Chapter 15

My calendar said it was Friday. My mind said it was somewhere around Tuesday. Can you get jet lag driving around New England?

I pulled into Aunt Mae’s driveway and was pleased, as always, by the view. She and Uncle Frank had bought their early 1800s saltbox home when they first married, and Aunt Mae still lived there. They had enjoyed maintaining it and always kept it a color of paint that had been available when it was built. These were rather deep shades of blue, yellow, red, green and even orange. White was apparently prohibitively expensive in those post-Colonial days, and pastels came later. Its latest color was barn red with white shutters and doors.

The house stood on a small rise with a large oak as guardian spirit and surrounded by some three acres that sloped away to Shank Painter Pond. A small cottage stood near the pond and the garage/herbal gift shop was positioned to face the town road.

I walked into Aunt Mae’s kitchen, which still had the original fireplace, planning to surprise her with the missing table leg. Instead, it was I who was surprised, as I viewed the table, complete with four matching legs and not a broom handle in sight.

“Good morning, favorite aunt. What’s this? ” I asked. “I thought you were missing a leg here. I got this one from Wood’s Woods yesterday. You starting a collection? ”

“Of course not. One was missing. Sonny sawed off an old broom handle to prop it up for me. But then I got a real one.”

And another broom handle bit the dust. “I see. I wonder why Wood didn’t tell me? Why did he give me this one to bring to you? ” I also wondered why nothing was ever simple.

“Oh. He didn’t know I had one.” Aunt Mae frowned. “That was thoughtless of me. I should have called and told him. Now I’ve put him and you to trouble. Oh, I am sorry, dear. But how did you come to get my— a table leg—from Mr. Wood? ”

I explained the entire, by now thoroughly confusing, situation and she gave me a weak smile of understanding... or defeat.

“I see.” She sighed. “I’ll just have to take it back to him. I’ll be going up that way at some point.” She took the damned leg from me and propped it on the back porch. By now I never wanted to see another table leg, and Aunt Mae looked as if she agreed.

“Aunt Mae, I still don’t understand. If you originally got only three legs, where the hell did you find a matching fourth? ”

“Don’t swear, dear. It was through Rev. Bartles, although, of course it was actually Jared Mather.”

“Aunt Mae, I am missing something here. What the heck are you saying? ”

She was pulling pies out of the refrigerator and putting them into some kind of cake box. Her voice was momentarily muffled, but I got the gist of it.

“It’s quite simple, Alex. I took some soup over to Rev. and Mrs. Bartles for their bunch of homeless kids. I noticed their table was just like this one, but with four legs, so I told them my sad tale. Rev. Bartles said they had had the same experience.”

She placed the boxes on the table, where I got the full aroma of their contents. I brought my attention back to legs with difficulty, as she continued. “They, too, had called Mr. Wood about getting only three legs, but no fourth leg was sent to them as promised, and there they were with a table propped up on an old rake handle. ” One broom handle saved, I thought.

“Then the reverend explained that Jared Mather had been there for some reason. He goes to their church sometimes, I think, although it doesn’t seem his type. Anyway, Jared told Rev. Bartles to bring one of the legs out to his house—his shop—and he’d make him one just like it. So he did.”

“Mather made Bartles a table leg? Just like that? ”

“That’s the way I understood it. Jared is terribly good at that sort of thing.”

“Amazing. And he made you one the same way? ”

“Not exactly. You see, when I saw Lawrence’s—Rev. Bartles’— replacement, I decided to get Jared to make me one. He is a neighbor, and I’ve known him forever. I even dated him once or twice when I was a girl—he was as serious and solitary then as he is now. But quite the gentleman! No effort at all to get fresh. Rather dull, actually. Of course, then I met your Uncle Frank. Talk about opposites! ” She gave a happy reminiscent laugh and brought herself back to the present.

