Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp (17 page)

“But...”

“There are really several
problems with it. One of them was obvious right away to anyone who
lives here.”

“Cora didn’t seem to notice
anything amiss.” I could hear a slight whine creep into my
tone.

“Yes, and I find that odd,
too.” He paused and his eyes bored into mine, as if searching for
pieces that were out of place.

“So, what’s wrong with
it?”

“Most telling is that the
address is all wrong.”

“Because there is no actual
Historical Society? That was part of the address, right? But
everyone knows that’s just Cora.”

“They do, for a fact. But
Cora doesn’t live in Cherry Hill.”

“I don’t
understand.”

“She lives at least ten
miles south of town, as the crow flies, even longer by road. Her
actual post office address is Thorpe.”

“Oh.” I thought a minute.
“But wouldn’t a small town postal service just deliver it
anyway?”

“Cherry Hill rural routes
don’t go that far out. Perhaps some individual might have
recognized where it went and been kind enough to take it out
there.”

I brightened and held out a
hand. “That must be what happened.”

“But it didn’t. No one who
works for the Cherry Hill Post Office has ever seen that
box.”

“It had a postmark, though.
Chicago. I saw that myself. But the date was smudged. Didn’t you
send it to a lab or some place where they could clean it up and
read it? Then you’d know where it was mailed.” This seemed like
preaching to the choir, but I’d seen the evidence of a mailing with
my own eyes.

Milford pushed his chair
back and put his hands behind his head, see-sawing on the back
legs. “Now that’s another interesting thing.”

I continued to gaze at him.
He didn’t say anything, so I raised an eyebrow and opened my eyes
wide. “Well?”

The chair crashed back to
the hard floor. “It did have a Chicago postmark,” he
admitted.

“I knew it!” I
gloated.

He leaned toward me
slightly, matching my pop-eyed gaze. “From 1998.”

“1998?”

Detective Milford
positively smirked. “The wrapping paper was re-used from some
earlier mailing, and we haven’t found the information on it to be
very helpful. If you see what I mean.”

“There was no address under
the label with Cora’s name?”

“It had been cut out.
Didn’t notice that did you, Miss Amateur Detective?” he said
sarcastically.

“So, somebody left that
package by the mailbox.” I jerked upright with the realization.
“That’s a little scary. They were right there near her house. The
person that killed Jared Canfield... no, wait. That wasn’t the same
hatchet.”

“You begin to see why we
are finding this case, if it’s only one case, difficult to solve,”
Milford drawled.

Chapter 24

I needed time to think.
There were basically two locales involved in the murder of Jared
Canfield if you left out the hatchet sent to Cora that apparently
wasn’t connected to the crime at all, except perhaps by
implication. They were Jalmari and the old school, connected by the
Petite Sauble River, in which Canfield’s body had been
found.

Leaving the Sheriff’s
office, almost without thinking I turned west and followed US 10
until I reached Jalmari Road, which I took and headed straight
north to the river, and to what was left of the small town. There
was no longer any village limit sign at all, just a billboard
advertising the Jalmari Canoe Livery, which was almost the only
remaining business. The gas station and pizza parlor were across
the river, almost out of sight behind trees which lined the banks.
I pulled into a deserted strip parking lot in front of the
log-faced livery. Multi-colored kayaks had been leaned against the
logs, creating an appealing storefront. Maybe they were already
closed for the season, but I thought I saw lights on inside. The
front door opened inward when I turned the knob, and a bell
jingled—a cheerful tinkle.

As I surveyed the inside of
the building, I realized this was much more than just a place to
rent canoes. It appeared to be a full outfitter, with kayaks,
canoes, tents, gear, and clothing for sale. I was surprised to find
such a going establishment in a locale that was so out of the way.
I’d learned in July that there was a large lake on the other side
of Cherry Hill, known as Turtle Lake, where water sports were
popular, and it seemed to me this business would have been more
likely to succeed over there.

A young woman approached
me. “May I help you?” she asked pleasantly.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted.
“I thought you just rented canoes, and had no idea you sold a full
line of outdoor gear. I’m very surprised.”

The girl smiled. She looked
young enough to be a college student. “Yes, we have some
advertising issues. Actually, we expanded this summer. My husband
and I bought the livery business, and hope to capitalize on the
proximity of the Thousand Lakes State Forest. Are you into quiet
outdoor sports? Maybe we have something you could use.”

“I might be interested in
making a purchase some other time,” I offered hesitantly. “I really
just have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” the girl
said.

She didn’t sound annoyed,
so I was encouraged. “My name is Ana Raven. I live over on East
South River Road.” I paused, knowing my thoughts weren’t too
tactful, but wanting answers. “Actually, I would think a sports
business would do better over there, near Turtle Lake, if I’m not
being too pushy.”

She laughed. “We think so
too. But Shane and I just bought the livery this spring, and this
is where it is. We hope to eventually have two locations. By the
way, I’m Alex. Our last name is Clarkson.” She held out her
hand.

Her grip was firm but not
forceful. I liked her instantly. Encouraged, I continued, “I know
you can paddle down the river from the lake for some distance, but
I haven’t tried to make it all the way to my property. Someone at
the lake told me the river might be clogged with snags. Do you know
anything about how far it’s clear?”

“We’ve been too busy to
explore upstream from Cherry Hill this summer. But we’ve paddled on
the downstream side quite a bit.”

Questions suddenly jumped
into my mind. “I guess you can’t take a boat through town, though?
There’s the mill race.”

“Just a couple of blocks
portage can get you around the race,” Alex said, “but the water is
real shallow after that for a mile or so. In mid-summer the river
is very low.”

