For my part, I didn’t believe
a word of it. As a matter of fact, I thought I knew just exactly
where Claudia and the kids were, but I couldn’t be sure and I
didn’t want to get Rebecca’s hopes up. So I downplayed it.
“I’ve got a plan,” she said.
“Let’s hear it.”
She spread her hands. “We’re here…right?”
I couldn’t find any loopholes in the statement, so I agreed.
“As long as we’re here, let’s do everything we can.” She
looked to me for agreement and got it. Hell, I make my living running
errands for people who know full well I can’t solve their problem.
They just want to feel like they’ve done everything possible. Makes
it easier to live with themselves later.
“I want to talk to the undertaker. By state law, he has to have
a set of pictures of the body. I want to see them.”
I blew out a lungful of air. “If J.D. was in that car—”
She held up a hand. “I just want to be sure,” she said. I said
I understood.
“I also want to find out about these eviction proceedings.”
Again, I agreed. Everything Claudia and the kids had was tied up
in that property. No way we could let anybody walk off with it
without a fight.
“You want me to do that?” I asked.
“You’re no good with bureaucrats,” she said. She had a
point. Sooner or later they’d say something about how they had a
policy against something or other or about how they just worked here
and weren’t actually responsible for shit and then I’d start to
get snotty and things would go down the toilet from there. “You
want to handle that, too?”
She nodded. “The assessor or the city attorney or whoever
handles things like evictions in a burg like this is probably in the
same building with whoever keeps the records. While I’m checking on
the eviction, I can see if what the sheriff said about J.D. getting
the property cheap is true.”
I liked the sound of that. I was uncomfortable with the
possibility that J.D. might have stepped over the line. Color me with
a cynical crayon, but if I’m forced to bet my body parts on the
likelihood of whether, out of the goodness of his heart, one man
chose to sell a piece of property at a fraction of its value or
whether it is more likely that the other man screwed him out of
it…well, damn…sort of asks which is more prevalent, generosity or
greed, doesn’t it?
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“What you do best,” she said with a grin. “Do what you
always do. Turn over some rocks. Make bad jokes at people. Be
obnoxious. Piss somebody off.”
It’s nice to be appreciated. “Meet back here when?”
The time was twelve-thirty. We agreed on two hours, give or take.
Two-thirty or three.
9
I READ A BOOK ONCE BY SOME SOCIOLOGIST
NAMEDOldenburg. He called it The Great Good Place . His point
was about bars, coffee shops, beauty parlors, health clubs…what he
called “third places,” those places between work and home that
allowed the unrelated to relate to each other. He believed these
places, rather than job and family, were the glue that held a
community together. I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know
that when you’re in a shitburg town like this and you want to find
out what’s going on, you head for the local watering hole.
I’d counted three, so I knew a little trial and error was going
to be involved. When you’re on foot, whether you like it or not,
life gets linear. First one I came to was Freddy’s Timbertopper
Tavern. Turned out to be the old man’s bar. The place you gravitate
to when you don’t hear well enough to talk around the jukebox, and
you don’t mind if the old woman comes with you, ’cause you no
longer do anything she’d object to. I pulled open the door to find
a room full of giveaway baseball caps advertising heavy equipment,
chain saws and the ever-present John Deere tractor. I ducked back
outside and kept walking.
Downtown Stevens Falls was decked out in its holiday finery, the
hanging flower
a word of it. As a matter of fact, I thought I knew just exactly
where Claudia and the kids were, but I couldn’t be sure and I
didn’t want to get Rebecca’s hopes up. So I downplayed it.
“I’ve got a plan,” she said.
“Let’s hear it.”
She spread her hands. “We’re here…right?”
I couldn’t find any loopholes in the statement, so I agreed.
“As long as we’re here, let’s do everything we can.” She
looked to me for agreement and got it. Hell, I make my living running
errands for people who know full well I can’t solve their problem.
They just want to feel like they’ve done everything possible. Makes
it easier to live with themselves later.
“I want to talk to the undertaker. By state law, he has to have
a set of pictures of the body. I want to see them.”
I blew out a lungful of air. “If J.D. was in that car—”
She held up a hand. “I just want to be sure,” she said. I said
I understood.
“I also want to find out about these eviction proceedings.”
Again, I agreed. Everything Claudia and the kids had was tied up
in that property. No way we could let anybody walk off with it
without a fight.
“You want me to do that?” I asked.
“You’re no good with bureaucrats,” she said. She had a
point. Sooner or later they’d say something about how they had a
policy against something or other or about how they just worked here
and weren’t actually responsible for shit and then I’d start to
get snotty and things would go down the toilet from there. “You
want to handle that, too?”
She nodded. “The assessor or the city attorney or whoever
handles things like evictions in a burg like this is probably in the
same building with whoever keeps the records. While I’m checking on
the eviction, I can see if what the sheriff said about J.D. getting
the property cheap is true.”
I liked the sound of that. I was uncomfortable with the
possibility that J.D. might have stepped over the line. Color me with
a cynical crayon, but if I’m forced to bet my body parts on the
likelihood of whether, out of the goodness of his heart, one man
chose to sell a piece of property at a fraction of its value or
whether it is more likely that the other man screwed him out of
it…well, damn…sort of asks which is more prevalent, generosity or
greed, doesn’t it?
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“What you do best,” she said with a grin. “Do what you
always do. Turn over some rocks. Make bad jokes at people. Be
obnoxious. Piss somebody off.”
It’s nice to be appreciated. “Meet back here when?”
The time was twelve-thirty. We agreed on two hours, give or take.
Two-thirty or three.
9
I READ A BOOK ONCE BY SOME SOCIOLOGIST
NAMEDOldenburg. He called it The Great Good Place . His point
was about bars, coffee shops, beauty parlors, health clubs…what he
called “third places,” those places between work and home that
allowed the unrelated to relate to each other. He believed these
places, rather than job and family, were the glue that held a
community together. I don’t know if that’s true, but I do know
that when you’re in a shitburg town like this and you want to find
out what’s going on, you head for the local watering hole.
I’d counted three, so I knew a little trial and error was going
to be involved. When you’re on foot, whether you like it or not,
life gets linear. First one I came to was Freddy’s Timbertopper
Tavern. Turned out to be the old man’s bar. The place you gravitate
to when you don’t hear well enough to talk around the jukebox, and
you don’t mind if the old woman comes with you, ’cause you no
longer do anything she’d object to. I pulled open the door to find
a room full of giveaway baseball caps advertising heavy equipment,
chain saws and the ever-present John Deere tractor. I ducked back
outside and kept walking.
Downtown Stevens Falls was decked out in its holiday finery, the
hanging flower
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