“Anyway. I took one of the legs off my table and went over to Jared’s. I told him my sad tale, and he said he’d be happy to make me one. About that time, I noticed what looked like a perfect copy of my table leg tossed on his scrap heap. I asked why I couldn’t just have that one. He said it was his first attempt to make one for Lawrence and it wasn’t quite right, that those little knobby things weren’t spaced quite correctly, and that the piece of wood was flawed. I told him it looked fine to me, and the spot wouldn’t show if I put that leg in the back.”

I knew why it might have “looked fine” to Aunt Mae—she was very nearsighted, hated to wear her glasses and traveled a fair portion of life in a pleasant haze.

“Well, we had a little argument, ” she chuckled. “He’s such a perfectionist! But I won. Finally Jared laughed and said all right. Anyhow, he picked it up and washed it off with some solvent. The flaw barely even showed. So I thanked him and took it along.”

I glanced at the table and saw no difference in the legs. Any imperfection was hidden by the overhang of the tabletop, but then, I was probably not the perfectionist Jared was. “Well, I’ll take Bartles his leg anyway, let him know Wood is on the up and up, even belatedly.” And get a chance to talk to him, I added silently.

“Oh, if you’re going over there you can do me a big favor, dear. Would you take over these two pies I baked for them? It would save me a trip.”

“I dunno. Do I get a sample? ”

She laughed and cut a slice from one of her already-cut cranapple pies and poured me a cup of strong coffee. Fargo got the outer crust. We lived pretty good, we two.

I pulled into Bartles’ parking area and looked in vain for his ancient, unmistakable van with The Lord Will Always Help stenciled crookedly on the side. I figured His help might indeed be all that held the venerable vehicle together. I hoped someone was around. I could leave the leg. I didn’t know what to do with the pies. Well, actually I did know, but Aunt Mae would kill me.

Bartles came around the corner. He was a rather effete youngish man wearing a strained expression. “Good morning. May I help you? ”

“Good morning. I’m Alex Peres. My aunt, Mrs. Cartwright, sent you these two pies, and here’s a table leg from Wood’s Woods, which I understand you don’t really need.”

“Ah.” He smiled cordially now. “Mrs. Cartwright, a dear lady, and so generous to us! Her contributions of food are very welcome to us, in every way. And how good of you to make the deliveries.”

“My pleasure. I happened to be in Wood’s store yesterday, picked up Aunt Mae’s replacement leg, plus yours and Mr. Leander’s... if you know him? Here, I’ll carry the leg in for you.” I wasn’t about to curtsy and drive away.

“Thank you. Come on around to the kitchen, if you don’t mind. May I offer you coffee? ”

“You’re very kind. I’d enjoy a cup.” God, I was beginning to sound like him. We went into a kitchen with dishes from breakfast stacked high in the sink, but basically clean. I wondered why part of a free breakfast didn’t include helping with the washup. He finished clearing the table and we sat down to mugs of exceptionally good coffee. “The pies, by the way, are cran-apple, her specialty.”

He rolled his eyes with pleasure. “Oh, we’ll all enjoy them tonight! I do hope you’re not delivering them because she’s not feeling well.” He made it a question.

“Oh, no. She’s fine. I just happened to be there and saved her a trip. But I’m curious about your table, sir. Aunt Mae told me Jared Mather made you a replacement leg just sort of off the cuff. That sounds almost impossible, even for Jared.”

“Not at all! He was here about a week ago and noticed my makeshift prop. I told him I was giving up hope that Wood would come through for me, and he insisted he could easily duplicate a leg. And, indeed, he did. We went out to his shop and he made a couple of measurements, picked out a piece of lumber and turned on his lathe. He insisted that his first attempt was imperfect in some way and made a second one. Totally unnecessary, as far as I could see. But I wasn’t going to argue with the expert.”

He glanced around at the loaded sink. “Anyway, thanks again for bringing the other one over. I’ll call Wood and tell him I don’t need it, in case he wants to pick it up.” I think he was ready for the coffee klatch to end.

