mine operators believed someone stole it and they blamed some union guys, but nothing was ever proven. The mine shut down shortly after that. Turn right, here!”

As he turned, they saw the single set of dim, snow-covered tracks leading from the main road. They followed slowly with the headlights helping define the way. Very soon they had a commanding view of the valley, the cemetery and the entire water-filled, mile-long gash in the Earth caused by the old mining operation. The puzzling artifact was that the tire tracks just stopped. There was no car and no return tracks evident.

Army got out, checking the tracks in the dim light of the headlights and dwindling daylight. He didn’t have the foresight to bring his pine broom so he tried sweeping with his gloves and had mixed results. The track’s patterns were apparently the same, but there seemed to be some black substance where the tires last rested. Not logistically prepared to take samples, he used his coffee-cup lid to scoop the stuff and cleaned the cup out with snow before dropping in a sample of the black muck. Neither occupant said much on the way back to the motel, but their minds were working overtime.

As they pulled up to the motel, and before Army shut off the headlights, he asked, “What did they mine at that big pit?”

“I really don’t know, but I think iron or some similar ore.”

Army looked at Chiara and asked, “Do you want to come in for coffee or perhaps dinner. I’d be glad to buy you dinner.”

“Oh, God thanks Army, but I think I’ll go home and try to decipher all this. Is it okay if I call the motel tomorrow morning if I think of anything else?”

“Sure it is, and don’t forget, I’d like to get into that old house as soon as possible to check things out. There may be something in there that’ll lead to an answer to this puzzle.”

“Oh, I forgot, sure Jeff … somebody is the broker in temporary charge of it, but I have a key too. Maybe we better get him to go in with us … Tanner is his last name; Jeff Tanner. I’ll call him tonight, okay?”

“Thanks Chiara, it would be better to go in with him. Of course I’m under a time constraint and I really need to get in early tomorrow if possible. If you would like me to call him then call me with his number.”

“Okay, Army. I’ll let you know as soon as possible. Goodnight.”

Army lay thawing on his warm bed in his warm room and contemplated the whereabouts of Mrs. Peterson. If the tracks were the right tire make for a Prius he would still be no further ahead than he was at that moment. The pieces of the puzzle just didn’t fit. How can a car pull onto an overlook and just disappear.

He thought it may have been possible for a car to back up on exactly the same tracks and obliterate the previous ones if the conditions were just right, but why would someone do that when there was plenty of room to simply make a large loop and turn around that way; especially an 83 year old woman? He decided to buy a broom and sweep the entire track if necessary, to see if the in and out tracks overlapped. Meanwhile, he was tired as hell and hoped Chiara could arrange a meeting with the realtor tomorrow, the same guy he’d talked to earlier. Also, he hoped he would at least be able to glimpse the sun the next day.

However, the next morning broke cold, overcast and snowing, just as he feared. He opened the drapes in his second-story room to let in the maximum light possible and he thought of Sonora and her beautiful laugh. Then he hung his head for a moment, looked out again, chastised himself for thinking about her; slowly shook his head in a self-effacing way. Finally he condescended to take a shower and meet the miserable day head-on. Just as he turned to visit the bathroom, the motel phone rang and frightened the quiet out of the room. It was Chiara with information about Jeff Tanner and the Peterson home. Tanner was not permitted to allow anyone into the home without a search warrant.

Mr. Gilbertson said he wanted to make sure all avenues were explored before anyone was allowed in the house. The trouble with that mind-set was all avenues could not be explored until the house was checked. Army decided to call Mr. Gilbertson and called Sheriff Shepard to get Gilbertson’s number. He had to check in with Andy anyway and considered it a good reason to do so. Andy was dismayed at what Army had to tell him, but Andy had been around the bend more than once and knew Army would do a good job with the investigation. In any case, the DNA check was not back yet.

Army called, but had to leave a message on Gilbertson’s machine. He cleaned up, ate breakfast and headed to a food store to buy a broom. He decided on a polymer broom with a soft bristle and stopped to purchase some beer on the way to the register. The store wasn’t exactly busy so he breezed through the checkout and into his four-wheel drive SUV in record time. As he pulled out, he noticed it was snowing even harder. He decided to sweep the tracks before he did anything else, since a wait may have meant no tire tracks until spring.

He took the same route and found the tracks were still discernable. He parked and started sweeping, but found it almost impossible to tell if the car that made the tracks had just backed perfectly over the ones it made going in. The more he swept, it seemed the more snow obliterated his sweeping. He finally gave up and decided to visit a Toyota dealership to check on tire makes for a Prius.