My other question was the
important one. “I’m very curious about the body that washed up
here. If the water was low, how could it have been carried very
far?”

Alex wrinkled her nose.
“That wasn’t much fun. We had to stay closed for three days right
at the end of the season, while the police did whatever it is they
do.”

“I know,” I commiserated.
“I was here the day they found him. I saw all that ‘police line’
yellow tape.”

“We lost a lot of business
that week from summer people who wanted a final adventure while
closing up their cottages. To answer your question, the water is
higher now. We had some good rain early in the month. I’m not sure
how far upstream a body could have come from. At least a few miles,
if it didn’t catch on branches, or get caught in an eddy and pushed
to the outer bank of a bend.”

“Why did they find the body
here?” I asked. “I mean, if there are so many places it could get
hung up?”

“Probably two reasons,”
Alex speculated. “The river widens out, so the current does
diminish. I’ve been told that’s why the town was built here in the
first place. The river could be forded before there was a bridge;
now it’s been dredged for boats to pass through. But also, there
are people here. We saw it and called the police. The body was
snagged on that tree near the public access. Shane actually pulled
it, him, ashore.” Alex stared into the distance with the corners of
her mouth drawn down, obviously recalling the unpleasant
experience.

“That makes sense,” I
agreed.

“Although there are
cottages along the river, most of them are only occupied in the
summer. I suppose some paddler might have spotted the body, but I
guess no one did. It was mid-week, after all,” Alex pointed out.
“Did you know him?”

“Oh, no,” I quickly
answered, shaking my head. “But I’ve gotten connected to the whole
mess through a strange set of coincidences. Jerry Caulfield—he owns
the newspaper—and I found the crime scene.” Now it was my turn to
shudder with a gruesome memory.

“At the old school
building, right?” Alex asked, suddenly curious.

“Yes. Are you from the
area? Do you know where it is?”

“Only sort of. On the edge
of town, I think. Shane and I are from Sault Ste. Marie. But we
wanted to go into business promoting quiet sports, and there are so
many rivers here, and the state forest. When we saw that this
livery was for sale, it really seemed like the perfect place to
begin.”

“I hope you do well,” I
offered with a smile. “I didn’t realize this was such a popular
area for recreation.”

“It’s trending. We’ve got a
Facebook page, and lots of people from the city come here in the
summer. We just need to tap into that potential business. Convince
them they can get high-quality goods right here. The area needs
some other businesses that cater to tourism, though.”

“There isn’t much,” I
agreed, thinking about the current dearth of restaurants. “Are you
going to stay open all winter? There can’t be much traffic here
now.”

Alex glanced at the closed
entry door. “We think we might as well stay open. Shane and I made
a small apartment in the rear. We have to keep the electric on and
part of the building heated anyway. We’ll hold out till Christmas
for sure. An order of cross-country skis should be arriving this
week, and some sweaters and parkas, stuff like that.”

“Skis? That sounds like
fun. I’ve never tried it.” I mused aloud.

“Oh! We can teach you.”
Alex clapped her hands like a child. “Classes. I hadn’t thought of
that. I’ll talk to Shane. Would you pay for something like
that?”

“I think I would,” I said,
picturing the trail through the swamp and the extension of the road
past my house that I knew wouldn’t be plowed in the
winter.

“There are trails through
Thousand Lakes. I wonder if local people use them in the winter,”
Alex said.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“I just moved here in the spring myself.”

Alex ducked her head
sheepishly. “I know,” she said. “Your name has been in the paper a
couple of times. I recognized it when you introduced yourself. I
should have told you.”

I laughed. “It’s OK. I’m
infamous, but not by choice. I really would like to live a quiet,
private life. Have you heard about the Harvest Ball Jerry is
planning?”

“No,” she said.

“It’s going to be in the
middle of October, but not in conflict with Halloween—the kids’
Trick or Treating, you know. We really have to set the actual date
soon.”

“We?”

“Oh, well, Jerry has me
pretty thoroughly wrapped up in helping with the plans.” The secret
motive to surprise Cora flitted through my mind. “It’ll be open to
everyone. Come! The more people you meet, the more business you’re
sure to get.”

“I’ll tell Shane, and we’ll
be there.” Alex said.

After looking around at the
goods for sale and taking a business card, I promised Alex I’d be
back to do some Christmas shopping. For one thing, there were
clothes I knew would appeal to Chad. I gave her my phone number and
asked her to call me when the skis came in; she eagerly promised to
let me know as soon as they were ready.

From Jalmari, I drove
slowly along the winding West South River Road back toward Cherry
Hill. It was the route Chad and I had taken in the opposite
direction the day Jared Canfield’s body was discovered. I passed
the driveway leading to the large, white and green cottage that was
for sale. Virginia Holiday’s Realty sign was still at the corner,
although it had been knocked slightly askew. That was a beautiful
summer house, I recalled. I wanted to see the inside.

Within a quarter hour, even
driving at a casual pace, I reached Cherry Hill. As I passed the
old school, it was obvious that Jerry had summoned teams of workers
to the site. The place was swarming with vans displaying logos of
various construction firms. Two men in hardhats and coveralls were
carrying a large pane of taped glass toward some scaffolding. There
was such a loud banging noise coming from the building, I could
hear it even with my car windows closed.

I smiled, partly at the
unlikely success of Jerry’s plan to win Cora back, and partly at
the amount of effort and money he was pouring into the project. He
was getting things done. I’d give him that.

Without stopping in town, I
arrived at my house just after four p.m. I was looking forward to a
cozy evening with a good book.