Each Shining Hour (4 page)

Heart of the Matter

J
ohn leaned against my car and folded his arms. “Well, sport, you were quite the celebrity the other night. Still warming in the afterglow?”

He was teasing me about my recent recognition at the community Christmas Eve service at the Episcopal church. Every year during this annual event, the town recognized someone who had given of themselves to the community. To my surprise and delight, I had been awarded the honor, despite what I believed had been a rather rocky start in my new job. It was a gratifying, humbling experience and had galvanized my determination to call Watervalley home and serve out my contract.

“Poke fun all you want, big guy,” I said. “It won't change the fact that it was a wonderful moment.” The earnestness of my response took some of the sting out of John's tone. He nodded diplomatically.

“And so it was. And I guess I would have to admit that it was well deserved.”

“Thanks, John. Saying that had to be painful. Quick, drink some more Scotch.”

John leered at me sharply, suppressing a grin.

“Besides, John, it wasn't such a bad thing that the two of us made an appearance in church. Might be a good idea to try it more often.”

“Humph. You're probably right, Doc. The only problem with church is that it doesn't keep you from sinning—it just keeps you from enjoying it.”

I, too, leaned against the Corolla. John continued to rub his chin, pondering another question.

“So, Doctor, now that you've had your lionization, your moment in the sun, as it were, I hear you've decided to stay here among us mere mortals. You sure you're not just going through a phase? You know, slumming to see what life in the sticks is like?”

“Wow, talk about cutting to the chase. You know, your veneer of Southern graciousness could stand a little polish, don't you think?”

“Huh! Don't try to outfox me by answering a question with a question. The last few weeks you had leaving written all over you. I could damn near smell it. Don't tell me a little bit of celebrity changed all that?”

“You sound like you're disappointed I'm staying.”

“Nah, good to have you here, sawbones. On the odd chance I get sick again, you can throw some pills at me. I was just wondering, what changed your mind?”

“You do know I signed a three-year commitment with the town so it would pay off my college loans? Only six months have passed.”

“Yeah, that's all noble sounding, but I'm not buying it. We
both know you've got inheritance money out there. I'm guessing something else lies behind your decision to stick around.”

John was referring to a modest trust fund left to me by my guardian after my parents were killed in an accident when I was twelve. “The money from Aunt Grace does not come into play for several years and I'd like to eat between now and then.”

“And what about the grants and research plans? You decided to give up those as well?”

I shrugged. “Sure, I still want to do medical research, but it doesn't look like that's in the cards right now.” In truth, John was right. My tumultuous first six months had brought me to the brink of leaving Watervalley. But for multiple reasons I had decided to stay. Still, John's pushiness was odd.

“All right, Sherlock,” I said. “You're just full of questions. What's this cross-examination all about?”

John persisted with this line of interrogation, but something was off-balance. Although his words had the sharp air of inquiry, he seemed hesitant to press for information about my personal affairs. This wasn't John. He was a man of wit and sarcasm who was normally blunt to the point of rudeness. Then it hit me.

“Oh. I think I get it. This inquisition wouldn't have anything to do with your niece, would it, Professor Harris?”

John's response was almost sheepish.

“Well, it might.” He knew I had read his mind. His awkward mix of apprehension and obstinacy revealed that he had found this inquiry difficult, that it had cost him to pursue these questions.

An elementary school teacher, Christine Chambers was smart, athletic, and had cast something of a spell over me. After living in Atlanta for the past eight years, she had recently returned home to Watervalley. She was a beautiful brunette and I'd been attracted to
her the instant we first met. But I had nicely botched our early encounters. So, although we had known each other for months, the dance of initial courtship had moved at a glacial pace. More than I wanted to admit to either John or myself, Christine probably had much to do with my newfound desire to stay in Watervalley. I responded evasively.

“John, I'm surprised you're asking,” I said. “A few months ago you wouldn't even admit to me she was your niece.”

“Let's just say the family and I have recently reconciled some past differences.”

“That's good. So, are you the date police now?”