Finding a dealer was not easy in the snow, especially for a Texas boy, but he persevered and finally found a used car dealer with some snow-covered Toyotas on the lot. The place was open and a salesman actually opened the door to the showroom for him. The salesman provided his card and got him a cup of coffee and they settled down in the warm office to talk some.

Army found the guy very knowledgeable and willing to share his information. Apparently the Prius original tires for the model year of Mrs. Peterson’s Prius were Bridgestone. Because the Prius is heavier than a comparable non-hybrid it has special high pressure, low rolling resistance tires which would leave a pronounced tread pattern and actually might succeed in obliterating a previous track. It both frustrated and relieved Army.

The salesman had no idea about tread patterns, but Army decided he might find a similar pattern on one of the Toyotas in the lot. He received permission to try, with no help from the salesman. He couldn’t find a perfect match for his tread photo, and he was still at square one.

As he headed to his rented SUV he thought better about leaving so quickly and decided to test the salesman’s general knowledge of the area. He stuck his head back in to ostensibly thank the man and suddenly remembered to ask one other question. He asked about the history of the Peterson’s iron mine. The salesman’s face lit up as Army thought it might. He proceeded to tell him about the history of the mine and almost every aspect of the operation including the union troubles and theft of heavy processing machinery which caused the final closing. When asked about what was mined there he grinned and said, “Lots of stuff, lots of stuff.”

Army just seated himself again and let the man ramble. He said the advertised mineral was iron ore, but apparently there were a lot of other rare minerals mined including extraordinarily strong Magnetite. The minerals mined during the war were kept secret, because some said there were special minerals in the area that had almost magical properties. It was hinted some were even used for the Manhattan Project and in the first atom bomb. He suspected they were what are known currently as Rare Earth minerals, but who knew then what really came out of the mine.

The man’s facts turned to conjecture at every other opportunity, and it was up to Army to pick out the important data from the conversational. When he’d had enough, he feigned a meeting time, thanked the man profusely and left with his mind racing.

When he returned to the motel for lunch he found he had two messages, one from John Gilbertson and one from Chiara. They both had his cell number and he wondered why he didn’t receive the calls. He called Chiara first.

“Hi Army, first of all, I just wanted to let you know that cell phones hardly work in this area, no matter what company you have. Secondly, Mr. Gilbertson called me personally and asked if I could let you into the Peterson house. Apparently, he received a call from Sheriff Shepard in California requesting you be allowed to pursue your investigation. When would you like to see it?”

“Well Chiara, thank you very much. Did you call Mr. Tanner and ask if he could accompany us?”

“Yes, I did and he said any time after lunch would be fine. Have you been doing anything this beautiful New York morning?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. I checked on the tire tracks, the standard tires on a Prius and the minerals mined at the Peterson mine. I found out a lot. How about we meet at about 1:00 p.m. to go through the home, and I’ll tell you then? Would that suit you?”

“Yeah, that’ll be fine with me. I’ll call Mr. Tanner and let him know.”

Jeff Tanner met Army at a previously agreed to crossroads and led him to the Peterson house where Chiara was waiting. She looked excited to get in the home and if the truth be told, Army was very anxious to see it too, based on what he’d heard from Chiara.

They all took off their coats and overshoes and started with the very large study and library combination. There were mementos everywhere that suggested the Peterson’s had a childless, but otherwise rich and active life together. Army instructed the other two to look for anything that might suggest that Mrs. Peterson left quickly or was kidnapped. They found nothing of the kind, but what they did find were photographs of the mine in its heyday, with descriptions of mining procedures and minerals extracted. There were strange geologic names Army had to write down to be sure they could be referenced later; for what reason, he didn’t know … yet, and he photographed everything of interest.

The trio stayed in the house and toured outbuildings for about two hours and found nothing more that could be construed as out of place or incriminating to any party. Mr. Tanner was helpful and upbeat, and Army found Chiara to be insightful and very intelligent. It was she who realized that the day Mrs. Peterson disappeared was the anniversary of Mr. Peterson’s death. That assured Army the most probable automobile to make the tracks at the cemetery was Mrs. Peterson’s Prius.

When the trio finally stepped outside and prepared to leave, they found the sun peeking through the clouds and very little snow still drifting through the crisp air. Army announced he was going to take another stab at uncovering the tire tracks on the hill overlooking the mine. Chiara asked if she could go and on the way asked if they could check for tracks on the three roads accessing the lake. He asked why, but before she answered, he understood. She thought Mrs. Peterson may have driven her heavy Prius into the lake to end her own life.

Army swept the load of snow from three sections of one track, took photos, but was not convinced the vehicle backed over its tracks. They actually found four entrances to the lake, but found no other tire tracks at all. Since the trenched-lake was not a great fishing hole and difficult to approach, apparently Star Lake itself remained much more of an attraction for fishermen and skaters.

