Once in a Blue Moon Page 7

  Addie was surprised at his appearance, but held her hand out to beckon him forward. She wanted to try to explain to him the scene he had obviously just witnessed. But he shook his head at her gesture, and his eyelids fell to cover an expression she had never seen before and could not understand. He moved away, vanishing silently somewhere in the labyrinth of shelves.

  “He seems completely enamored with you, almost too much so. Are you sure he’s harmless?” asked Will, and he leaned over to place a small kiss on her forehead.

  “Donny Jim wouldn’t hurt a fly, Will. Don’t worry about him.”

  Doors slammed, and heavy footsteps pounded into the library. “Addie? Addie, come quick.”

  Addie recognized Deputy Lee Bert’s voice. She ran to the front and found him pacing frantically.

  “What on earth is the matter?” she asked him.

  The lanky power company meter-man-turned-sheriff’s-deputy shook his head like a dog ridding itself of water. “Addie, get holt of yerself, don’t panic or nothin’.”

  “Just spit it out, Lee Bert. I can take care of myself.”

  “It’s Joe. He died, Addie, he died, he’s done passed over,” the young man said with a big gulp.

  Addie’s head whirled, her knees buckled and she sat in the nearest chair.

  “No!”

  Not Joe. Never Joe. The whole business was hideous enough, but now Joe had died protecting her. Would this nightmare never end?

  Lee Bert knelt on one knee in front of her, and took her hands. “Can I get you some water, or do you need a hankie or somethin’?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. When did he die? Was anyone with him?”

  “The doctors figure it was about two this afternoon. He never regained consciousness that they know of. They think he jest slipped from that coma into the arms of the Almighty. His breathin’ and everything seemed good, so no one had checked on him for about an hour, and when the nurse finally did, he was gone.”

  “But it’s almost dinner time. Why are we just hearing this?”

  “The Marysville police wanted to make sure his family was informed first, and they wanted to question the staff at the hospital. They’re going to do one of them autopsies, too. Want to make sure Joe died natural, with no help from anyone.”

  Hoping to clear her head, she raked her shaking hands through her hair, scraping the nails against her scalp until it hurt. Nothing helped. Nothing ever would. Joe was gone. Joe was gone because of her.

  “Ohhhh, God, Lee Bert. He was such a good man.”

  She sat straight, threw her shoulders back, and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I should have been with him. I hate to think of him dying alone. Did he have any visitors, anyone who might have been with him?”

  “Well, yeah.” He looked behind her, frowned and nodded his head. “Him. The folk story professor. The floor nurse said he was there about one-thirty.���

  Addie jerked around to find Will standing behind her. She wondered how long he had been there.

  “What’s happened?” Will asked.

  “Joe Bolo died. Lee Bert says you were there this afternoon.”

  “Yes, I dropped in after lunch. I’m sorry to hear this.”

  Lee Bert stuck his thumbs in his belt and thrust his pouch of a stomach forward. “Yeah, and the police want to talk to you. Now jest how come you would be visitin’ Joe, professor? You didn’t even know him.”

  “I was there the night he was injured, and felt partly responsible. If you must know, deputy, it wasn’t the first time I visited.”

  Addie saw suspicion grow in Lee Bert’s eyes, and gnawing dread joined the grief wreaking havoc inside of her.

  “This is nonsense,” said Addie. “I’m sure Joe died from his injuries. There’s no need to drag anyone else into this.”

  She smiled at Lee Bert, trying to diffuse the tension between the men. He didn’t return her smile, and Addie’s skin prickled with apprehension. A pleading glance at Will did nothing to assure her.

  His eyes were dark and unreadable. His lips had thinned and hardened into a grimace. Will looked angry and dangerous.

  5

  TWILIGHT TRACED PINK STREAMERS across a darkening plum-colored sky. The Allegheny foothills in the distance had already dissolved into the night. Hoedown merrymakers wrapped their jackets close as the sharp November air pinched cheeks and hands until they were rosy.

  Henry Meredith, the old gentleman sitting in the rocking chair next to Will on the Simples’s front porch, had fallen asleep. His story told, he’d drained the last of his hot chocolate and nodded off. Will placed his blue pad of paper on the porch at his feet, then tugged the plaid stadium blanket covering Henry knees up over his chest, and tucked it beneath the man’s straggly beard.

