The Journal: Raging Tide: (The Journal Book 4) (33 page)

July 1

“Have you
been out to the water marker lately?” Jim asked Tom over our
evening cocktail. “The water is continuing to rise.”

“How far has it come up?” I asked. “We set
that marker less than a month ago.”

“It’s up to the six inch mark.”

“Wow, it’s rising quickly,” Tom said.

“That would be six feet a year,” I said
after some mental calculations. “It would still take over a decade
to refill the lake at that rate, so I don’t think there is much to
worry about. I just hope the increase in water doesn’t affect our
weather.”

July 2

Tom decided the town needed a break.
Everyone was working long hours in the community garden, their
private gardens, or stacking wood for the winter.

“I think we can forego a parade, however, I
think a community picnic for the Fourth of July would be a nice
celebration,” he said. “I know Marsha just received another deer
from Art Collins. Wouldn’t it be nice to have grilled burgers for a
change?”

July 4

The township park, with playground equipment
for the children and a shelter with picnic tables for the adults,
took on a festive air with streamers and pinwheels everywhere. I
found a couple of bins in the big barn filled with all types of
red, white, and blue decorations and nearly everyone came out to
help decorate.

Marsha had ground up the venison to make
burgers for grilling, and several of the women helped her make
buns. There was a gallon container of catsup, one of mustard, and
one of dill pickle slices, that she told me privately she had
hidden for a special occasion.

“I knew that one day we would have a
celebration worthy of something normal. This is it!”

Father Constantine led the town folk in the
Lord’s Prayer, followed by a very short sermon. He was getting well
known for his brevity in the pulpit.

*

Jim and I strolled through the baseball
field. I could almost hear voices coming from beneath my feet,
reminding me to be careful where I stepped. I knelt down and
cleared the sand from the only grave marker, the flat one that I
placed there for Bob and Kathy. It had been less than a year, yet
it felt so much longer that they’d been gone.

JOURNAL ENTRY: July 14

With having lost so many people, and so many
children, to the flu, birthdays are celebrated with gusto. Today
Jacob turns eleven. School is running all summer, so Jacob gets to
celebrate with his new friends.

Marsha has taken on baking cupcakes when a child has
a birthday and delivers them to the school at lunch, which was
nice. I dug a couple of potatoes out of the compost in my
greenhouse yesterday, and I’m going to make him a big batch of
French fries for lunch. I think he’ll like that better than a
gift.

~~~

July 19

“Mom, you know what today is, don’t you?”
Eric asked when he found me working in the raised bed garden.

“Do you think I could forget that my only
granddaughter is now a teenager??” I laughed. Jacob and Emilee were
two years apart in age, and five days apart in birthdays.

“Can I ask what you’re giving her?”

“No, it will be a surprise for you too.”

I had thought long and hard about what to
give Emilee that would be appropriate for a young lady in this new
world of ours. I found it behind the township hall, and with Tom’s
approval, I cleaned it up and had it readied by Earl Tyler.

*

All of us showed up at the school for the
now traditional lunch cupcakes, to help celebrate Emi’s thirteenth
birthday. She had grown into a beautiful young lady and had matured
way too fast, though that was expected these days. This was a true
milestone for the town.

Eric and Rayn “purchased” a leather satchel
from Art Collins that was similar to mine, though a bit smaller, as
their gift, and Emilee was overjoyed with it. Everyone turned to
me, especially an expectant Emi.

“I bet you’re waiting for my gift, aren’t
you?” I said to my granddaughter. She solemnly nodded. “We will
have to take a walk outside for it.” The entire school poured out
the doors behind Emilee when she spotted her very own new, metallic
purple, four-wheeler that was parked at the curb. She was
speechless. She turned to me with tears in her eyes and wrapped her
thin arms around my neck in a fierce hug. Then of course she bolted
to the curb to sit on her new ride.

*

“Mom, I’m not sure about this,” Eric said.
“Those things can go really fast!”

“Not this one,” I assured him. “I had Earl
fit it with a governor. She can’t go more than twenty-five miles
per hour. Once she has proven herself on it, he can remove it, but
only at
your
request.”

Eric grinned. “I can deal with that.” He
watched his daughter for a moment. “Did we grow up this fast?”

“
All
children grow up faster than
their parents want them to, Eric. You and Jason were no
exception.”

JOURNAL ENTRY: July 20

Even with muted and darkened skies, the weather has
turned pleasantly warm, and the town has settled into a productive
routine. Everyone works their share in Bradley’s Backyard,
sometimes even if they have their own garden to tend, which most of
them do. In part, I think, it’s something to do, and partly to
socialize.

With the lack of instant communication, no one is
supposed to venture anywhere alone. Small groups go out fishing,
mostly on Lake Meade. When there is a reasonable catch, the excess
is turned over to Marsha to dole out during meals.

Tom spends fewer and fewer hours at the office, and
since that one altercation, Jim’s security team has little to do
except patrol. Occasionally all they do is help someone move or
lift something heavy. The security team has a good reputation in
town. Often I see people riding the streets with their bicycles,
and for a while it was difficult to spot the security guards, until
someone came up with the idea of putting a rod with a red, white,
and blue mini-flag attached to the back. Now they are easy to
find.

With Ken and Karen in the house down the lake, they
are now back leisurely patrolling the town too.

Life has taken on a blissfully boring air.