“Hardly, sport. Just curious, I guess.”

I shrugged. “At this point there's not much to tell. We haven't even gone out, not that I haven't asked a time or two.”

I paused. John offered no response.

“But, yeah, that could be changing. After the Christmas Eve service she mentioned I should call her sometime.”

“So, what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About calling her, of course.”

“John, pardon me for sounding like Obi-Wan Kenobi, but I just felt a great disturbance in the Force. Are you seriously asking me about my dating life?”

John held up his hand in resignation. “You're right, you're right. It's not my business. Must be the Scotch. I wasn't trying to pry.”

“Ha! You'd need a crowbar to pry any harder. Look, I know that with her dad gone you're the closest thing to a father she has. So, I take it you don't object?”

“Object? To what? You going out with my niece?” John shrugged. “Don't misread me, sport. It's you I'm worried about. You're the one who's in over his head.”

I was taken aback. “Oh, you think so, huh? Seems unlikely I can be in over my head when I haven't even jumped in the water yet.”

He nodded and folded his arms. “Give it time. You'll see.”

“So I'm guessing she's had a few callers in the past?”

John nodded. “Many have called. None have been chosen.”

I shrugged. “Well, pretty girl like her, it's no surprise she's had a few suitors along the way.”

“She has.” John paused for a moment. “And none of them suited.”

I grinned and we both stood silently. The odd conversation had played itself out. “Well, John, I'd love to stay here and listen to more of your clever responses, but I need to head back. As always, though, thanks for the heartwarming advice. I'm sure we'll both be fine.”

John studied me for a moment, trying to read something deeper in my face, my words. “Just keep telling yourself that, Doc. I know you're a grown man and all, but that one will have you all heartbroken and crying like a little girl.”

“Wow, John. You actually sound concerned. I'm not sure how to take this kinder, gentler you. I was just getting to like the crabby jackass version.”

“Yeah, I know, I know. Kinda makes me sick to my stomach too.”

I climbed in the car, shut the door, and rolled down the window. While starting the engine, I deliberated over John's unexpected advice. He had leaned forward with both hands on the frame of the open window, almost as if he wanted to hold on, to keep me around to continue the conversation. I put the car in gear and turned to him.

“Good to see you, John. And don't worry. I doubt love is in the air. But if it is, I'll be sure to keep my windows shut.”

He grinned and stepped back, shaking his head as I drove away. As the car wound down the deep and desolate hills back to Fleming Street, my attention was drawn elsewhere. There beside me in the passenger seat sat the autopsy file, visible in the low glint of the dashboard lights.

Oddly, I had the sensation it was whispering to me, delicately casting its fragile voice into the air, pleading for me to draw closer and listen. Swelling curiosity was compelling me to know more, especially since the case involved my neighbor, the mischievous Will Fox.

I glanced at the file folder again, consumed with an unexplained desire to unravel this mystery, to bring light and understanding to the events of the past. I wanted to know more.

Dinner

W
ill Fox filled my thoughts as I worked my way toward Fleming Street. Over the past months I had grown to like the little twelve-year-old boy who lived next door, despite his rather odd demeanor. He never seemed to play with any friends. He also had the unnerving habit of sitting on the metal fire escape attached to the side of his house and watching me anytime I was in my backyard. Still, my heart went out to him. I had lost my parents to a drunk driver at his age, so I understood something of his confusion and pain.

His father's death had left Will and his mother, Louise, in lean financial circumstances. But Will, with his brilliant mind, had figured out a way to hack into the computers of several Watervalley merchants and credit his mother's accounts as paid. In her grief over the loss of her husband, Louise Fox had spiraled into alcoholism and remained unaware of Will's clandestine activities.

Events in the weeks before Christmas had brought the family's problems and Will's thievery to light. I had taken a late-night soul-searching walk downtown and had accidentally witnessed
Will sneaking out of the alley next to the local drugstore. Earlier, Louise had apparently discovered him missing and, in her drunken state, had wandered into the backyard looking for him before passing out in the mud. Will had found her there and come pounding on my door for help. Later that night, through a flood of tears, he had confessed to the desperate measures he had secretly taken to help his grieving mother. From that moment forward, I was determined to do what I could to help them.

