Deep-Fried Homicide (The Laurel Falls Mysteries Book 1) (19 page)

Her face went momentarily white and her head pivoted the opposite direction. Then she was hurrying across the grass, drawing a bead on the old mausoleum. Rick followed, confused and irritated, but helpless in one of her spells, as he liked to call them. She went to the mausoleum and stood upon the marble threshold, placing one hand first on the door, then on the wall next to it. Her lips were pulled back in a grimace, her eyes dark.

“It’s really strong here. See?” She grabbed his hand and pressed it to the wall, watching his face as she did so.

“Yea, I feel it.”

She pulled at the door, easing it open a bit and peering inside. “Still nothing in here.” She shoved the door noisily closed.

“Can we just go? I’m really getting hungry.”

She ignored him. “Sewers, huh? There shouldn’t be any sewer lines beneath a cemetery.”

Rick felt as though he had been accused of something. “Well, maybe not sewers but…you know…something similar.”

Like a woman possessed, she paced down the side of the mausoleum, then around to the back. She kept her hand on the wall as she went, cocking her head to one side and wrinkling her brow. Then she grabbed the wrought iron of the fence and gripped it tightly. “It’s here, too. The sound and the vibration. It gets stronger.”

“Come on, Rach. Can’t we just go have lunch like normal people? I’ll spring for dessert.” He was almost pleading now, his eyes soft and puppy-dog like.

“Give me a boost over this fence. I want to see if you can hear it from across the road.”

“No! That’s it! I’m out.” He began walking away, at first not caring if she followed, then having visions of her struggling up the fence in her dress and heels. He spun around again. “I am not having my wife climb over the cemetery fence right after our good friend, Horace, was buried. Now come on!”

Hands on her hips, she scowled at him. “Good. Then we’ll walk around.” She started off for the front of the graveyard at a good clip.

“Rachel, come on!” Rick stamped his foot, scuffed his shoe on the ground, and pretty much threw a tantrum worthy of a three-year-old.

But she was gone. She strode out the gate and around to the outside of the fence, passing Rick on the other side of it as he hurried to catch up with her. “It’s on you if I pass out from starvation,” he threatened.

She paid him no heed, merely quickened her pace and rounded the back corner of the fence. Looking both ways, she crossed the road and stood on the other side, her hands on her hips, her ears once more straining to hear the sound which so vexed her.

Rick caught up after nearly a minute and stood beside her, hoping that no one they knew would pass by, particularly Sheriff Dooley.

“There! Hear it?” She beamed at him, all self-righteousness and arrogance.

“Yea, I do hear it. So what?”

“So what? So everything!” She threw her hands into the air and stepped sideways to place her hand on a nearby tree. “It’s stronger here. But it’s really strong in the mausoleum and…” There was a great intake of air and for a second, Rachel feared she might pass out. “Oh my God! I know what it is. I know what’s going on.” She grabbed Rick by the lapels and gripped them tightly, shook him a little bit. Her eyes were glazed over. “I know what’s been happening here. At least, I think I do. No! I do know what’s happening here. I just don’t know why.” She thought for a minute, lost in some private filing cabinet of great knowledge. “I need to do some research.”

She released Rick then and started across the road without even looking. Rick whipped his head right and left, then rushed to catch her. She was almost at a run when he caught her, her eyes still wild.

“Where are we going? What are we doing?” He was winded now. Little dots of light danced before his eyes and he wished that sandwiches grew on trees.

“We’re going to the historical society. I need to know about the utility lines underneath this town.”

“Can we go home and change first? Maybe have a sandwich?” His soft puppy-dog eyes were back now.

Rachel caved. “Oh, all right. We’ll stop by the house and change and I’ll make you a sandwich. But then we’re going to the historical society.”

“Deal!” he said at once and shook her hand.

A
lthough it took them no longer than twenty minutes to change and make a sandwich for Rick, it felt to Rachel as though they had been at the house for hours. She kept calling to him to hurry up, grabbing things that, to Rick at least, seemed random, and shoving them into her purse. She couldn’t take the time to make a sandwich for herself, so she grabbed a bag of chips and two sodas from the fridge and ran to the door.

