“He's never been outside by himself. What if he gets hit by a car? What if he can't find his way back? What if…”
Praxythea took my coffee mug. “He'll be back. I know he will.”
I left for the office, but only after Praxythea promised she'd keep searching for Fred.
She also promised to put the house back in order and to start preparing her famous fruitcake. She really was spoiling me.
As I approached the town square, I saw a crowd of shepherds, wise men, angels, sheep, and cattle gathered around the manger. Now what? I wondered. I parked in the vacant lot where the courthouse had stood before September's fire and hurried over.
I walked up to an agitated woman wearing a blue bathrobe and a lopsided halo, who I guessed was supposed to represent the Mother of God. A baby doll, wrapped in burlap, cried “Mama, Mama” every time the woman moved.
“What's up?” I asked, pulling out my notebook.
“We're the Friday-morning creche people-from the Living Word Church-on the corner of Second and Maple,” Mother Mary said. “Be sure you get that address right. We're not the Living Way people-they're out on Rabbit Road, and they voted not to help with the manger scene, so why should they get the credit? Anyway, when we got here we found the baby Jesus tossed right out of his manger bed. Look. It's full of trash!” She smoothed the baby doll's blond curls over its forehead. “Some people got no respect for religion.”
“How true,” I murmured. I saw Luscious, who was waving at me. “Excuse me, I need to talk to the police chief.”
“He's an asshole,” said the Mother of God. “Nothing like this happened when Garnet was here.”
The people gathered around Luscious were all talking at once. His boyish face was more flushed than usual, and despite the chilly air, there were drops of perspiration on his brow.
“Press,” I announced as I approached. “Coming through.”
As the crowd broke apart, I heard murmurs of “What's this town coming to?” and “Damn teenagers.”
I attempted to look official. “Can someone please tell me what's happened?” I directed my question at Luscious, as though I expected him to be in charge of the situation.
The ever-present councilman, Marvin Bumbaugh, stepped forward. “As president of the borough council, I believe it's my job to talk to the press.”
Poor Luscious looked miserable. Once again, I wondered why any sane person would want to be the Lickin Creek police chief. No wonder Garnet had gotten out.
“Come on over here and take a look,” Marvin said to me. He climbed over the iron chain that surrounded the fountain and pointed inside the shed. There, in the manger itself and scattered on the straw-covered floor, lay dozens of objects that I immediately recognized as Civil War paraphernalia.
“Could this be what was stolen from Dr. Wilson's house?” I asked.
“Damn right, little lady.” The obnoxious dentist, himself, was breathing down my neck. “That's my stuff all right.”
“Is anything missing?”
He rested an arm on my shoulder and surveyed the scene, then pulled a handwritten list from his pocket and checked the items off as he spoke. “Officer's sword, muzzle-loader, Colt 1860, flag and presentation plaque from the First South Carolina Volunteer Infantry Regiment, field glasses, Grand Army of the Republic Medal. Nothing's missing. Why the hell do you suppose they dumped it here?”
Luscious answered. “Probably got tired of the joke and didn't want to be caught with your stuff in their car. Why don't you pack it up and take it home, Cletus?”
“Don't you want to check it for fingerprints first?” Cletus asked.
“No point. Everything was handled by the Living Word people before I got here.”
Dr. Wilson looked at Marvin for approval. When Marvin nodded, the dentist stepped over the chain and began to gather his treasures.
Marvin turned to face the people in the square. “You'uns better get the square cleaned up,” he snapped. “Just look what those animals are doing.”
Kings, shepherds, and wise men scurried to obey his command.
He then turned to Luscious, who seemed to shrink as the borough president directed his anger toward him. After blaming the policeman for just about every disaster to have occurred in Lickin Creek for the past decade, Marvin wound up by shouting, “And what have you done about finding Bernice Roadcap's murderer? Nothing, I'll bet.”
Luscious spluttered. “Still waiting for the autopsy-”
“You've got till Christmas, Miller. Then I'm calling in the state police.” He jabbed Luscious in the chest three or four times with his forefinger. “Five days.”
Luscious waited until Marvin was gone, then turned to me with a groan. “I'm a dead man,” he said. “If he calls in the state police, I might as well kiss my job goodbye.”
I patted him awkwardly on the arm. Showing sympathy has always been difficult for me. “Five days is a long time,” I assured him. I tried to ignore the memory of a New York policeman telling me that the longer an investigation took, the less chance there was of catching the perpetrator.
“Why don't you call the medical examiner's office and see if they can't rush the autopsy?” I suggested. “Explain to them how urgent it is.”
“I'll try. Do you have any other ideas?”
“I do. There are some people I want to question. They might be more willing to talk to a reporter than to a policeman. I'll get back to you as soon as I know something.”
I dropped off the film I'd taken of the fire at our regular One-Hour-Photo-Shop, and made the owner promise he'd send them over to the
When I got to the office, faithful Cassie was already at work, redesigning the front page to make room for news of the fire and Oretta's death. I sat down at the computer and quickly generated an article.
“This is going to be a great issue, Tori,” Cassie said, when I handed her the paper. She glanced at it and corrected a spelling error with a red pencil. “More things happened in Lickin Creek this week than all last year.”
“Let's go over the articles,” I suggested. “Make sure we've covered everything.”
Oretta's death was placed on the top of the front page because it was the most recent event. I ranked finding Kevin as the next most important news article. “Nothing wrong with featuring some good news once in a while,” I told Cassie when she protested.
Bernice's murder moved down to third place. It had taken place two days ago and was now in the category of “old news.”
Under a header that said PUBLIC SAFETY THREATENED, we put a warning about an outbreak of Hand-Foot- and-Mouth disease in a prominent box on the front page, to let parents know it had been found in two elementary schools, and listed the symptoms.
In last place came the announcement that the child's remains found in the quarry had been identified as those of Eddie Douglas, missing for the past thirty-seven years. Since the paper wouldn't come out until tomorrow morning, there was no need to mention that a memorial service for him would be held this evening at Trinity Church. We'd feature an article about the actual service in next week's paper.
I did a quick check of the remaining pages to make sure the regular columns were all there: social news; police blotter; farm agent's advice; church schedules (extra long this issue because of the Christmas season); real estate transfers; births, deaths, marriages, divorce announcements; comics; high school sports; and a very short column of national and world news. Anything we reported on would be old before the paper came out, and anyone interested in world events could watch TV.
Cassie looked over the advertising, including the classifieds, and announced everything was “fine and dandy.” When the photos arrived, the issue would be complete.
I'd never win a Pulitzer here, I knew that, but I had to admit it was very satisfying putting this newspaper together.
