Installment #44 Epilogue

Installment #44

 Epilogue

Jack and Leroy watched as the body was brought out and placed in the back of the ambulance. As the tow truck secured the Jeep, Jack remembered the black Jeep that turned into an obscure road 30 minutes up the road. When he mentioned it to Leroy, he recalled the same black Jeep following them down to the farm. Perhaps Marshall’s keys would be found there. And Ambrose. And Jeffery. And some where in Denver, Jennifer would be thanking her lucky stars that she was born a lesbian and had never even looked at her boss “that way”.

A man in Brattleboro, Vermont was boarding a plane for Stapleton International Airport in Denver, Colorado to assist in looking for his lost son.  Or so he thought. When he landed he would find that the lost son had been found and the other son that was found was now completely lost, forever. Knowing that the men would be down from the mountain soon, Meg got the Bunn ready and poured the water through.


Her mind flashed to that morning when she had made coffee. She remembered reaching for the panel that was in the doggie door.  She jumped when the door bell rang.

Kevin gave her a hug.  “It will take time, mom.” She hurried to the door and was surprised to find Fred there, and it looked like he had trimmed his beard! He held his hat in his hands and smiled timidly at Meg. A simple man, she thought. A very simple man. Like her Tommy. Meg smiled and held the door open wider as he entered and she looked into his very dark eyes; Kevin’s eyes. She realized that he was also freshly showered and carried the scent of the great out doors. The fresh clean scent of…… Irish Spring.

The end....for now.

Installment 39 Fred

Installment #39

Fred

Fred switched on the miner’s light on his hat. Damn glad he had it on there. Well, it was always on his head except when he was sleeping. You just never knew when you might need a light and right now he sure needed one. This tunnel was black as old Coty’s ….well it was black alright. He took a few tentative steps forward. The tunnel was dark, and damp, and musty. He would have bet there were lots of spiders and centipedes and Lord only knew what. It was hard to believe that just a foot above his head the sun was shining very brightly, because down here it was another world. Well, this was no place to wishy wash about something. Just do it. Sooner you do it the sooner it was done. And Fred, although every fiber of his being wanted to turn and run out into the bright sunlight, pointed his lantern forward and walked determinedly forward.  Something was not right and by God in Heaven, Fred Himes was going to find out what it was and for once in his life, set it right.

He was amazed at how quickly he arrived at the back entrance to the house.  Sure seemed a lot further when he was digging the silly thing. He pressed his ear to the door and listened. Not a sound.  He knew the man was gone, but still the cabin was deathly quiet. Very slowly he eased the door inward. Nothing. Not even a drippy faucet. Absolute silence. Now the door was completely open. He looked around at the kitchen. Not a dish out of place. The towel hung on the oven door handle. The clock hand moved jerkily around. Fred stepped in the kitchen and closed the tunnel door behind himself. He moved stealthily across the kitchen to the bathroom. Empty. Living room. Undisturbed and empty.

There had to be a woman here somewhere. He had seen the man bring her inside. He very slowly opened the bedroom door and peered inside. No one. Fred stared in consternation at his face in the mirror. Where was she? He canvassed the house once more and then his eyes fell on the door beside the door he had come through. The root cellar! That had to be the root cellar. After he had dug the tunnel the man had altered it and instead of coming up the tunnel to the root cellar, he had come up the tunnel to the back door. Why had he changed that? Fred reached for the door and froze.

How many times had he pictured his father doing this exact samething? Only when he pictured his father he also pictured his mother. His dear, dead mother being placed in the wall of the root cellar by his father. How many times had he gone to the root cellar to get beets, or potatoes, or onions. How many times when the tornado sirens were screaming had he and his father gone to the root cellar knowing that was the one place the tornado could not touch. And not once had he even thought about what might be in the wall of the root cellar.

Never once had he dreamt that his dear sainted mother was sleeping her death sleep just a few feet from him and his father. His father knew. He knew all along and never said a word. When Fred had wished his mother would come back to them and voiced that desire to his father, his father had only said, “Quit dreaming, Freddie, if she was coming back she never would have left.”

Fred often wondered what had happened the night she died. Or was it day? He never even  remembered them ever fighting. Just mom looking sad and dad reading the paper. They never talked. How could his father have ever worked up enough emotion to kill his mother? His father and mother were both unemotional people. He stared at the door.  He was going to have to open it and see what was behind it. Slowly he grasped the knob and turned it. Well, not turning. Locked. Locked! That meant the woman, probably Meg Parker was behind that door and she was locked in there. If she was locked in there she was not a willing participant that was clear. He scoured the door frame for a key. None. The man must have the key.