Now it seemed that Will was the last descendant of the man involved in Watervalley's most infamous crime. On top of all their other troubles, Will and his mother had to live with the stain of this terrible legacy. Perhaps John was right. It appeared that much about the Fox family tended to exist under a shadow of misfortune, as if for some families the universe could never quite find a happy ending.

I existed in a world of modest financial ease with all expectations for a prosperous future. Yet across the low rock wall of my side yard and in full view of my everyday life were an unemployed mother and her son living with the crippling daily worry about where they would get money for food, and gasoline, and heat.

As I pulled into my driveway, I noticed that next door Will was sitting on the steps to his front porch. In the thick darkness, the porch light weakly illuminated his small form against the night shadows. He sat with his chin in his hands, wearing a heavy coat, and his bike helmet . . . a true oddity given that Will didn't own a bike. I walked over to him.

“Hey, Willster, whatcha doing?”

“Just sitting.”

“Um-hmm. A little cold to be sitting outside, don't you think?”

Will smiled. “Yeah, I guess so.” He leaned forward and looked over at my driveway. “I see you're still driving that crappy car.”

“Thanks for the reminder, I had almost forgotten.” It wasn't
the first time Will had taken delight in chiding me about my dilapidated Corolla.

“If you'd listened to me months ago, you'd have a girlfriend by now.”

I nodded. “Solid dating advice, I'm sure. Even if it is coming from a twelve-year-old.”

“The women in Watervalley aren't dumb, you know. They take one look at your car and think, ‘Loser.'” He emphasized the last word by using his fingers to make an exclamation point.

“Okay, I get your drift.”

“Hey, just trying to be a friend here, Dr. Bradford.”

I had to laugh. Despite the weight placed on his small shoulders, Will was still a funny, fearless, and precocious boy. He had taken on the burden of protecting his despondent mother and remedying their bitter situation. I couldn't help warming to him.

“Hey, listen. I've got to get going. Don't stay out here too long. Otherwise, you know . . . cold, sniffles, frostbite, pneumonia . . . you get the idea.”

“Sure.”

Pausing on my porch steps, I gazed back over at him. He sat alone, brooding, and lost, I suspected, to an imaginary world. I exhaled into the cold air and went inside. Connie and Estelle were waiting.

The two sisters were in a flurry of activity in the kitchen, laughing and bickering and talking nonstop. As we sat down to dinner, I asked what they knew of the Oscar Fox murder story. They could shed little light beyond what John had already told me. Our conversation progressed to a discussion about Louise's predicament. Connie launched into an impassioned discourse.

“Her fool husband didn't have the sense God gave geese. Estelle, honey, pass the limas.”

“Connie, dear, you know it's not right to talk of the dead that way. Besides, geese aren't so bad. Did you know they're monogamous for life?”

Connie offered a tired sideways glance, ignoring her sister's inquiry, and stayed on the attack. “I'd say it louder if I thought he could hear me. He always rode that motorcycle way too fast, and him a man in his forties. I know it was an accident, but he left Louise and that young boy without two nickels to press together. It's no wonder Will turned to thieving to make ends meet.”

Estelle suspended her loaded fork in midair and turned to her sister. “Thieving? Will Fox? The little boy next door? What was he doing, pinching apples?”

“Hardly,” Connie responded flatly. Using her knife for emphasis, she directed her gaze toward me. “You need to let the good doctor explain that one.”

Barely paying attention, all I heard was the word “doctor.” I was in casserole nirvana, floating in an ecstatic calorie coma brought on by all the dishes prepared by the two sisters. This wasn't just food; it was a love affair. I had become more emotionally involved with every bite. Connie's bayonet maneuver with her knife refocused me. I gulped and spoke.

“Estelle,” I said, “it seems that Will kept the family finances afloat by hacking into the computer systems of local merchants and zeroing out his mother's accounts each month. I don't think she had the slightest notion what he was doing.”

