Scraps of Paper (21 page)

“By the way, when I was in the hardware store, the owner wanted to know why I needed the glass so I told him. He’s been following the stories in the newspaper and admires you for searching for the truth. He didn’t charge me a penny for the glass. Says you’re a town heroine. He has kids and can’t stomach anyone who’d kill children. He said he never cared for Edna and called her a cold fish. Oh, and he wants you to paint a picture of his family, when you have the time. One of his customers has been raving about the picture you did for her. Wow, your reputation is growing. Maybe someday I’ll know a famous artist,” he teased.

The news, along with the fixed window, helped pull her out of the dumps. “Another picture. If my freelancing keeps going this well I’ll never have to work a real job again.”

“I’m happy for you,” Frank said. “I have a proposal. Let’s go for a motorcycle ride. The fresh air will do you good. I’ll throw in a hot fudge sundae later in town. My treat. I’ll go home and get the Gold Wing and pick you up in about twenty minutes?”

“You fixed my window, how can I refuse? A ride will do me good. Twenty minutes will give me time to grab a shower and get ready. Thanks, Frank. For everything.”

He left and Abigail took a quick shower. Quick not only because Frank was coming back soon, but because she so was sure the sound of the water spray was masking the noises of someone breaking in. She kept turning off the water and listening, her heart hammering. It was the fastest shower she’d ever taken. Then, when she was dressed and ready to go, she sat on the porch swing breathing in the fresh air, her eyes staying away from the birdhouses. Glad Frank would return any moment.

The day was a hot one, the sun blazing. It’d started out balmy, now it was humid. Sweat trickled down her collar and along the sides of her face. She was tired of the heat and wanted fall and cooler weather to come. It was the end of summer. Labor Day was the following weekend and so too another holiday picnic which Frank kept bragging about.

Time. How quickly it went. She’d been in town over two months, but felt as if she’d always lived and belonged here. She thought, her present problems and petty vandalisms aside, Spookie had become her home. If someone were tormenting her, he or she would grow weary of it eventually, or the sheriff or Frank would catch them. Abigail had confidence in Frank, if not in the sheriff. If anyone could solve this thing, Frank could. This too shall pass. Abigail gazed out past the trees and the road. Maybe there shouldn’t be any more Emily Summers newspaper stories. Frank was right, it’d become too dangerous. Let the past stay dead and buried. What ever happened to those three would probably never be known. The mystery never solved.

The sound of the engine preceded the motorcycle, its throaty growl rushing through the woods to prompt her to her feet. A soothing ride, breezes in her hair and on her face was what she needed. To be free. Maybe she’d out run the dead bird images stuck in her mind.

Frank rode up, a big smile behind his clear facemask. “I see you’re ready. Jump on.” He didn’t ask if she’d locked the house up and that gave him points with her.

“Where we going?” She climbed behind him and placed her feet on the foot pegs. In a yellow tee, blue jeans, tennis shoes and her hair in a ponytail, she’d dressed for comfort.

“Remember the scenic route I told you about that curves around the lake behind my property?”

“Uh, huh.” She put the helmet on he’d handed her.

“That’s where we’re going. A wonderful ride. I’ve ridden it twice. It takes about three hours, but it’s worth it. The panorama is lush and the lake is lovely. Afterwards we can get ice cream or a meal if you want. Is that all right with you?”

“It’s all right with me. Lead on.” Touching him on the shoulder, she grinned behind her mask. Picturesque beauty, open roads, an azure sky, and no storm clouds in sight, she thought, here we come. She’d planned on painting her future art studio, but it could wait. Frank was trying to cheer her up and she was going to let him. After the newspaper story and her shaky morning, perhaps it was best if she were gone for the day. If she was, no one could get to her.

Riding the country roads around the lake, they enjoyed the cooler air and made small talk over their helmets’ CBs, cherishing the scents and resonance of the summer day.

They stopped to stretch their legs, sitting by the edge of the lake on a broken length of tree trunk. “I love it out here.” Weaving and playing with a blade of grass between her fingers, Abigail’s eyes scanned the horizon. “Peaceful. Makes you feel close to God. Makes it hard to believe anything bad can happen in a world so beautiful, or that humans could harm other humans.”

“You’re brooding about Emily and her kids again, aren’t you?” he chided.

 “I can’t stop. We all love a good murder mystery, don’t we? But if you think about it all it really boils down to one human being killing another. It’s gruesome.”

“I feel the same way, Abby. One of the reasons I don’t miss being a homicide detective. Crime, brutality and murders. I miss helping people. Finding a killer and bringing him to justice gives a closure, a sort of peace, to the victims. But I don’t miss the rest of it.”

“You don’t?” Abigail tilted her head in the sunlight, eyes on Frank’s suntanned face.

“Well, I might miss the challenge of piecing all the clues together and solving cases. Like an intricate puzzle, it takes patience and attention to details. It’s exciting at times. But I’m older now and I sure as heck don’t miss the kind of scum, idiot or brilliant, I had to deal with. Evil does have a face, unfortunately sometimes it’s human. You talk about the innocence of nature, it’s the absence of man that makes nature so beautiful and pure. That’s why I love being out here among the trees, water and sky, just like you.”

“You’re too deep for me, my friend.” Abigail cradled her helmet in her arms, staring at the pearl whiteness of it and mulling on human evil and Emily Summers. The killing of children.