I wasn’t. “You knew Lewis Schley, didn’t you? ”

Bartles had been treating me as if I were a distant but unquestioned member of the Royal Family. Now he looked at me as if I had delivered a ticking package with the words Terrorists, Ltd. featured prominently in the return address. “We-e-ell, I guess you could say I knew Lewis. He came here to visit a friend once or twice and stayed to eat. He paid generously for his meals. I talked him into staying for services once. I had hoped to know him better. He was in need of much help.”

“I’m glad to hear he wasn’t cadging meals. He had a well-paying job and a nice enough room over the garage where he worked—although he made pretty much a mess of it. So why did you think he needed help? ”

“There are many kinds of help, Ms. Peres. The life Lewis was leading—”

“Oh, yes, of course. Now I follow you.” I didn’t want to get off on that tangent! “You know Lewis was on his way over here Saturday night—the night he was killed. In fact, I heard him say to a friend that he was going to get a meal at the Rev’s. Would that have been surprising to you? ”

“Not really. I think he enjoyed the friendly atmosphere around here. He could relax and just be young. I think Lewis tried to act much more sophisticated than he really was. The young people have fun around the table, as well as getting a decent meal. I don’t preach at them with every mouthful, you know.” He smiled dryly.

“As you know, he presumably never made it.”

His reply was sharp and fast. “There was nothing presumable about it! Neither my wife nor I saw Lewis that night—nor since, obviously.”

His wife! I had forgotten all about her. Where the hell was she and their toddler, a little girl, I thought. “Oh, yes, Mrs. Bartles. Aunt Mae thinks so highly of her, ” I fabricated without a qualm. “And your little one. I had hoped to meet them.” I looked up at him and knew, as well as I knew it was Friday, that he was about to lie to me.

“Well, another time, I’m sure, ” he gushed. “Emmy’s gone to the supermarket. Sometimes it seems to me one of us is always at the supermarket, ha ha. Well, she’ll be sorry to have missed you, but I mustn’t keep you.” He walked to the door, so I really had no choice but to follow. He bowed and thanked me out and closed the door firmly.

As I walked past the garage I noticed a stack of freshly cut logs and, past them, a frost-nipped vegetable garden mulched with sawdust. I got in the car and sat for a moment. I turned to Fargo and scratched that special place on his ribs that makes him kick his back foot.

“Darling dog, ” I said, “yes, I saw the garden. Now... you and I know very little about children, but if you were a mother going grocery shopping, would you prefer to leave your two-year-old at home with daddy or drag her with you? ” He wiggled, which may have been a shrug, but I took it as agreement to my own doubts. I started the car and we took what would be the normal route from the Rev’s to the market. We did not pass the van headed home. We did not find it in the market parking lot.

Of course, she might have been anywhere, doing other errands or visiting a friend. But I didn’t think so. I thought she was gone, as in packed up and gone. That would account for the piled-up dishes and for the lack of baby paraphernalia lying around the kitchen. Why had she gone, and where?

I pondered the possibilities as we headed for Beech Forest and a run. Maybe there had been illness or other emergency in her family. Maybe she just needed a break and was spending a few days with a relative or friend. But any of those would be a perfectly normal reason for her absence, and no reason for Bartles to lie.

Maybe they had a fight and she went home to Mums. That would be normal enough, too, actually. I assumed preachers and their spouses had occasional rows. And probably for the same reasons we all had. I had no reason in the world to think her absence had anything to do with Lewis. I really didn’t. But I did. Maybe her body would turn up on Harmon’s next driftwood hunt.

Obviously Fargo didn’t intend to brood on it. The minute I pulled into the parking lot near the picnic area of the forest and opened his door, he spotted a browsing rabbit and took off. He was a hundred yards down the trail and barking joyously before I was out of the car. I didn’t blame him for his joy. It was a lovely place to be this autumn day. Some of the copper leaves had fallen, but most were still attached, rustling in the light air like the skirts of an Edwardian lady pacing her garden path. I shrugged and began to walk along the quiet way. I would catch up with him sooner or later. It was later. Fargo circled the entire pond in happy pursuit of anything that moved. Finally, I simply sat on a concrete bench and nabbed him on his second lap.