Think! Think! He remembered back to when he dug the tunnel. At that time it had been through the root cellar. Now it was not. He jerked the tunnel door open, took a few steps and reached his hand out and felt the wall. A little further down.  More. There! The dirt was soft. The man had removed the dirt over there, placing it over here. By doing that he had altered the location of the tunnel. Not much, but enough so the root cellar could now be used as a prison for someone. Or a place to bury her. Maybe she was dead. With a furor he never knew he had Fred unsnapped the folding shovel that hung from his waist and began to dig frantically in the soft dirt. Very soon he had a hole through and could see inside the root cellar. All he could see was another wall, but he would be in the room very soon. And like a man fighting for his very life, he continued to throw dirt over his shoulder until at last the hole was big enough for him to slide through.

As he stood up and looked around he saw her clearly. Meg Parker lay on a small cot with a soft cloth on her shoulder. Chloroform! He moved the cloth, but Meg did not stir. Fred was unsure of anything at that moment. As he gazed down at the sleeping woman something stirred in his soul. Something very far back in the deep recesses of his mind fluttered and made him feel wanted. Something made him feel warm. He touched her cheek tentatively, then smiled. Funny, he did not remember smiling in a very long time, but now it felt rather natural. He knew what he had to do and as he reached for
the woman he felt like he had just come home from a very long and bitter war.

Meg Parker. Darling.

Installment #18

Installment #18

Meg, Kevin, Greg

The walk had been a long one. They only jogged a little of the four miles. The conversation was easy and Meg and Greg warmed to each other. The Green Chile was simmering in the crock pot and when they returned to the house the spicy aroma greeted them. They were immediately ravenous. Meg heated the refried beans and the tortillas. She spooned the beans into the tortilla, sprinkled it with grated cheddar cheese, spooned on sour cream and rolled it up.  She ladled a generous amount of the Green Chile over it, put a little chopped lettuce on the plate and handed it to Greg.  She quickly made a plate for Kevin and herself. They sat at the table and looked at the steaming plates.

“OK, Greg, dig in!” Kevin laughed. He had told Greg what Green Chile was and now he was seeing it first hand. Brown the small bits of pork, add garlic, tomatoes, the Pueblo Chiles chopped and then water.  Simmer and the longer it simmered the hotter it would get. Greg had heard about the Pueblo Chiles, but this was his first encounter with the food that was such a part of Kevin’s heritage in Colorado. He dipped his spoon in gingerly and raised it to his mouth. He felt the top of his head bead up with the heat of something he had never encountered before. Tears stung his eyes. He gasped for breathe.
"What in the hell is that!” Meg and Kevin stared in amazement. Never had they seen the likes of this out of quiet retiring Greg.
Kevin stammered.  “Oh, I am sorry.  I told you it would be hot. That is the peppers. Mom?”
“Greg, dear, this is not hot. This is mild. I did not want your first taste of Colorado Mexican food to be a bad one. Here. Do it this way.” She took her spoon and cut off a small piece of burrito and covered it with Green Chile. She put it in her mouth, chewed and smiled. “ You just don’t eat the Green Chile alone. Let me get you a glass of milk. That will help.”
She left the table and returned with a large glass of milk which she placed in front of him. He immediately took a drink of it. Then he smiled at Kevin and Meg.
“ I am not going to let a damn pepper beat me. If you can eat it, I can eat it. “ He then cut off a small piece as Meg had done and shook off most of the Chile. In his mouth and he chewed slowly.  “Hey, that ain’t bad at all. But I gotta say, you two are a couple sadists!”
But very soon he was holding his plate and heading for the stove and a second burrito! Kevin smiled and silently thanked the God above for leading him into Your Little Pub  that rainy day not so very long ago. If ever a match was blessed from above it had to be this one. Meg smiled at her son and nodded. Mother’s just had a way of knowing this stuff. When dessert was brought to the table Kevin whooped and jumped up. 
“Oh, Greg! You are in for a treat. This is the Italian part of Colorado. Tiramusu! Mom! Tell him how to make it.  Oh, God are you in for a treat.”
Meg stared at her son.  “Ok, the first thing you need is Lady Fingers and they are dry. Then you mix coffee with Kahlua. Meanwhile you whip heavy whipping cream with sugar and egg yolks. Then you fold in Marscapone cheese which is a lot like cream cheese only it is from Italy and very expensive. Then you dip the Lady Fingers in the coffee and Kahlua and put them in the bottom of the pan. One layer of that. Then cover this with the whipped cream mixture. Then another layer of Lady Fingers and more whipped cream. Then sprinkle on some cocoa. Stick it in the fridge and then impress everyone for dessert.”
“Oh, yeah,” laughed Kevin, “but you should have seen it the first time she made it. She thought the Lady Fingers were really dry so she held them under until they quit bubbling. She had to mix coffee and Kahlua three times and she used almost a quart of Kahlua! I was 16 and so damn drunk I couldn’t even get up the stairs. Everybody was! We ate the whole thing that night. Way to go Mom!” Greg smiled as he held out his dessert plate for seconds. “Guess you must be part Italian too!”
The boys tidied the kitchen as Meg checked her email Nothing from redranger.  She felt a little disappointed, but knew that he was giving her space to spend time with Kevin. He was very considerate that way.  She had three sales, so she printed the labels for those, affixed them to the boxes, shut down the computer and turned out the light. As she closed the door to the office and stepped into the hall, she found Kevin and Greg sharing a kiss. She stopped and then realized that this did not bother her. She had been afraid that it would, but now that the moment was here it seemed ludicrous that she had even thought about it. She smiled to herself.
“Hey you two! It is bedtime.” The boys jumped apart at her words and laughed nervously. She kissed each one lightly on the cheek and then turned into her own room. There would just be tomorrow and then they would leave. “Church tomorrow. You boys going with me?”
“Well, if you think it is alright.”
“Of course it is!” But as she closed her door she wondered. “At least I hope it is .“ were her last thoughts before she reached for her nightgown.