  He rubbed his cold hands together and blew on them, sitting back to enjoy the scenery, which meant looking for Addie. Occupied most of the afternoon with Henry, the elderly man Addie had brought to the picnic for him to interview, Will had paid scant attention to the activity around him.

  The porch of the Simples’s farmhouse looked across a square meadow to a large weather-beaten gray barn. All afternoon, people carrying plates of food and drink had eddied in and out of the barn and across the meadow to the house. In the fading light the picnic looked as if it was winding down. They were finishing their dessert, putting their baskets together, and cleaning up. Laughing children were helped off, jumping and tumbling like joyful puppies, from the hay wagons. From the barn the strains of a fiddle tuning up could be heard.

  The scene seemed bucolic; a church social on a beautiful crisp, purple, fall mountain evening, but Will knew better. Currents of anger, fear, and suspicion, some of it aimed at him, surged close beneath the peaceful, amiable surface. The specter of Joe’s funeral in two days didn’t help matters.

  Addie had informed him briefly, before she left him with Henry, that Buck had been shocked when she told him of her interest in Will. He’d insisted her attraction was simply infatuation, and they should continue with their wedding plans. They had argued, but eventually Buck calmed down, and agreed it would be all right with him if they delayed plans for a while longer.

  Will stood up to look for her. He saw her shepherding a group of children into the barn, Buck by her side. A shiver of apprehension ran down his spine, for no reason that he could think of except that he’d grown to dislike Buck. Chilled, he zipped up his jacket and jammed his hands into the pockets.

  Buck may seem calm to Addie, but Will had recognized the signs of simmering anger as the school principal had greeted him. Buck Harvey was difficult to read, but years of dealing with reluctant college students, and competitive fellow professors, and years of interviewing subjects who were tentative about telling their family folk tales, gave Will an advantage. Buck’s eyes had been flat, showing no emotion at all. When they’d shaken hands, Buck’s hand was cold and dry. His greeting, “Hi, Dr. Court. Happy you could be with us this evening. Thoughtful of Eileen Rivers to invite you,” though said with a smile and pleasant in form, was expressed in cold, clipped tones.

  The one constant of the day had been the presence of Deputy Lee Bert. Lee Bert had established himself under a tree near the porch, and had kept an eye on Will, and Henry Meredith, the whole afternoon. Only the lure of the overladen picnic table had beckoned the lawman away from his self-appointed post. He’d returned quickly with two plates piled high with ribs, chicken, biscuits, and fudge cake. Will had tuned him out, and ignored the irritating surveillance.

  Lee Bert approached him now, ambling along as if he’d just noticed Will on the porch.

  “Well, hello, Professor. I see ol’ Henry faded out on you.”

  “Yes, but we had a nice conversation. He had some interesting stories to tell.”

  “Good,” said Lee Bert, nodding his head and chewing on a matchstick. “Good. I guess that means you should have plenty of stories now, huh? You’ll be leavin’ soon, I suppose. Huh?”

  “You anxious for me to leave, Lee B
ert?”

  “Let’s jest say that terrible things have been happenin’ since you arrived, professor. Poor Joe, God rest his soul, wasn’t real happy about you bein’ here and I ain’t either. Fact is, the folks in Blue Springs have a hard time gettin’ used to smarty-pants strangers, especially those wearin’ earrings. Fact is, the FBI is wantin’ to question you as to your whereabouts when Joe was attacked.”

  “I told Buck I was in Marysville, and I’ll tell the FBI the same thing,” said Will.

  His irritation at the distrust of this small town cop grew, and he began to be concerned at mention of the FBI. Perhaps he’d been too cavalier about the cloud of suspicion cast around him.

  “And they ain’t too happy about your bein’ at the hospital shortly before Joe passed over.”

  “I’m sure, by this time, they will have ascertained that a nurse was in the room most of the time,” he said, enunciating each word so that it dripped with sarcasm.