~~~

July 21

It was mostly a peaceful afternoon, with
high, dark clouds and a soft breeze. The dim daylight was now a
constant companion. The colonel, Tom, Eric, Perky, and myself were
in the office discussing the duty schedule, while Emi sat on the
ham chatting.

“DAD!” Emi screamed from the other room.

We all ran into the small office that was
once the township treasurer’s space and now was home to our
communication to the world. Eric reached her first.

“What’s wrong, Emi?” he asked, panic lacing
his voice.

She turned to face him, setting down the
radio earmuffs. “It’s Mom.”

Eric took the mike reluctantly. “Beth?” Emi
reached over and pulled the plug on the muffs so we could all
hear.

“Oh, Eric it is so good to hear your voice.
I’ve been trying to get in touch with you through military channels
but my messages have never gotten through,” Emilee’s mother said.
The relief in her voice was obvious.

“How did you find us on the ham?” he
asked.

“Dad, I’ve been trying to reach Mom for
weeks,” Emi confessed, looking chagrinned. “I finally found a ham
operator in northeast Florida that agreed to get a message to her
at the District Emergency Operation Center.”

“When the operator told me of Emilee’s
regular radio time schedule, I kept trying to get on during that
time, but I’m on the move so much it was difficult and I kept
missing the window,” Brenda said. “I’m thrilled to finally talk to
her. I’ve missed her so much, Eric, but I know she is much better
off up there with you than down here. Just knowing she’s safe means
everything to me.”

“We’ve been doing as well as could be
expected. Life gets hard at times, though we always make it, and
it’s relatively safe here,” Eric assured her.

“It would have to be better than here! It’s
very dangerous now since we lost the southern half of the state.”
There was a long pause on the other end. “Eric, I want to set up a
regular time to talk with her, maybe every couple of weeks.”

“Of course, Beth,” Eric answered. After
catching up, he turned the seat back over to Emilee and she plugged
the muffs back in. As we went back to the other office, I could
hear Emi talking to her mother.

“I’ve been doing good in school, Mom, don’t
worry. All A’s,” she said with pride. “We only go to school three
or four days a week, but we’re in class all year.” There was a
pause while she listened. “Sometimes during the winter we can’t get
out because of the snow, and dad or Uncle Jason homeschools me and
Jacob.” There was another longer pause, and then Emi said, her
voice quivering, “I miss you too.”

July 22

I brought egg
salad sandwiches for lunch, and Jim joined me.

“Have you seen Ken or Karen around
town?”