Installment #13

Installment #13

Fred


Fred frowned as he hung up the phone. Damn pesky
woman. What was she so afraid of anyway? If anybody was
small enough to get in that doggie door, they were sure as hell
too little to hurt anybody and the dogs could eat them in two
bites. He held the Hershey can in his left hand as he placed the
phone back on the wall with his right. He was not ready to let
this one go. For some reason this one was special.

Usually the money went into a hole in the yard as soon as
he had the time to dig the hole, but he wanted to keep this one for
a while. People would think he was nuts if they knew. Well,
what was nuts about keeping money in cans at home? Made a lot
more sense than handing it over to one of the twits at the bank
who would put it in a drawer and give it out to other people. It
was his and they should not have his money. They had explained
to him that every month he would get a total of how much he
had, much like the account his dad had set up for him when he
was very young. Only that was once a year. He had to go in and
set across the big mahogany desk from some white haired old
fart who droned on about the investments and the check he got
every month and how wonderful his father had been to do this.
Like he was a simpleton!

How much was in that account his dad still controlled
from the grave? He did not remember. More than when it
started. He snorted. Some day the state of Colorado was going
to get a shit pot full of money, courtesy of Fred Himes, Jr. via
Fredric Himes, Sr. He really should leave a note about the cans
in the yard, but why? They were his. Earned by the sweat of his
brow. If he wanted to bury them he could. He could burn that
money if he so chose, but no, he had made a memorial to his
god, who ever that was. Apparently, it was the almighty dollar.
No, because money had never brought him any happiness either.
It was the memory of where the money came from. Like the
$16,450 that was the money for the big barn he had built for that
gimp legged guy over the draw east of him.

Then there was $19,000 from that scar faced guy just
north of Meg’s farm. Now that was crazy. Dug a tunnel from his
root cellar straight west to the edge of the forest. Well, dug a
trench, covered it with planks and then dirt. Nobody knew it was
there. Well, he knew. And the scar faced guy knew. Seemed like
a damn waste of money to him. No equipment! No one must
know. Ok, fella, what ever you say. Wonder where he got that
big scar? It was a gruesome looking thing for sure. Ran from
above his left eye, well where his left eye used to be, across his
cheek and mouth to his right jawbone. What ever it was sure had
to have hurt. Didn’t bother Fred, though. He looked past stuff
like that, but he couldn’t help but wonder. Guy was a definite
loner. Or seemed to be. But he did go into Denver several times
a week. Sometimes he stayed there. Fred knew ‘cause they
shared the road in and out. Funny that he did not seem to have a
name. No mail box either.

Fred sat deep in thought at the kitchen table as he stroked
the Hershey can. His eyes stared into the darkness of the forest.
But he did not see the trees or the tiny forest creatures. He saw
his mother. His mother in her pretty red dress and her white
patent leather shoes. He saw the slash of bright red lipstick on
her mouth and heard her laugh. He heard the radio playing a
lively tune. “Come here, Freddie, come dance with Momma!
Make Momma happy!” And he rose and followed her to the
middle of the wooden kitchen floor. His Momma was so
innocent. She asked for so little, just to be happy. As much as he
tried not to, he would always love his Momma. A tear slid
slowly down his cheek and was lost in his beard.