Chiara seemed pensive during their circumnavigation of the lake and he ascribed it to losing a good friend. However, she finally spoke up and asked that they visit the home of a family she thought may know a caretaker of the mine property. She didn’t know for sure there was a caretaker, but had heard Lois refer to an old caretaker a couple of times.

Army offered, “If there is a caretaker, he may be able to offer some insights as to what was mined there and if anyone has been living around the area of the mine or trespassing.”

Chiara hesitated, looked at him, grinned and said, “Now please don’t think I’m nuts, but there’s a lot of superstition about that mine. People around here think it’s haunted or some of the souls of the guys killed there during the war haunt the place. People have reported seeing people walking on the lake in the summer, strange lights around the lake and stuff like that. I heard that during thunder storms lightning hits on that hill more than anywhere else around here and people actually have souvenirs of lightning strike glass; where lightning melts the sand or dirt into strike-looking glass objects. I’ve actually seen one and it’s pretty neat.”

She was quiet then and was looking through her own reflection on the passenger side window, toward the lake disappearing behind them. He turned his head to catch her reflection and her face seemed haloed by the condensation on the inside of the window, giving her a Madonna-like appearance. He said, “Hey, I’m really sorry about Mrs. Peterson. I’m going to get to the bottom of this mess if I possibly can. If you could see the accident site in my hometown you’d understand why I’m going to make this my mission.”

She turned her head from the window to address him, “You understand that it’s physically impossible for the remains in that accident to be those of Lois, don’t you? I saw her the day she disappeared and the night of the accident in California. There is no way she could have been there unless she flew with her car in a big Jet.”

“I’m going to look into that too, if things don’t make sense around here. We know it happened that night, which would have been between 12 midnight and 2:00 a.m. here. When exactly did you see her last?”

“I saw her wave to me from her front porch at about 5:00 p.m. on her way to church for Bible study. I watched her drive away. It was a beautiful, clear night, with a snow storm brewing.” Chiara looked out her window again and wiped her nose with a tissue.

She didn’t talk much then, except to give directions. They arrived at the designated home about 4:00 p.m. and Chiara went in to talk to the owners. When she returned, she had a closed-lip smile on her face, and it made her look even more beautiful. When she got in, she removed her blue toboggan to rearrange her thick, fragrant long hair and said, “We need to turn around and take the first right.”

They pulled up to their second destination about 4:30 p.m. and there was an old man waiting on the front porch of a beautiful fieldstone home; a bit Scandinavian in style, trim and color scheme; a green metal roof and three cheerfully painted dormers indicating a second floor. As they exited the SUV the old man’s face broke out in a big smile. He stuck out his hand as they climbed the porch stairs and introduced himself as Truly Anderson, and his impossibly big smile got bigger when he took Chiara’s hand. They were invited in and accepted heartily, since it was butt cold outside.

Army deferred to Chiara after they settled into chairs and accepted the charity of hot mint tea. Once into tea sipping and after thanking Mr. Anderson for his hospitality, Chiara related all she knew about Lois Peterson’s disappearance to Mr. Anderson. Army told him the abbreviated details about the California accident and Truly Anderson just shook his head.

After contemplating his cup of tea for a moment he said, “You may never find dis lady. She maybe disappeared vith her auto-mobile. Many t’ings happen around dat damned mine ve don’t know about, you know. I vurry about dem kids from dat college ven dey come to look at rocks, you know. Dem geologist guys come and camp out, and I vurry about dem too. Dey’ve seen lights. I know because dey tell me dis and dat and laugh about it. It’s no laughin’ matter, by golly. People been disappearing up dere for a hunnert years; equipments too. Doze gents who run da mine yust say dose union folks steal equipment, but I know it yust poofs into da sky durin’ a storm,”

When he stopped to take a sip of tea, Army asked, “Everybody talks about the lights Mr. Anderson. What color are they and when are they seen?”

“Ya, dey’re seen at night of course, mostly very late, you know. Mostly green and blue I tink and in da Vintertime only. No lights in storms dough. Lightnin’ strikes mostly in da summertime and very bad, but if lightnin’ in da vinter, people and stuff gonna disappear, you betcha.”

“You mean that things only disappear in the winter during storms?”

“Ya, and people too.”

Chiara butted in with wide eyes and a look of anticipation, “There was lightning the night Lois disappeared, not much though, just threatening.”

“If she vas on dat hill she’s gone somevere else, I betcha.”

Army asked, “What hill Mr. Anderson?”

“Dat damned hill above dat lake. Dat’s vere dat equipment vent from and dat’s vere da guys vent from too. Dere’s somethin’ in dat damned hill. Dat little railroad vas cut yust like a damned velder did it, so supervisor guy says da union stole everyt’ing and took it avay, but dey never find it.”

