Authors: Rett MacPherson
“Really. I didn't know they had taken any,” I said, and worked my lower lip between my fingers.
“So,” Colin said, looking up at the front of Harlan Schwartz's house. “You here to ask him about the wreck?”
“He's the only one in town who is old enough to remember it, other than Sylvia, and I already got her story,” I said.
“Let's go,” he said.
I watched for patches of ice on the sidewalk as we walked up to the door, but it seemed to be generously sprinkled with salt, as well. I rang the bell and we waited, watching our breath billow in the wind.
“Oh, your mother said to invite you guys over for dinner next Friday,” he said.
“What are you, her messenger?” I asked, a little annoyed.
“No big deal, Torie. She knew I was coming to track you down,” he said.
I was about ready to knock again, when the inside door opened and the storm door filled with condensation. Mr. Harlan Schwartz, the second-oldest resident in New Kassel, stood there in a flannel shirt and tan corduroy pants. Opening the storm door, he said, “Sheriff, how are ya?”
“Good, Harlan. Can we come in for just a second?”
He looked at me, then back to Colin, and a faint expression of worry clouded his gray eyes. “Sure. What's this all about?”
The house was small, cozy, and extremely warm. His couch had an old blue crocheted throw over the back of it. Harlan sat down in the recliner, moving as slowly as one would expect. I noticed his walker was sitting over in the corner. He picked up the remote and turned off the television. “Can't believe
The Price Is Right
is still on television.”
“What I can't believe is that they show reruns of game shows,” I said.
“It's silly, isn't it?” he said in an exasperated voice. “So, what do you know, Sheriff?”
“Harlan,” the sheriff began. “We want to talk to you about the wreck. You know,
The Phantom.
”
Harlan waved a hand at Colin. “TV reporter already been here.”
“Bradley Chapel?” I asked.
“Yup,” he said. “Fancy-dressed fella.”
“Well, Harlan, I'd like to ask you some questions anyway,” I said. “If that's all right with you.”
He shrugged. “I don't care. Nothin' better to do.”
“What do you remember? Start at the beginning. Where were you and what do you remember happened first?” I asked.
“Well, I was at the sawmill,” he said. “I was takin' Dad some dinner. Mom said he was gonna be working late, so to take him some dinner. I'd just gotten home from school, so I didn't have to get bundled up or nothin'. I already was dressed for the weather. It was cold.”
“What time was this?” Colin asked.
“'Bout four,” he said. “So I started walkin' home, and the train passed me on the way.”
Harlan scratched the top of his head, which had wispy white hair, combed to the side. His lips were drawn thin, like somebody who had worn ill-fitting dentures his whole life. “When I got to town, everybody was a-runnin' and screamin.'”
“Wait,” Colin said. “If you were coming home by the railroad tracks, then you were walking home by way of the river, too.”
I looked at him. Of course. Harlan Schwartz would have been upriver. He would be the only one who could have seen what happened to the steamer.
“That's right.”
“So did you see the boat before it sank?” Colin asked.
“I did,” he said matter-of-factly. “She was loaded as flat as she could be. But, you know, I wasn't payin' no attention. I looked over at her; then I went back to playin' the game I was playin'.”
“What game was that?” I asked.
“I used to take a rock and throw it and then try to outrun it,” he said, laughing. “I was a strange kid.”
“All kids are strange,” I assured him.
“So then next thing I know, I look up and she's a-turnin' on her side. I started runnin' for home. When I came over the hill, I saw her out of control and floatin' into the cove, and people runnin' everywhere.”
“Did you hear any rumors about diamonds?” Colin asked.
“No, I didn't,” he said. “But I was too busy helpin' Doc Hallam. I saved a little kid. Probably two years younger than I was. I reached in and pulled him out of the water. Then I beat him on the back until he breathed.”
“That's amazing,” I said.
“Elmer's mother came a-runnin' with some blankets, 'cause we were all worried about the people catchin' their deaths,” he said. “The water was so cold. Remember that like it was yesterday.”