Installment #12

Installment #12

Meg

Meg walked around the house. The workmen were gone.
She was alone. She had handed Fred the roll of bills and then
insisted he count it for herself as well as for him. She knew it
was there, but she wanted him to know as well. As she watched
him she was suddenly struck by how innocent and child like he
seemed. There was more to Fred Himes then anyone would ever
know. She had asked for a tour around the house so he could
show her what he had done. He explained about the double
welding and that it would take a cutting torch for anyone to get
inside. “So don’t lose your key or you will be sleeping in the
yard.” He had suddenly become agitated when he said that.
Strange. She turned back into the house then turned and watched
him climb into his Toyota pick up. Man that big had no business
in a little truck like that.

She checked her eBay sales and then frowned because
there were none. Business was sure down for some reason. She
clicked through to her store and then to the mark down manager.
Of course she had to sign in again. Ebay was very careful about
that. She selected several vinyls and then changed her mind and
selected them all. She marked them 50% off, selected the start
and end date and then clicked to save. That done she checked
her emails. Nothing very interesting there. She wandered to the
kitchen and stood at the sink. She really should fix some lunch,
but suddenly the idea of eating alone brought tears to her eyes.
Was this how the rest of her life would be? Eating alone,
sleeping alone, walking alone? What was the point? She
opened the refrigerator and picked out an apple. Then she
grabbed a handful of Cheddar Cheese squares. She took her
keys off the hook behind the door. At the clink of the keys,
Daisy and Elvira appeared, fresh from a nap!

“Come on girls! Let’s go for a little walk up the
mountain.” She picked her knap sack off the hook, put two
bottles of water and an empty plastic sour cream tub inside. “
Got everything you ladies need, so let’s hit it!” She put the
keys in her pocket, the knap sack over her shoulder, got a bottle
of water for herself, and lastly took her walking stick down
from over the door. It was a gift from Tom many years ago. It
was very sturdy and had a hummingbird etched on the side with
flowers. Very good for stabilizing herself as she walked and
sturdy enough that she could defend herself if need be.
The dogs ran ahead and sniffed everything in sight. Of
course they also had to mark their territory, because that is what
dogs do. It was a beautiful day and while warm it had a cool
breeze blowing down from the mountain. She picked a trail that
looked sort of worn and the dogs immediately joined her. Birds
flitted in the canopy overhead as they walked. Meg was always
alert to the possibility of a timber rattler so she kept the dogs
close.

Almost imperceptibly a change came over Meg. Her
footsteps slowed and the dogs came closer. What was it? She
could feel eyes on her. She turned around. Nothing. Daisy
stopped and her hackles rose. She stared ahead into the
underbrush. Meg stopped and strained her eyes. Nothing. No,
wait, there was something. Something about that big Pine tree.
The growth at the bottom of it was mashed down. Had a bear
been here? Could very well have been. It was wilderness and
there were bears. But the limbs had been removed. No, not
removed. Only some of them. It looked like a ladder the way
they were staggered. She stepped on the first one. Then up
another one. One more. She could set up here and be quite
alone. This branch made a nice broad setting place. She sat and
turned. Her eyes fell on her farm. A cold feeling of dread settled
over her. Was she the only one that knew about this place? She
quickly scampered down the limbs again and when she reached
the ground the dogs were staring at her quizzically.
She turned quickly and started back down the path. The
dogs fell in step behind her and did not run and sniff. They
could barely keep up with her. When she reached the edge of
the clearing she stopped. She opened the knapsack and got the
bowl and water. The dogs lapped greedily. Meg gave them each
a piece of cheese and then ate the rest of the cheese and the
apple. Her nerves began to relax and her mind began to clear.
Maybe it was just the spell of the forest. She looked down the
mountain. She could not see her farm from here. She looked up
to see if she could see the tree she had climbed. No. She was
going to need to delve into this a little further. Where did the
trail lead? Was there a house up there? If so, who lived there?
Who could she ask? Fred. Of course. He had been on this
mountain for years. He would know.

She knew she needed to proceed with caution when she
talked to Fred because he was one skittish little fellow. That was
all right. She was just curious. Now how to get Fred to the
house without alerting him. Of course! Now the only way
anyone could get into her house was if they used the doggie door.
It was in the wall going to the back yard. True her dogs were
small and so was the doggie door, but it could be possible. She
would have Fred build a metal cage that the dogs would exit into
for their “personal needs.” She would have plenty of time to
visit with him while that was being done. She glanced back over
her shoulder as she hurried down the mountain. She could not
shake the feeling that eyes were boring into her back.
When she reached the house she quickly entered and
slammed the door behind her. With shaking hands she found
Fred’s number, but before she dialed she took several deep
breathes and composed herself. The phone rang several times
before she finally gave up. She would try later. He did not seem
to have an answering machine. After several hours, he answered.
She explained her plan to him and he promised to come by the
next morning. She smiled as she hung up the phone. Fred was
so easy.