Each Shining Hour (25 page)

Sunflower's face tightened and a trace of defensiveness entered her voice. “What did it say?”

“Nothing about your dad, as I recall. Only that he had been interviewed.”

“Oh, they interviewed him all right.”

“I don't understand.”

“All of this happened before I was born and my dad never talked much about it. But a year or so before he died, he told me
that the day after the murder the sheriff—I think Lewis was his name—came by and asked him to come down to his office to answer some questions. Daddy went, but when he got there, he was locked in a room and interrogated for several hours.”

“About what?”

“About his friendship with Oscar, about what really happened that night. Oh, and get this, he kept asking Daddy about diamonds.”

I was on the edge of my chair. “Diamonds?”

“Yeah. Of course Daddy had no idea what the sheriff was talking about. Anyway, after it was over, the sheriff apologized and said it was all a big misunderstanding. But he also told Daddy not to talk about what happened, because it was an ongoing investigation. I think it really shook my dad up.”

“Sunflower, have you ever told anyone all this?”

“Not really. It was so long ago. By the time he told me, everyone involved was dead.”

“What do you mean by everyone?”

“As Daddy was leaving the sheriff's office that night, he said there were only two other cars parked there. He never saw anyone, but he figured out who they belonged to. It was a local banker, Raymond Simmons, and the clinic doctor during that time, a guy named Hinson, I think. Daddy thought they were all in on something. Anyway, after that, Daddy never trusted the police, or banks, or doctors. I guess all that rubbed off on me.”

I was speechless, fascinated by what Sunflower had told me. It was further confirmation of Frank Sanderson's conspiracy theory. As well, it was the first time diamonds had been mentioned in any context other than rumor.

In time, Sunflower looked at her watch.

“Thanks, Luke. I need to go deal with some chickens.”

“Might be a good idea to call Dr. Ingram and get him involved.”

Sunflower exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Yeah. I'm sure you're right. Thanks again.”

I walked her to the door. Closing it, I stood and gazed around my office, still slightly stunned and wondering. Maybe, just maybe, diamonds were the key to the Oscar Fox story. A half dozen theories raced though my head. But that's where they would remain. For now, too many pieces of the puzzle were
buried.

Connie Knew

A
pril arrived and with it came Easter Sunday along with all the glory and pageantry of the morning service and the excitement and squealing delight of the Easter egg hunt that afternoon on the church lawn.

There was an awakening to the farm life of Watervalley. By six o'clock in the morning the Farmers' Co-op was a cacophonous buzz of trucks and tow motors moving tons of seed and fertilizer. Trees were beginning to bloom into rich canopies of green and the yards of Fleming Street teemed with the fragrance of lilacs, clover, and warm grass. The farm fields were drying out and the rich black soil seemed to be waiting for the imminent planting. Spring was attaining its full glory and the days were ripe with promise and expectancy.

But not on all fronts.

The Fox home had received no offers. Its state of disrepair, and high price, necessitated by the bloated mortgage, had made for an unattractive combination. Louise refused to take any additional funds from my secret partnership, leaving foreclosure and auction
her only options. Bankruptcy and a difficult future were pretty much guaranteed for her and Will. For me, the situation was a nagging frustration.

I began to take Rhett with me on my morning runs. Over the winter he'd added several pounds, and along with modifying his diet, I was determined to return him to a trimmer shape. He was not as enthusiastic. He would trot along for the first half mile or so, but eventually his heavy coat and heavier panting took their toll. He was content to plop down on someone's lawn and casually observe the world around him. Left to his own, he would be happy to stay there for hours. Eventually, I was able to cajole him on and we would walk the rest of my route.

Usually we went out to the bandstand to check the progress of the renovation, which was being accomplished at lightning speed. At just over a mile, the run from Fleming Street to the lake seemed like a perfect workout to get Rhett in shape. On Thursday of the second week of April, we started out early and reached the bandstand in record time. Our return was slower, Rhett having overextended himself and unilaterally deciding that several breaks were needed. Connie was waiting for us as we entered the front door. Rhett's energy level took a notable uptick as he dashed to find her in the kitchen.

“Hello, Mr. Rhett. My, you are looking in fine form.” She rubbed both of his ears as she spoke to him. Her regard toward me was not quite so endearing.

