“What?” Edward looked up, alarm on his features. “Why?”
“Perhaps he finally got word of your father’s earlier death, or your mother’s illness. Maybe he truly repented his old behavior and wanted to make amends.”
“Thomas? Repent?” Edward actually chuckled. “Not a chance. I’m afraid we have to assume that he’s unreachable.”
“You have no contact information or an address for him?” she asked, already knowing what the answer would be.
“Sorry,” Edward said, very sincerely. “I know he was living in Highbank for a while. But that was years ago. I very much doubt you’d find a trace of him there.”
“And he never sent you a single letter?”
He shook his head. “The break was total, and as far as I know I’m the only Springfield son left in this generation.”
Vera closed her notebook and thanked Edward for his time. He might believe Thomas had vanished off the face of the earth, but Vera knew that folks were rarely so careful. She intended to go to Highbank to discover if her theory could be true.
Returning to Shady Hollow’s main street, she noticed that some yards sported a “We Need More Meade!” sign near the sidewalks, in white letters on a bright red background. Very striking. Those signs hadn’t been up this morning! Maybe this election would not be the easy victory that she and Orville were hoping for. When she entered the police station, Vera saw that Orville was once more alone in the office. Chief Meade was either fishing or campaigning or both.
“Hi, Orville,” Vera greeted her beau. “Do you have a minute to chat?” Orville put down the file that he was studying and waved her to the chair on the other side of his desk. He knew better than to offer her coffee from the police station pot. It was notoriously black and noxious, and the carafe was rarely washed.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked.
“Um, I happened to speak to Edward Springfield today, and while I was standing in his foyer, I happened to examine the rug…”
“You just happened to examine something in the supposed victim’s home?”
“Well, Dot had told me that she saw blood on the floor. The floor was clean when I saw it, but the rug still has a bloodstain on it.”
“Really? I’ll go over there and check it out.” He looked pointedly at her. “But in the future, maybe leave the investigations to the police.”
“Speaking of that, what happens to the police records when you’re done with them? You know, like ones from a decade ago?”
Orville frowned thoughtfully. “Well,” he began to explain, “at the end of every year, we put the logbooks in a big box and take the box to the storeroom. The logbook has all the really important entries, like who we arrest when, and how many calls for help we responded to, and when someone’s released and into whose custody and whatnot. But most of the other paperwork gets sent to the village council, and I think they just burn it for fuel in winter.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” she said. “I think arrest records and calls for help would be just what I need.”
“This about Dotty?” he asked. “Because I’ll tell you right now, she’s never been in trouble with the law…other than the one time the séance went badly, and in any case the fire brigade declared it an accident.”
“No, I’m not concerned about Dorothy Springfield. I want to search for Thomas Springfield.”
“Who’s that?” Orville asked, puzzled.
“Exactly! Apparently, Edward has an older brother named Thomas, who’s a bad egg. I thought that there might be some records of his misdeeds in the police logbooks, even if it was just hauling him in for drunkenness one night.”
“Hmm. Well, the logbooks are all public. You just need to know what years you want so I can dig the right boxes out of the storeroom.”
Vera calculated the years based on Edward’s age, and gave Orville a range of five years. He wrote them down, then said, “You’ll have to wait a little while for these files, Vera. I’ve got to complete my shift and then go to the campaign office to see what I need to do there. Folk have been coming in with a lot of questions, some of them pretty tricky. What’s my stance on hiring more officers? Would I crack down on those shipments of moonshine that come in from upriver every month…that sort of thing. And Meade started talking about maybe holding a public debate, so that the voters can hear the real me…whatever that means. I hope I don’t have to write a speech. I’d rather answer questions all day!”
“Questions are good,” Vera assured him. “The only failing campaign office is an empty campaign office. Please send me a message when you can get those boxes. It’s not too urgent…just me and one of my wild theories. Anyway, I’ve got to go and write up this article on Adora along with the obituary. BW wants the whole front page to be full, so that everyone will go to the funeral and then he can get another front page to talk about how many folks showed up.”
Afterward, Vera walked to Mr. Fallow’s office, where she filled him in on the details she’d managed to uncover. Mr. Fallow nodded along at her report, and finally said, “Well, you’ve done a lot of work in a short amount of time. I’ll have to see if any of the Springfield documents ever even mentioned Thomas. I have only the vaguest recollection of the children, and of course I never would have met with the young ones in the course of business.”
“Perhaps Edward would be more forthcoming with you about his brother…assuming he’ll talk to you at all.”
“Oh, I meant to tell you,” Mr. Fallow said, smiling at last. “Earlier today, Edward actually stopped by and apologized for his attitude before. He said he’s been so torn up about his mother’s death and Dot’s odd behavior that