“Come on, Rick. Let’s go. I’ve got chips and soda for you.”

“I’m coming,” he said around a large mouthful of sandwich.

Then she was behind him, locking the door and pushing at his back to hurry him up. “Get a move-on, big boy. We’re burning daylight here.”

Rick climbed into the car slowly and laboriously. He was still chewing and he swallowed the bite as he started the car. “Can’t a man just enjoy his sandwich in peace? The historical society isn’t going anywhere, you know.”

“Yes, but Mrs. Knox is. She only works until three.”

Rick turned around to check the street, then eased the car out of the driveway. “Who’s Mrs. Knox?”

“She’s the president of the Laurel Falls Historical Society. She knows everything there is to know about this town and if she doesn’t know, she knows who does.”

“Well, then…” Rick started down the street, minding his sandwich more and the car less.

In a few minutes, they were crookedly parked in front of the Historical Society’s small office at the rear of the library. They had shared space (and documents) since the turn of the century when the Society’s original office had burned down.

Rachel was first out of the car, and as she trotted up the steps, she glanced over her shoulder to see Rick shambling along, licking the remains of the sandwich from his fingers.

“Come on already,” she called to him.

Rick wiped his hands on his jeans and mocked her a bit, but hurried anyway.

The bell on the door banged against the glass as Rachel jerked it open and a great rush of air came out to greet them. The inside of the place smelled of many old books and slightly of mildew. At the rear corner of the one large room sat a worn oak desk with only three feet on the floor. The fourth was propped up by a thin book, which Rachel found odd since the people inside were charged with caring for books.

Behind the desk sat a smallish woman with a mass of red hair piled atop her head and a pair of half-spectacles hanging around her neck. She had a round, friendly face and serious eyes, and as Rachel drew closer, she mused that the woman smelled of lavender and regret.

“Mrs. Knox?” Rachel asked as she approached the desk.

The woman smiled broadly and tapped a pen against the nameplate at the front of her desk. “That’s what they tell me. How can I help you?”

Rachel straightened herself and took a deep breath, reminding herself not to spew the words out in an excited avalanche, but rather take her time so that the woman would understand her. “I have some questions about the sewer system here in Laurel Falls.”

Mrs. Knox jerked back her head and chuckled, her eyes lighting up. “Well, we don’t get asked about that every day. What do you need to know?”

“When was it installed? Do any sewer lines run through the cemetery? Do they utilize pumping stations at any point?” Rachel finally took a breath.

“My, my! Those are some very peculiar questions. Well, all right, then. As I recall, the current sewer system was installed around nineteen-forty-six. It was part of a grant initiative instituted by the president and the governor, so it was a big deal. Before that, we only had storm drains for the streets. Those were installed in eighteen-seventy-eight, if memory serves, and they were cutting edge for their time.”

“When they put the sewers in, did they join any of the new sewer lines up with the old drain lines?”

“Oh, my, no. The storm drains all run into one large pipe that cuts through the middle of the town, or what used to be the middle in the old days. And that pipe discharges into the nearest body of water. The ocean. They couldn’t possibly discharge raw sewage into the ocean. No, ma’am. The original plans took the sewage to the old treatment plant. But nowadays, there are two plants and so the system is divided into two parts, basically. I have a map of the storm drain system on file, if you’d like to see it.”

“Oh, I very much would.” Rachel beamed at her, then glance back at where Rick had folded himself onto a smallish wooden chair. He looked in danger of nodding off.

“Come with me. All those old documents are in the private room in the library. Right through here.”

Rachel waved Rick up and out, then followed Mrs. Knox through the small door and into the library. Her shoes made loud clatters on the wood floors as they walked toward the back room. Everyone looked up at them.

Inside the rather spacious room was a table and two chairs, an overhead projector, and various filing cabinets and shelves filled with old maps and the like. Mrs. Knox nearly genuflected as she stepped inside. It was clear that the place was very important to her.