“Good morning, Captain Stinky.”

“I love you too, Connie.” I walked to the counter to pour myself some coffee as she returned to the stove, wearing an amused grin.

“I've been asked to get you to do something.”

I took a seat at the kitchen table. “And what would that be?”

“Carl Suggs, the principal over at the high school, wants to know if you will deliver the speech at this year's graduation.”

“Gee, I don't know. Maybe. Why doesn't he ask me himself?”

“He figured you'd have a harder time saying no to me.”

“Well, that's kind of sneaky. Smart, but sneaky.”

“Oh, I think you could do a fine job if you put a little thought into it. Graduation is still a month away. They're just a bunch of teenagers. I'm sure you could dispense enough charm and wit to hold their attention for a few minutes.”

“Why don't you do it? You were valedictorian of your class.”

“And you were valedictorian of your med school class. I'd say that trumps my standing on the academic totem pole. Besides, public speaking is not my thing. I'd rather take a beating. Carl also invited you to come to the prom dance to celebrate with all the juniors and seniors. He said you could bring a date.”

“That's a deal maker, there. This could be fun.”

“How's that?”

“Well, dancing queen. You could be my date and show off some of those great moves John was talking about.”

“Humph. Thanks for your kind offer, but I serve on the refreshments committee and won't have time to be giving any dance lessons. I think you better stick with Miss Christine for your boogie partner.”

“Ahhh. Sounds like somebody's lost her groove and doesn't think she can get it back.”

Connie was about to set a plate of eggs and bacon on the table but stopped and glared at me. “Just know this, Doctor. You've never seen me ride a bicycle either, but you can bet I still know how.” With that, she set the plate down before me and sauntered back to the stove, certain she had made her point.

I smiled and dove in. “In any case, tell Carl that I'm fine with giving the graduation speech.”

Connie brought her breakfast to the table and joined me.

“Hey,” I said, “I was wondering. Did Estelle ever come up with a name for the bakery?” I knew this had been an ongoing point of contention between them, and couldn't resist pouring oil on the fire.

Connie stared at me flatly. “My, my, my. You're trying awful hard to pick a fight this morning, aren't you?”

I feigned innocence. “Just trying to make conversation, Mrs. Thompson.”

“Sure you are. All that's missing from that act you're putting on is a seltzer bottle and big floppy shoes.” She took a bite and studied me warily. “Anyway, it's been a struggle. She got on a literary kick for a while.”

“Meaning?”

“Let's see, Grain Expectations, Pie and Prejudice, and the Bun Also Rises were the finalists in that category.”

I laughed out loud. “Interesting.”

“Umm-hmmm. My thoughts exactly. Then she got an epiphany that it should have a religious theme. These included Holy Cannoli, Amazin' Glazin', and the Sweet Pie and Bye.”

“So what are your choices?”

“If it were up to me, I'd call it either the Flaky Baker, the Mix-up, or Retarted, if you get my drift. Anyway, the name is still a work in progress.”

“I'm sure Estelle will come up with a name you can both agree on.”

“She better do it soon because we've got to change the name in the tile work on the pavement outside the front door.”

“So, how's the remodeling coming?”

“The work goes fine so long as I keep Estelle from having these flights of fancy.”

“How so?”

“Lately she's gotten the bright idea to make sandwiches for lunch. But that requires putting things together in real time. Making cakes and pastries ahead, that she can do. Putting sandwiches together on the spot, not gonna happen. Besides, every inch of the kitchen is already dedicated. There's no more room.”

I nodded thoughtfully. What Connie had said was giving me an idea, one that I would tuck away for later. I had another matter to discuss with her.

“Hey, not to change the subject, but if memory serves, you have a birthday coming up in a few weeks. A big birthday.”

“Mmm-hmm. Thanks for dropping that little truth bomb. What about it?”

“We need to do a birthday celebration, of course. Speaking of which, what would you like for a birthday gift?”

“How about a particle accelerator?”

“Sure. You want that in pink?”

“No, pink's not really in my palette. Maybe we should think about something different, like forgetting all about this foolishness.”

“Not gonna happen, Connie T. You don't turn sixty every day. How about a telescope? You could use it to spy on your neighbors, look at the stars, even search the heavens for intelligent life.”