Frank picked his helmet up off the ground where he’d laid it. “Now you’re thinking about the Summers again, those kids, aren’t you?”

She made a face at him and shrugged. “Are you a mind reader or what?”

He smiled. “Nah, perceptive. You had that unhappy look again. It had to be the Summers.”

“I have this feeling,” she hesitated for a moment as if looking for a way to put her thoughts into words. “Call it a premonition, that there’s something important we’re overlooking.”

“We could be. Nothing is ever as simple as it appears. I’m still going to talk to John when we get back tonight if I can find him. Talk to Brown again. See where he was this morning…and the Sheriff. Gonna make a couple other calls.”

“Thanks, Frank, for all your help. And thanks for this ride today. It’s given me time to clear my mind and remember I’m alive and the Summers are dead. And that I don’t want to end up that way. Their lives and deaths are in the past. My life is now. I have to remember that.”

“No one’s going to hurt you. I’ll protect you.”

She didn’t need to answer because she knew he meant it. They climbed back on the motorcycle, continuing their ride, and afterwards stopped at Stella’s for cheeseburgers. Stella was off for the night and her grandson waited on them. He had extra copies of the article and had to sit down and give them his theories on who might have done it.

“I think old lady Edna killed those kids,” the boy voiced his opinion. “Most people can’t imagine her doing such a thing, but I can. Summers I worked part time at the grocery store when old lady Edna was still alive. I used to run groceries out to her, about once a month, for Mr. Mason. Only customer he did that for. I had to make sure she received the food and gave me a hand-written receipt that she had. I got paid five bucks each time so I didn’t complain. I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Anyways,” Stella’s grandson went on. “Old Lady Edna never once asked me to come in or gave me a drink or even thanked me, no matter how terrible the weather was. She was one unfriendly old bat. She had these squinty eyes and always acted so grouchy, complaining and crabbing about everything. As if I cared. I was only delivering her groceries. Oh yeah, I can believe she killed those kids. What a witch.”

***

Dusk came as Frank rode Abigail home. They left Main Street and were moving along the gravel road that led to her house when the car came up behind them. At first Abigail thought nothing of it. Cars were supposed to use roads. Frank was running at a slow speed, eyes ahead on the treacherous gravel; his vision probably hindered by their helmets and the shadowed road. With the car on their tail, he slowed down, edging over to the shoulder on the left, expecting the car to pass. Traction wasn’t good and Abigail could feel the wheels slipping.

That’s when the vehicle speeded up and tapped the rear bumper of the motorcycle. The first tap a light kiss and the second a shove. Abigail grabbed Frank’s waist as the machine bucked or she would have turned and shook her fist at the car. It was a miracle they didn’t go down.

“What is that idiot doing!” Frank shouted as the Gold Wing swerved and he fought to keep it upright. They’d gotten back on an even keel when the third and final shove came. The car’s engine revved and its front fender hit them hard. The Gold Wing jumped into the air and flew about ten feet and went into a skid in the gravel alongside the road.

Frank held on, struggling to lay the motorcycle down without wrecking it or hurting them. He managed to barely hold on as they went down but Abigail wasn’t as lucky and was thrown from the bike into the air.

The car roared past them and sped off into the night.

“Abigail!” Frank yelled as he got up from the ground, bruised, shaken but otherwise unhurt, and turned to look for her, not seeing her right away.

“Here!” She let out a groan from the ground about fifteen feet behind him. “I’m back here.”

Frank stood the motorcycle upright and rammed the kickstand down. The machine was scratched, the rear fender slightly dented, but it was in one piece. Both wheels still attached.

He ran to where she was sprawled in the gravel, holding her left arm and trying not to moan in pain.

“Are you okay?” He went down on his knees besides her and hovered, afraid to touch but wanting to comfort her in some way.

“No. But I think I broke my arm. It really hurts.” She fought to keep the tears from falling. “I flew off the motorcycle and came down on it. I heard it snap. I probably need to go to the emergency room.”

“Cell phone is in my saddlebag. I’ll call 911 and get an ambulance. Don’t move or you might make it worse.” He made the call and returned to her side in minutes.

“They’re on their way from County General in Chalmers. It won’t be long. Oh, Abby, I’m so sorry. I feel responsible. I couldn’t get away from the guy. I can’t believe he actually bumped us.” His distress was changing into anger.

 “Did you see who it was or the make and model of the car?” she asked weakly. The pain was worse. She was dizzy and her stomach was rebelling at the same time she was fighting to stay conscious.

“Not really. The car came up behind us so quickly and stayed too close. It’s headlights blinded me. After it rammed us and drove away I only had time to notice it was a newer model light colored Chevy. The license plate was mudded out. No numbers or anything.

“Mason has a dark blue Camaro, so it couldn’t have been him.”

“I don’t have insurance,” she said.

“Don’t worry, I do, and it’ll pay for your hospital bill, no questions asked. Oh, Abby, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Frank, it wasn’t your fault. It could have been worse if you hadn’t handled the bike as well as you did. We could both be here on the ground whimpering, or we both could be dead. Lucky you have insurance, unlucky I couldn’t keep my seat. I should have held on tighter, but it just happened too quickly.”

In the distance a siren increased in volume until it was ear splitting as Frank held her in his arms. They loaded her into the ambulance and
Frank rode the bike, which still ran, to the E.R. behind it.

Four hours later Frank brought her, left arm in a cast, home. He’d ridden the Gold Wing to the cabin and had returned to the hospital with his truck.