  “Excuse me, Lee Bert. Mrs. Simples volunteered to sit with Henry while I’m at the square dance. I have to find her.���

  “Sure, Professor. I know I ain’t got too much smarts, not enough to catch the killer. But I’m like a dog with a bone, and I’m sure not going to let nobody get to Addie. See you in the barn.” Lee Bert tipped his cowboy hat and walked away.

  Mrs. Simples took up her post next to Henry Meredith, and Will headed toward the barn and the sound of music. The sky had grown dark, but a full moon shone on the milling crowd.

  He knew a few people; a man he’d met at the library, Dixie and Jingles from the diner, a church friend of Eileen Rivers, and a mountain woman he’d interviewed. They greeted him quietly, careful of being too friendly, not wanting to offend Buck, he figured. Dixie and Jingles popped a forbidden can of beer, and offered him one as he passed.

  “Hey, Professor, how about a beer? The preacher’s gone home,” sang out Dixie. Clad in tight jeans and a frilly off-the-shoulder blouse, Dixie’s ample middle-aged bottom and pillowy breasts were displayed without apology.

  Everyone laughed, and others sheepishly displayed their own hidden cache of beer or wine hidden beneath the hay, or behind a post, or under a jacket. Will smiled, waved, and relaxed a little. Maybe this wasn’t the prudish, puritanical crowd he’d expected.

  Addie stood near the caller platform with Buck. He caught her anxious eyes on him as he stood in the doorway. He ached to reassure her that all was well, that he could handle himself among her friends. If Buck thought he had Will at a disadvantage, he’d have to think again. Will smiled to himself. He’d been raised on a farm in Iowa, and was quite at home with square dances, hayrides, picnics, and other small town rites. It had been a while since he’d done any folk or square dancing.

  Yale University, and its accompanying social mores, didn’t offer much opportunity for barn dances. His last fifteen years had been spent at departmental teas, faculty get-togethers, formal banquets honoring fellow professors, and occasional performances with the English Department’s Jazz Band, where he played the cornet. Frequent excursions into New York City for the latest shows, dining at his favorite Italian restaurant there, or rich, stress-free days at one of the museums satisfied his need for a different pace.

  At a glance he could tell the church social had metamorphosed into a carefree community wingding. Most of the children had been sent home with baby-sitters. Those who remained played with Brad and Amy Simples in the hayloft overhead. They’d made a fort with the baled hay, and placed old, stored and forgotten chairs within the waist-high walls. Baby kittens climbed gingerly over and around the bales. The children were laughing, and tossing handfuls of straw at one another.

  Jingles, the diminutive short-order cook at Dixie’s Diner, appeared at his side in the open doorway.

  “How ya’ doin’, Professor?” The smoke from his pipe drifted up into Will’s face. “Sure you wouldn’t like a beer, some cider, maybe? We got some potent cider. It’s been puckerin’ up for a year now. Dern good stuff.”

  “No thanks, Jingles. I’m a guest of Addie and Eileen Rivers, and I want to stay out of trouble.” The acrid pipe smoke wreathed around Jingles’s bald head and drifted behind them out the barn door into the cold moonlit night “Besides, I’m not too popular to begin with. Gotta be on my best behavior.”

  “Okay. Jest tryin’ to be sociable. The ladies look real pretty, don’t they?”

  Several women, who were obviously squaredance regulars, wore colorful circular skirts and white blouses, while their partners wore jeans, white shirts, boots, and bow ties. Will couldn’t take his eyes off Addie. She was shedding her heavy sweater in the warm barn, and like a butterfly from its cocoon she emerged in a scoop-necked sky blue dress with puffed sleeves, nipped-in waist and full skirt. Her coppery hair shone bright in the glow of the Christmas lights looping from the loft and strung throughout the barn.

  “Yeah, Jingles, you’re right. They sure do look pretty.”

  Will studied the milling crowd. Most of them looked familiar, even if he didn’t know who they were. One man worried him. Young, fair-haired, pleasant faced, but dressed not quite right.

  What bothers me about him? Will asked himself. His trousers were black and neatly pressed, too dressy, and his shiny shoes were all wrong.

  “You know everyone here, Jingles?”

  “Jest about. One or two strange faces.” Jingles seemed unperturbed that there would be people here he didn’t know, so Will tried to lose his concern. His scrutiny returned like an arrow to Addie.