“No, why?”

“Today is their regular patrol day and no
one has seen them. They usually check in first and then cruise on
their bikes,” Jim said. “Want to take a ride with me over to their
house? I can’t imagine them sleeping in
this
late.”

*

We pulled into the long gravel driveway, and
I could see the Passat sitting in the parking spot.

“Their bikes are still here, too,” I said to
Jim as we approached the door where the bicycles were leaning.

Jim suddenly thrust his arm out to stop me.
“The door is open.” He pulled his Beretta and pushed the door open
with the barrel. “Ken? Karen?” he shouted into the silent house. We
stepped across the threshold into chaos. Blood was splattered and
smeared everywhere.

Ken was lying on the floor in the living
room; a large pool of crimson had formed under him. Only one small
chair had been turned over. That was the only sign of a struggle in
the room other than the trail of blood left by Ken crawling to
where he was now, face down on the cream and gray tile. Jim knelt
beside the body and felt for a pulse.

“He’s dead,” he said angrily.

I turned toward an open door and caught a
glimpse of the bed. I pushed the door further open and caught the
coppery scent of more blood. Karen had been stabbed multiple times
in the chest and neck. I didn’t bother checking for a pulse – no
one could live after that vicious of an assault. I let out a
sob.

Jim came rushing into the room when he heard
me. As I turned toward him my attention was grabbed by the wall
behind the door. I stood, shocked, and pointed.
“Justice”
was written on the wall in dripping red -
likely Karen’s blood.

*

Outside on the deck overlooking Lake Meade,
I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to get the stench of death
out of my nose.

“Are you doing better now, Allex?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I leaned my forehead
against Jim’s broad chest. “Who would do something like this? And
why?”

“I think the why is easier than the who,” he
said. “I would venture that someone felt Karen needed to be
punished for that shooting six weeks ago, which may also take us to
the who.” He stared out at the lake. “While we were going through
all those pricey houses in Marquette, you had a real knack for
figuring out the death sequence when we found bodies. I know Ken
and Karen were close friends of yours. Do you think you can put
that aside for now and do a forensic walk with me?”

I straightened my shoulders. “Let’s do
it.”

We went back to the entrance. We both looked
at the door, the floor, and the walls.

“I don’t think it started here,” Jim
said.

“No, I don’t think so either. Let’s try the
bedroom.” I stood by Karen’s body and detached my feelings. “There
are no defensive wounds. She was killed or disabled in her sleep,
with the first blow.”

“There’s no blood on this side of the bed,”
Jim observed. “The perp probably woke Ken and he got up before
he
was attacked. Maybe he chased the assailant out into the
living room where he was stabbed.” We walked the crime scene as we
described what we saw, what we felt.

“The assailant, younger, stronger, turned
when Ken came after him and… can we turn Ken over to see the stab
wounds?” I asked. Jim carefully nudged the body over. I almost lost
my lunch. “One wound. Either the knife was double edged or it was
turned upward and it was very, very sharp.” The slash started low
in the abdomen and traveled several inches up to the sternum,
effectively eviscerating Ken.

“My guess is the fatal wound was inflicted
by the back door, and Ken crawled to where he is now. He tried to
get up, toppling the chair in the attempt,” Jim said, mirroring my
thoughts exactly.

“Once the assailant saw Ken down, he went
back to finish off Karen.” We stepped back into the bedroom. There
were so many stab wounds it was impossible to say which was first
or last – they all could have been the fatal one. “He was in a rage
by this time.” I pulled the bloody sheet over Karen’s face with
shaky hands. Jim pulled an afghan off the couch and covered
Ken.

It was now three o’clock in the
afternoon.

“Your thoughts, Allex?” Jim’s voice was calm
and washed over me like a healing salve.

“I’d rather hear yours first.”

“The writing on the wall points to an act of
vengeance. Who would want revenge? Jeremy Smith or Loraine Misko
may feel that justice wasn’t served,” Jim said.