Still Life With Crows

“On June 5, 1901, while searching for a lost heifer, he came across the opening to a cave, almost completely hidden by scrub and brush. He came back with a lantern and axe, cut his way down the slope into the cave, and began exploring.”

“Did he find the heifer?” Pendergast asked.

The question threw Winifred off. Nobody asked about the heifer.

“Why, yes, he did. The heifer had gotten into the cave and fallen into the Bottomless Pit. Unfortunately, she was dead.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s see.” Winifred stood at the cave entrance, trying to pick up the thread once again. “Oh, yes. Right about this time the motorcar was making its debut on the American scene. The Cry Road started to see some motorcar traffic, mostly families on their way to California. It took Hiram Kraus a year to build the wooden walkways—the same ones we will walk on—and then he opened the cave to the public. Back then, admission was a nickel.” She paused for the obligatory chuckle, grew a little flustered when none was forthcoming. “It was an immediate success. The gift shop soon followed, where visitors can buy rocks, minerals, and fossils, as well as handcrafts and needlepoint to benefit the church, all at a ten percent discount for those who have taken the Kaverns Tour. And now, if you will kindly step this way, we will enter the cave.”

She pulled the iron door wide and motioned Pendergast to follow her. They descended a set of broad, worn stairs that had been built over a declivity leading into the bowels of the earth. Walls of limestone rose on both sides, arching over into a tunnel. Bare bulbs hung from the rocky ceiling. After a descent of about two hundred feet, the steps gave onto a wooden walkway, which angled around a sharp turn and entered the cavern proper.

Here, deep beneath the earth, the air smelled of water and wet stone. It was a smell that Winifred loved. There was no unpleasant undercurrent of mold or guano: no bats lived in Kraus’s Kaverns. Ahead, the boardwalk snaked its way through a forest of stalagmites. More bulbs, placed between the stalagmites, threw grotesque shadows against the cavern walls. The roof of the cave rose into darkness. She proceeded to the center of the cavern, paused, and turned with her hands unfolded, just as her pa had taught her.

“We are now in the Krystal Kathedral, the first of the three great caverns in the cave system. These stalagmites are twenty feet high on average. The ceiling is almost ninety feet above our heads, and the cavern measures one hundred and twenty feet from side to side.”

“Magnificent,” said Pendergast.

Winifred beamed and went on to talk about the geology of the chalk beds of southwestern Kansas, and how the cave had formed from the slow percolation of water over millions of years. She ended with a recitation of the names Grandfather Hiram had given to the various stalagmites: “The Seven Dwarves,” “White Unicorn,” “Santa’s Beard,” “Needle and Thread.” Then she paused for questions.

“Has everyone in town been here?” Pendergast asked.

Again, the question brought Winifred up short. “Why, yes, I believe so. We don’t charge the locals, of course. It would hardly do to profit from one’s neighbors.”

When no more questions were forthcoming, she turned and led the way through the forest of stalagmites and into a low, narrow passageway leading to the next cavern.

“Don’t bump your head!” she warned Pendergast over her shoulder. She entered the second cavern, strode to the center, and turned with a sweep of her dress.

“We are now in the Giant’s Library. My grandfather named it that because, if you look to your right, you will see how layers of travertine have built up over millions of years to form what looks like stacked books. And over on that side, the vertical pillars of limestone on the walls appear to be shelved books. And now—”

She stepped forward again. They were about to come to her favorite part, the Krystal Chimes. And then suddenly she realized: she had forgotten her little rubber hammer. She felt in the pocket where she kept it hidden, ready to bring it out to the surprise of the guests. It wasn’t there. She must have left it back in the gift shop. And she’d forgotten the flashlight, as well, always brought along in case the electricity failed. Winifred felt mortified. Fifty years of giving tours and she had never once forgotten her little rubber hammer.

Pendergast was observing her intently. “Are you all right, Miss Kraus?”

“I forgot my rubber hammer to play the Krystal Chimes.” She almost felt like crying.

Pendergast glanced around at the forest of stalactites. “I see. I imagine those resonate when tapped.”

She nodded. “You can play Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy’ on those stalactites. It’s the highlight of the tour.”

“How very intriguing. I shall have to return, then.”

Winifred searched her mind for the continuation of the talk, but could find nothing. She began to feel a rising panic.

“There must be a great deal of history in this town,” Pendergast said as he casually examined some gypsum feathers glinting in a pool of reflected light.

Winifred felt a glow of gratitude for this little rescue. “Oh yes, there is.”

“And you must know most of it.”

“I suppose I do know most everything,” she said. She felt a little better. Now she had a second tour to look forward to, and she would never forget her rubber hammer again. That dreadful murder had upset her a great deal. More than she’d realized, perhaps.

Pendergast bent to examine another cluster of crystals. “There was a curious incident at Maisie’s Diner last evening. The sheriff arrested a girl named Corrie Swanson.”

“Oh, yes. She’s a troublemaker from way back. Her father ran off, and the mother is the cocktail waitress at the Candlepin Castle.” She leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. “I think she drinks. And . . . seesmen. ”

“Ah!” said Pendergast.

Winifred was encouraged. “Yes. They say Corrie takes drugs. She’ll leave Medicine Creek, like so many others,