“Right now I'm not finding any intelligent life in this kitchen.”

“Yeah, yeah. Say all you want. It's going to happen. Come on, admit it. You like the idea of a birthday party.”

Connie took a sip of her coffee and spoke dispassionately. “Sure, I'm ecstatic. Pardon me while I go do a few cartwheels on the front lawn.”

“Well, don't worry. I have a plan.”

“Why do those words always scare me?”

She rose to take her dishes back to the sink but paused momentarily, gazing out the large rear windows at the sunlit backyard. “Going to be time to plant a garden soon.”

“I'm assuming that's a rhetorical statement and not directed toward me.”

Connie turned and regarded me stiffly. “Nothing wrong with getting your hands in the dirt, even for a doctor.”

I was unmoved. “Nothing wrong with letting the grass grow either.”

Connie shook her head. “To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.”

“There's a nice tidbit of wisdom. Who said that, Mother Teresa?”

“No. Actually I think it was Audrey Hepburn.”

“Oh, well, she was my next guess. Anyway, I don't get the whole fascination with growing a garden. John Harris has been chiding me about it too.”

“At any rate, you need to be calling the Blind Boys about mowing the grass.”

“The blind boys? There are blind guys who mow lawns?”

Connie regarded me with tired disdain. “No, Doctor. I'm talking about Kenny and Kevin Blind. They're brothers. By now they're probably in their early forties, but they've had a mowing service forever.”

“So you're telling me there's a business called the Blind Boys Mowing Service?”

“You catch on so quickly.”

I muttered under my breath, “Wow. Only in Watervalley.”

“How are you and the pretty schoolteacher getting along these days?”

“We're just grand. It's spring break and she's been out of town all week visiting her grandmother in Florida. She's driving back in today.”

Connie spoke to the general air. “‘In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.'” She finished with a low, wheezy chuckle.

“Nice. Tennyson, huh? Seems like he's the same guy who wrote, ‘Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean.'”

Connie exhaled a low hum. “Mmm-mmm, Luke Bradford. What is wrong with you, boy? There's not a finer, more beautiful young woman to be found than Christine Chambers. To be so smart, you sure are a slow learner.”

Despite this open challenge, I defaulted to my normal evasive tactics when my feelings were the topic of conversation. I responded with a dramatic flourish. “‘Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.'”

Connie glared at me above her glasses. “You can quote Alexander Pope all you want to. But remind yourself of this: all you're doing is taking advice from another man.”

Retort seemed pointless. I rose and cleared my dishes from the table. “Connie, I would love to stay and explore the deeper aspects of this incredible circular logic of yours, but I must go cure the sick, heal the maimed, and care for the otherwise infirm.”

I headed up the kitchen stairs that led to the second floor. By about the third step Connie's clear, imploring voice stopped me.

“Luke.”

She was staring at me with a changed, contemplative face. I knew that look. She had something important to say. But instead,
she pursed her lips and shook her head lightly, signaling that she had thought better of it. Her eyes softened and she spoke with simple resolve.

“You've got a good, caring heart, Luke Bradford; a kind, loving heart. Don't be afraid to let it see the light of day. You're a lot stronger than you think.”

As I climbed the steps, I was again reminded that Connie Thompson was the smartest person I had ever known.

An Old Secret

“W
hy don't we go on a picnic? I'll fry up some chicken. I still owe you a meal from the basketball game in the barn, you know.” Christine's voice poured buoyantly through the phone.

It was Friday morning and I was taking the day off, since it was Christine's last day of spring break. Mid-April had been cosmically beautiful in Watervalley, a perfect blend of warm sun, exploding color, and rich, earthy fragrances. Around nine o'clock I had called Christine to make plans for the day.

“Seems like I remember that bet came with a condition about wearing a saucy French chambermaid outfit.”

“Are you familiar with the phrase ‘when pigs fly'?”

“I'm going to take that as a no.”

“Just listen to you, handsome
and
smart. How did I get so lucky?”

“Brown eyes, I haven't seen you in a week. You could wear a Hefty bag, and make me happy.”

“So, absence
does
make the heart grow fonder?”

“By the way, did I get that right? Your eyes are brown, aren't they?”

“Stop while you're ahead, Bradford.”

“Anyway, a picnic sounds wonderful. Where do you want to go?”