“I imagine that would be something that would be hard to forget,” Colin said.
“I didn't wanna forget it,” Harlan said. “I saved a life. Far as I'm concerned, I never did anything that mattered since.”
The Talmud says that to save one life is to save the world. I guess it must feel that way, indeed. “Did you talk to any of the survivors?” I asked.
“Sure, after things calmed down. But at the time, we were all just runnin' around in every direction, tryin' to pull people out of the water and get them to safety.”
“Did any of them talk about diamonds?” the sheriff asked.
“Not that I heard,” Harlan said. “One woman lost her dog, though. Couldn't find him nowhere. He came wanderin' through town the next day.”
“What about the Huntleigh heiress? Did you hear anything about her?” I asked.
“Just remember those private detective fellas comin' around afterward, showin' us pictures of her and askin' if any of us had seen her. That's all.”
The three of us talked a few more minutes about the wreck in general, and basically Harlan had nothing further to add that we hadn't heard already. He really seemed to be animated by the conversation, though. I wondered if it was the subject matter or if it was just the fact that somebody had bothered to come and talk to him.
“Well, Harlan, we're going to get going,” Colin said after a few minutes. “I want to thank you for taking the time to talk to us. If you think of anything else that might seem important, give me a ring.”
“Sure will, Sheriff,” he said, and started to get up.
“No, don't get up. We can see ourselves out,” Colin said.
Harlan waved at us, and then as we walked out the door, he turned the television back on.
When we stepped out to the front porch, Colin looked at me. “Well, there's one witness who says she was definitely loaded flat,” he said. “I agree with you. I think when Thibeau turned her so hard, the water just came up over the boat.”
“Yeah, but what made him do that?” I asked.
“I don't know,” Colin said. “At any rate, why the boat sank doesn't really help me with who killed Jacob Lahrs. That's not my mystery to solve.”
I stood there a moment and heard the train in the distance. Harlan Schwartz had seen the train pass him by on the way home. The clouds in my mind parted for a moment and I flashed back to the night Jacob Lahrs was murdered. In my mind's eye, I could see Collette and me walking down the street toward the river and nearly being knocked over by Justin on his bike from hell. And then I remembered.
Standing there with Collettee, I had heard the train go by.
“Colin,” I said.
“What?”
“I think I just figured out how your murderer got away from the crime scene.”
“What?” he asked, confused. “How?”
“The perp's footprints disappeared, but not because he waded through the river to safety. The footprints disappeared because he most likely walked upriver, through a bit of water, and then jumped on the train.”
Rudy's bowling team consists of him, Chuck Velasco, Father Bingham, Tony Vogt, who runs the supermarket, and Colin. Father Bingham is the oldest member of the bowling team and also the best. He averages at least two strikes a game and several spares, whereas Rudy's talent lies in fishing, Chuck's in motorcycles, and Tony's in golf. I'm not sure what Colin's specialty is. He is good at fishing and hunting, although I refuse even to smell any of his deer sausage, much less eat it. So shooting matches are pretty good for him. Why this group of men insist on bowling is beyond me, but they meet every Tuesday night. Could be because the Black Cat Alley is the cheapest place in town for beerâA $1.50 a bottle and $1.00 for draft.
Or maybe it was just because they all want to get away from their wives and pretend that they have some semblance of control in their marriages. Although Chuck's wife had been doing the baker on Tuesday nights while Chuck had been trying to knock down ten pins. They divorced. Very bitterly, I might add.
I usually don't accompany Rudy on his bowling excursions, but once in awhile, I go along and bowl a few games with the kids while he engages in his efforts. This Tuesday, I didn't think it would be a good idea to bowl with my foot just healing, so I let the kids have at it. Matthew just sort of pushed his ball down the lane, and although it would take nearly two minutes for the ball to meet the pins, he was actually knocking down more pins than his father.