  He saw Buck say something to her. She nodded her head and started toward Will, but Buck held her by the arm and evidently told her to stay put.

  “Addie’s about as pretty as they come, ain’t she?” remarked Jingles.

  Was it so obvious that Will couldn’t stop looking at her? Did the whole town know they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other?

  Reluctantly, he turned his gaze to Jingles. “Yeah,” he said to the grizzled old cook. “Addie’s special.”

  “Buck’s been thinkin’ that for a number of years.”

  “Are you trying to tell me something, Jingles?” Tiny sparks jumped from Jingles pipe as he drew heavily on it before answering Will. “S’pect so. Buck ain’t too friendly when he don’t get what he wants.”

  “Hey, Jingles. Did I hear my name?” Buck, in white shirt and string tie, appeared next to them with a cup of cider in his hand. He grinned his beautiful, charming, snaky grin. Will’s hand itched to knock it off his handsome face. “Better not be talking about me, Jingles. I’ll put a curse on your pancakes.”

  Will was fairly sure Buck hadn’t heard much, but Jingles gave a nervous laugh, and said, “Heck, no, Buck. I was jest sayin’ that you were the best school principal in three counties.”

  “Thank you, thank you. You’re a good friend, Jingles.” He patted the short man on his back, and held out the cup of cider to Will. “I noticed our guest hadn’t been offered any of our famous cider, so I brought him a cup.”

  “He wouldn’t take none of what I offered him,” said Jingles, a small embarrassed smile rearranging his cheeks.

  Buck winked at Will. “Well, now, Professor, this is not the aged cider that Jingles brews. This is your hostess, Eileen Rivers’s, cider.”

  “Anything Eileen makes is superb,” Will said. He accepted the cider, and masked his surprise and suspicion at this friendly gesture from Buck. “Thank you.”

  The banjo player, an elderly woman with a happy grin on her wrinkled face, plunked out some tentative notes, and the fiddler rosined his bow again. Some of the women practiced clogging, and other intricate patterns. Their stomping feet stirred up small clouds of chaff-filled dust from the planked floor.

  “Gotta go,” said Buck. “Addie’s waiting. We’re a great dancing team. I think you’ll enjoy watching, Professor.”

  “I’m not going to watch. Thought I’d join in.” He sipped the cider and relished the look of dismay on Buck’s face.

  “Fine, fine.
Hope you can keep up.” Buck nodded and waved a hand in farewell. “See you later.”

  Will’s searching gaze found Addie again, in the corner now with a middle-aged man he recognized as the part-time handyman at the library.

  Unable to speak, Donny Jim had only nodded to Will on the occasions they had encountered each other at the library. His utter devotion to Addie was sometimes painful, always sweet to observe. At the moment, she seemed to be spelling words into his palm with her finger, and Donny Jim nodded with understanding. The music tuned up fast and lively and Addie touched her friend’s cheek and walked away. Will could see, even at this distance, the abject adoration in the man’s eyes as he watched her join hands with Buck for the first dance. He wondered if such devotion was healthy, but ignored his leap of anxiety as the caller instructed the group to form their first position.

  “Okay, ladies and gents,” he announced, “we’re doin’ the Red River Valley.”

  He called for sets of three in a circle. One man in the middle of two women, arms linked. Buck had Addie on one arm and Eileen on the other.

  “Hey, there, handsome,” yelled Dixie to Will. “Jingles has deserted us for those cute Bedley sisters. Come and be our man.”

  Will smiled, deposited his cup of cider on an upended barrel, and linked up with Dixie on one arm and Addie’s friend Lulu on the other.

  The hoedown music, swinging sweet and rich, tilled the barn, and flowed out the barn doors into the night. The children in the loft clapped in rhythm, and the smiling caller issued his directions with benign authority.

  “Hey, now you lead right down the valley,” he called, tapping his foot to the rhythm, and the sets moved forward to meet a new set.

  Will struggled with long forgotten patterns and steps for a time, but with concentration he eventually began to catch on and enjoyed the give and flow of the dance.

  Addie’s set would meet his soon.

  “Circle to the left, then to the right.”