“How about out beside the lake?”

“I guess we could, but something about the sound of power saws and nail guns sort of takes the enchantment right out of the moment.”

“No, silly. I meant Moon Lake. You still have a key, don't you?”

“That I do. Good idea. How does one o'clock sound?”

“See you then.”

As I hung up the phone, I became deeply aware of how much I had missed her—the light of her smile, the sound of her voice, and simply having someone to talk with about the events of the day. One o'clock couldn't arrive soon enough.

It was unseasonably warm, reaching into the low eighties by midday. Christine met me at her door with a lingering, delightful kiss. Her time in Florida had given her a deep, rich tan. With her olive complexion and dark hair, her beauty now bordered on the exotic. She was breathtaking.

The drive out to Moon Lake was a celebration of laughter and excitement. It was a charmed day and the countryside was filled with the sensuous smells of spring, made all the more radiant by the freshly scrubbed air and the brilliant sun.

We spread a large blanket near the water's edge and lazily ate and talked, lulled by the fragrant smell of the untamed grass and the delicate, shimmering light on the water. In time we finished, stopping before we completely stuffed ourselves. I was sitting with my arms draped around my knees, facing down the length of the lake. Christine shifted to sit behind me, pressing her back to mine,
looking in the opposite direction. We sat in silence, letting the warm, sleepy afternoon breeze float idly by.

Finally, I said, “By the way, I have been asked to give the commencement speech at the high school graduation.”

“Really? And what choice bits of worldly wisdom are you planning on sharing?”

“Oh, the usual platitudes . . . don't poke the bear, it's a small world after all, smoke 'em if you got 'em.”

“That should inspire them.”

“Yeah, I'm a little nervous about it actually. Truth is, I haven't quite figured out exactly what to say.”

“There's plenty of time. You'll come up with something.”

“Hey, there's an added bonus.”

“What's that?”

“We've been asked to attend the prom dance. Or at least, I was asked and was told I can bring a date. You're pretty close to the top of the list.”

“Sounds okay. But I'm going to wait and see who else offers before I give you a definite answer.”

“I expected no less.”

Christine rolled her head back, resting it on my shoulder. I spoke again. “So, tell me about your senior prom. I bet you were prom queen, weren't you?”

“Not even close.”

“Really?”

“No, and that was fine by me.”

“So, who did you go with?”

“Went without a date.”

“Okay, were you a leper for several years and forgot to tell me about it?”

“Noooo. Several fellows asked, but I turned them down. They
were all sweet guys, but they were just friends, not anyone special. I thought it would be more fun to dance with all of them.”

“And how did that work out?”

“It was fun. Kind of strange driving home alone when it was over, though.”

I closed my eyes, drinking deeply of the drowsy feel of the day. After a while, Christine spoke again. “Luke?”

“Hmmm.”

“Will you take me to the prom?” The question floated in the air, full of tenderness and yearning.

“Sure. How do I know you won't stand me up, though?”

Her voice was delicate, almost fragile, and I could sense the affection in her words. “Because
you are
special.”

As she spoke, I could feel her back melt against mine, subtly pushing against me to somehow draw in closer. The breeze stilled and a lingering hush fell over the open fields. It seemed a perfect moment to sit and delight in the quiet world around us. But I would soon realize that I was mistaken. When Christine spoke again, her teasing voice had a faintly wounded quality.

“Okay, Bradford. You could at least try to do half of the work of this conversation.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn't realize I was spoiling the magic.”

Foolishly, I let a tinge of sarcasm creep into my tone. Christine took it the wrong way and a veil came between us, ending the conversation. I felt her back stiffen and a knotty silence ensued. I needed to respond, to say something to reassure her, to convince her, to fill in the void. But the moment seemed already lost, the damage done.

I stood, reached down, and pulled her up, all the while looking deep into her sensitive face. What had she wanted? What should I have said? It seemed insane. We knew each other so well,
yet here we stood in this clumsy, awkward moment. Not knowing what else to do, I blurted out a question.

“Want to take a walk around the lake?”

Christine's tone was resigned, her eyes patient and understanding. “Sure.”