“In here we have plat maps dating all the way back to the sixteen hundreds. There are the original blueprints for the courthouse, the mayor’s house, the very first firehouse, and the old barracks used during the Civil War.” She broke off for a moment, searching through one particular shelf for one particular bound set of maps. Finally, she pulled the large folio from the shelf and set it carefully on the table. “And here we have the map of the storm drains, water lines, sewers, and other public works.”

The page was protected by an archival plastic sleeve and Rachel ran her finger over the page, tracing the trunk line. “Give me a minute to get my bearings here. This is the courthouse, correct?” She felt Rick’s breath on the back of her neck then and knew he was peering over her shoulder at the map.

“That’s right. And here we are, at the library. This is Main Street, see?”

Rachel nodded and placed her finger at the beginning of the main drain line. “So, if I understand this correctly, the large pipe begins two blocks west of the courthouse at what would have been the outskirts of town. Then it goes in a straight line through town and out to the beach.”

“Correct. It comes out right beneath The Point. I believe the youngsters like to call it The Caves. The drains were capped off right after the new system went in but there was a huge flood in the Sixties. The new system couldn’t handle it and the town was in danger of being wiped out. So, the mayor had the line uncapped to handle the overflow. The storm water washed through those pipes and came out with such force that all the debris that had collected in it was blasted away, leaving those caves.”

“Fascinating. So the drain line goes straight through town and comes out at the beach. And in doing so…” Rachel turned her head and smiled at Rick wickedly. “…it goes right past the cemetery.”

“That’s it exactly.” Mrs. Knox nodded, smiled, folded her hands in front of her flowered skirt.

Rachel stood up so suddenly that she nearly head-butted Rick. She stared at the wall for a moment, grimacing. “Where is the nearest electric line to the drain pipe?” she asked.

“Hmm. I’m not exactly sure exactly what you’re getting at here.”

“Well, let’s say that I was down in those tunnels. And maybe I had to do something that required electricity…like…say…make repairs with power tools or install an emergency pump. Where could I draw power from?”

“Down in the tunnels? That wouldn’t be wise. They’re very old and mostly made of ceramic or maybe even lead.”

“Well, let’s just say I was down there. Where could I get electricity into the tunnels?”

Mrs. Knox thought for a minute, rubbing the back of her hand against her chin and screwing up her face. “Well, you couldn’t penetrate the walls of the pipes or you’d risk collapse. So, you’d have to bring a line in from one end or the other. Or maybe you could use one of the intakes. You’d have to run that line an awful long way, though.”

Rachel bent to study the map once more. She leaned in close, her nose nearly touching the plastic sleeve and her breath dangerous close to fogging it. “What are these little squares with the X’s in them?”

“Those? Oh, those are where the intakes are. They were only installed in the downtown area and surrounding neighborhood. They never bothered to expand it as the town grew outward.”

“Then what’s this big circle with the X in it?”

“Oh yes! I remember now. When the system was originally built, the only way to take the pipe to the ocean without blasting rock was straight through that old tobacco farm. But the man who owned it refused to let them bring it through unless they added an inlet on his property to help drain some of his run-off during the rainy season. The farm shut down sometime around nineteen hundred and they capped that inlet so that no one would fall into it. The woods have all grown up around it now. If you’re driving up to The Point, the old farm will be on your right about a mile before the turnoff.”

“Mrs. Knox, you’ve been a bounty of helpful information and I thank you. Would it be all right if I took a picture of this map with my phone?”

“Certainly,” the lady said with a sweep of her hand.

Rachel took out her phone and framed the map on the screen, then snapped the picture. She followed this with a close-up picture of the outlet and one of the area where the cemetery was. Then she put her phone back in her purse and smiled.

“Just one more question. Has anyone else been in here asking about the drainage system?”

“Now that you mention it, they have. It was about six months ago and it was a Saturday. I was sitting my grandson and Leila – she’s the other lady who works here part time – called me in because she didn’t know which map she would need to show them. I came in and found the maps for them and they did the same as you: they took pictures of it. They didn’t ask many questions, though. Just whether the system was still in use or if it had been removed. There were two of them, men in their twenties. I thought they’d look more at home in the inner city than a small town like this.”