Army asked, “You mean there was a processing plant on the hill and ore train rails up to it?”

“Ya, dat’s vat I’m sayin’. And dem guys are gone too and dey don’t care. Dey yust care about dat damned equipment.”

Chiara asked, “How many guys went missing Mr. Anderson?”

“Plese call me Truly. Dere vere two guys gone dat time.”

“You mean there’ve been more people gone missing from around here?” she blurted.

“Dat’s vhat I been tryin’ ta tell ya, girl. I’fe heard of tree or four myself and I betcha dat Sheriff keeps a secret of some too.”

Army allowed a pregnant pause and asked, “What’s in that hill, Truly?”

“Some say dat’s Satan, but I don’t tink Satan cares about a few souls here ven he gets all he needs in New York City” he laughed and continued, “I tink so much magnets dere, dat lightnin’ gets pulled hard and ven it goes avay it takes everyt’ing vith ‘im. It makes a heap o’ sense, you know.”

Thinking Mr. Anderson was getting into the realm of the absurd and knowing it was getting dark and colder, Army and Chiara thanked him in excess and made their way from his presence. He was a good and knowledgeable man, but the two had about as much of Mr. Anderson as they could take for one evening. On the way back to Chiara’s place, Army asked her if Mr. Anderson had any direct association with the mine owners. She said he’d apparently been the caretaker for over forty years. Of course it made Army wonder why he gave them no indication that he knew Mrs. Peterson.

After he dropped Chiara off, he called Charley and talked about things at home and in New York. He asked Charley how the Stottlemeyers’ were. Charley said they told him to say hello, he told him about school and about how pretty Mrs. Stottlemeyer looked when she picked him up from school the day before. He suspected Charley was playing cupid again. They talked until Army got sleepy and finally told Charley he loved him and hung up. He went to sleep on his bed without dinner, a shower or covers and woke in the middle of the night from a dream in which he was lost in the snow and cold.

Chiara called about 8:00 a.m. She asked if she could come to the motel for breakfast. Not being stupid, Army did not tell her he’d already eaten. He invited her and she arrived about 8:20 looking and smelling very nice. He could tell immediately she had something on her mind. She ate ham and eggs and Army had most of another egg and cheese omelet and coffee. After she ate and was nursing her coffee, she told him about calling the folks at the home from which she got the directions to Mr. Anderson’s place; their first stop on the way to Truly’s.

She smiled a self-assured smile and said, “I talked to the Swansons’ and found that Truly Anderson has been in and out of mental treatment for years. Folks think he has Alzheimer’s and is perhaps senile altogether. He’s 92 years old, Army. He could be wrong about a lot of things and I don’t think we should take his word about the hill or the mine accidents or anything. It might all be in his mind.”

Carefully choosing his words, Army responded, “I really don’t believe anything I hear and only half of what I see, Chiara. I learned that from Will Rogers I think. In any case I can’t assume anything and deal only in fact during an investigation. We have a few facts so far, but it’s impossible to connect them logically and it may never be possible. I have several unsolved cases on my desk as we speak.”

Chiara looked thoughtfully out the window and responded without looking at Army, “I feel like she’s gone, that’s all. She was so sweet and kind and intelligent and I guess I see some of me in her. When I get old, I’d like to be just like her, with one exception.” She turned to look boldly at Army and continued, “I want to have the one I love next to me until I die. I had that feeling once and lost it through my own avarice. I won’t make the same mistake again if I ever get another chance, but if I don’t, I’ll be satisfied to carry on the way I am now. I’m going to miss her and come to think of it, I might have to find another place to live and work.”

“I think you have a lot of time for both. You’re an intelligent and beautiful woman and frankly I can’t understand why you’re unattached. In addition, Mr. Gilbertson would be genuinely stupid to kick you out before the home is transferred or sold because you’re like a paying caretaker; watching the place nearly full time for him.”

She looked at Army with another question in her eyes, but left it unasked. Instead she asked about Charley. Of course the descriptions overflowed until he stopped abruptly and asked if she had any children. She did not, but wished for them before she left child bearing age behind her. Army said he hoped for more kids someday too and he thought he caught a sparkle in Chiara’s green eyes. If he did, it would certainly have to wait on him. He thought he was entirely too raw and still aching.

Army left Chiara and the mine and the cold and the snow the following day. He carried no regrets with him. His heart was sufficiently full of those. He had everyone’s number, address and name, should he ever need them again. He checked out with the Sheriff of St. Lawrence County and left for the sunny state of California. As he leaned back into his aisle seat to rest, he smiled at the irony. Due to the best of his mental abilities and observation skills, he was certain the car on the hill never backed up.