We circled the lake and talked for the next hour. But the air between us seemed thick with the clutter and confusion of uncertainty and bruised emotions. To make matters worse, dark clouds had built up in the west and we were caught on the far side of the lake in a nearly instantaneous downpour. The large drops pelted us, and by the time we gathered our things and reached the car, we were soaked.

The drive back to Christine's passed largely in silence. Once there, we dashed toward the front door under an absolute waterfall. Thankfully, the onslaught took some of the edge off the tension between us and we stood in her entrance hall flipping water from our hands and gasping for air. Drenched and pathetic, we exploded in spontaneous laughter. It seemed we both were hungry for an excuse to put the unspoken awkwardness of the past hour behind us.

“Let me go upstairs and change. I'll try to find something dry for you to put on,” she said.

“Sure, I'll probably be fine, though.”

Christine ascended the steps and I was left holding the dripping picnic basket. I kicked off my shoes and headed toward the kitchen to put it away. But as I entered, I came upon her grandmother sitting at the kitchen table drinking a glass of tea and reading a magazine. Instantly, I had a sick feeling in my stomach. She stared at me with strained curiosity. “It's Luke, isn't it? Your name, that is.”

“Yes, Mrs. Chambers, Luke Bradford.”

She continued to focus on me, her mind distant, searching. “You're soaked.”

“We were having a picnic. The rain caught us.”

I walked across the room and set the basket on the counter. She took a sip of tea, her eyes still on me. The silence was uncomfortable, but infinitely better than her threatening disdain of our previous encounters. She seemed harmless, approachable. I grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filled it with water from the fridge dispenser, and came and sat across from her. Admittedly, I was curious, wondering if this was actually a moment of lucidity. I couldn't be sure.

“You were the one talking about Oscar Fox a couple of months ago, weren't you?”

At first, the question threw me. “Yes, we were talking about him at Sunday lunch a little while back.”

“Mmm. I remember now. I'm glad I saw you. There's something I've been wanting to tell you.”

My answer was hesitant. “Sure.”

“I want to tell you a secret. Oscar Fox was a good friend to my dad and my dad's brother, Mutt. Mutt died in a car wreck in 1945, or maybe '46.” She paused for a moment, her mind on a short detour.

“Anyway, Mutt was a real handyman and did a lot of the trim and finish work at the bakery. He was the one who did the tile work in front of the entrance door.”

I wasn't sure where this was going. “Looks like he did excellent work. It's still there today.”

“When I was a little girl, Mutt told me something, but he said I had to promise never to tell anyone. I forgot about it for years, but I remembered again after you mentioned Oscar Fox.”

I listened closely, caught up in this surreal conversation.

“Mutt said that when he was pouring the concrete before laying the tile, Oscar came to him with a metal box and told him he wanted it buried there. Oscar said it was a kind of time capsule, something for good luck. He made Mutt promise not to tell anybody. But I was Mutt's favorite, so he told me. Maybe I shouldn't be telling you. But it was a long time ago. Doesn't seem to matter anymore.”

A thousand thoughts poured through my head, a thousand possibilities of what the box might contain. I thanked Mrs. Chambers and excused myself. Christine was coming down the stairs as I was passing through the entrance hall. She read the excitement on my face.

“Your grandmother and I just had the most, well, unusual conversation. She told me something incredible.”

“Really? What on earth did she say?”

I briefly related the exchange, then told Christine I needed to go but that I would call her later. She nodded sweetly.

By nine the next morning Connie, Estelle, and I were at the old bakery with the contractor. He had scheduled some men to work that morning and was glad to jackhammer out the tile work and concrete ahead of schedule. We stood by anxiously as the work began.

The tile came up easily enough, but the concrete was less forgiving. Soon, however, small cracks began to appear. These gave way to bigger chunks that were methodically removed. They revealed nothing. But it was a large area. The hammering continued.

Finally, about two feet out from the door, a large chunk broke off and the corner of a heavy metal box was exposed. We all strained to get a view of it, barely able to contain our excitement. It took several more minutes to break away the surrounding concrete, but finally, with the help of a pickax, the large box was pried
from the ground. It was approximately fifteen inches square and about four inches deep. I took it inside and set it on a cleared table.

“Estelle, technically, this belongs to you,” I said.

“Oh, heavens no, sugar. This is your thing. You have at it.”

I carefully flipped back the two metal hasps and lifted the lid.