“So anyway,” Rachel said, “Valerie's mom is letting her go to this lock-in over at the church this Friday and she wanted to know if I could come. I told her that my parents would probably say no because you guys always say no to whatever cool thing it is I want to do.”
“You know, that just makes me want to say no,” I said.
She rolled her eyes. “See.”
Mary knocked over three pins and came back to wait for her ball to return.
“Loser,” Rachel said under her breath.
Mary made a
W
sign with her fingers, which meant “Whatever,” then cocked her head to one side, and nearly dislocated her hip making the sassy body language.
As Mary turned around, Rachel made the
L
sign with her thumb and finger and stuck it up on her forehead.
“Will you stop?” I asked.
“She's such a dork,” Rachel said.
“No, she's a kid. You were a dork when you were that age.”
“Oh, not nearly as bad as she is. She's embarrassing,” Rachel said.
“Back to this lock-in thing. What is it exactly?”
“Well, it's where a group of kids get locked in the church all night long.”
“And this is fun?”
“Mom,” she said. I never could understand how kids manage to put a diphthong in
Mom.
“How is that fun? When have you ever done this to know if it's fun?”
“Becky Burgermeister said it's tons of fun.”
“Oh, and she's the fun expert. The girl watches the Weather Channel four hours a day,” I said.
“She does not.”
“You forget her mother is on the Octoberfest committee with me every year.”
A loud uproar came from the lane next to us as one of the guys got a strike. They all high-fived and raised their fists and their bottles and bought another round. It was a good thing strikes were rare in their game, or they'd all be alcoholics before it was over.
Rachel pouted. “Okay, so if it's not any fun, it's not any fun. I just wanna go.”
“You're up,” I said. She rolled her eyes yet again and got up to bowl. Mary sat down in her chair.
“So, Mom,” Mary began. “Ashley said I could have her old Game Boy, if that's all right with you.”
“Why is she giving away her Game Boy?”
“Because she got a new one,” she said.
“Why'd she get a new one? Is the old one broken?”
“No, she just got a new one. Can I have it?”
“How do you know she's not going to want it back?” I asked.
“Mom, please. Just say yes or no.”
“Fine,” I said.
“Great. Can I go to Disney World with her in June?”
“What?”
“She's going to Disney World and wants to know if I can go.”
“Did her parents say it was okay?”
She nodded her head, as if she really knew the answer to that question, her blond hair bobbing up and down.
“They probably don't even know about it,” I said.
“They do, too. I swear,” she said, and held her hand up. “She said her mother said she could take whoever she wanted. And I'm the one she wants to take.”
“This week,” I said.
“Mom.” There was that diphthong again.
“Ashley's parents have four kids. Why would they want to take another one with them if they didn't have to?” I asked.
“Oh my gosh!” Mary suddenly exclaimed, forgetting all about our Disney World conversation. “There's Justin McKinney!”
I looked around the bowling alley and, sure enough, there was Justin McKinney. Before I could say anything, Mary was down off of her chair and running over to Justin's lane to speak to him. Rachel knocked down eight pins and was quite proud of herself. Matthew came over and sat in the same chair that Mary and Rachel had been in before. His feet just barely came to the end of the chair. He smiled, showing those completely adorable dimples.
“What do you want?” I asked. “Aren't you going to ask me for something?”
“Uh na keekoo,” he said.
“Of course you want a cookie,” I said.
“Where's Brat?” Rachel asked.
“She saw Justin McKinney three lanes down,” I said.
And then I remembered. Justin McKinney was the one and the same kid who had barreled through town on his ten-speed the night we found Jacob Lahrs's body.
“Oh God,” Rachel said. “His sister Meaghan is here, too. Hide me.”
“What? What have you got against Meaghan?”
“She makes my life miserable,” she said with great exasperation. “She's, like, Miss Perfect.”
“I've noticed that the Miss Perfects in school usually grow up to be Miss Nobodies in real life,” I said. She just looked at me as if I were the stupidest thing on the planet. “Okay, fine. You don't have to talk to her, you know.”