“My, my. That's just terrible, stealing like that. Think he could show me how to do it?”

“Estelle, girl, what are you thinking? You don't have any business hacking into people's computers.” Connie leaned to one side, attempting to look into Estelle's ear, speaking sternly. “How many people are in there with you?”

“Oh, don't be silly. I want to make sure no one hacks into my little business.”

Connie shrugged, returning to her food. “Emphasis on little.”

“Constance, don't start all that again.” Estelle turned to me. “So, is the boy going to have to do hard time in the big house?”

At first I thought Estelle was kidding, asking such a naive question. I hesitated, glancing briefly at Connie, who had closed her eyes and was shaking her head. “Well, no. I, um, I worked out a deal with Sheriff Thurman for Will to make compensation for what he stole.”

“What Dr. Bradford means is that he paid off all the Foxes' bad debts,” Connie injected.

I responded with reserved indignation. “Will is helping the stores out with their Internet and computer security. Anything beyond that is rumor, Mrs. Thompson.” I had sworn Sheriff Thurman to secrecy on this matter. But somehow, as with all else in this town, Connie seemed to know everything.

“Actually, Estelle,” I added, “it was your sister who marshaled volunteers from her church to help restore the Foxes' crumbling household and who are continuing to assist Louise in recovery from her alcohol addiction.”

Connie spoke again. “Despite all the old rumors, the Foxes have been a generous, community-minded family, living here on Fleming Street for generations. But Louise's husband died with no insurance, leaving their home mortgaged to the hilt from some old business ventures that didn't work out. They're probably going to have to sell or face foreclosure.”

We sat quietly, finishing the last of the incredible dinner with a dessert of chess pie. Connie broke the silence again, speaking in a reflective, empathetic voice.

“It's a sad business, is all I can say. They were a wonderful,
happy little family. Then everything came unraveled. It just shows that life's a precious thing. You take it for granted. Then one morning you wake up and wonder, where did the time go?”

Estelle nodded in agreement, speaking with equal gravity. “And you know, not only that, but sometimes I wonder too, where did it come from?”

I stifled a laugh, but Connie's deadpan face never changed expression. She turned her head to the right and studied her sister's childlike face. After several painful seconds of absolute silence, Connie exclaimed, “Sometimes I just envy your brain.”

In truth, I too marveled at Estelle. She possessed no ability to mask the depth or intensity of her heartfelt emotions, nor did she seem interested in doing so. She overflowed with an innocent exuberance, a tender, inexhaustible heartiness and enthusiasm. She was a grand contrast to her sister. While no less charitable, Connie saw the world through stern filters of order and reproach.

At first, the sullen looks Connie offered her sister gave the impression that she regarded Estelle as a simpleton, a difficult characterization given that she had a PhD in chemistry and had taught on the college level for twenty-five years. In truth, as the evening had progressed, it had become abundantly clear that Connie held a deep-rooted affection and admiration for her sibling. It occurred to me that perhaps her railings were driven more by a desire to protect, to keep her sister's seemingly innocent outlook on the world unspoiled. They were an odd pair.

Suddenly, Estelle slapped her hand down hard on the table, causing Rhett, my faithful but sometimes lethargic golden retriever, to sit up with a start. “I've got it!”

Connie responded in clutched alarm. “What's wrong with you, girl, slamming the table like you're killing a bug?”

Estelle giggled with a gesture of dismissal. “No, silly. I know what I can do. I can give Louise Fox a job at the bakery.”

Connie closed her eyes and let her head drop in resignation. “Oh heavens, girl, I don't know where you think you are, but we need to book you a flight back to reality. You haven't even met the woman.”

“Doesn't mean I won't like her.”

“Doesn't mean she wants to work in a bakery either.”

“I bet she'd be glad to work in a bakery and I'm sure she's likable. Do you like her, Dr. Bradford?”

Once again I was being sucked into the vortex of a Pillow sisters' argument. I enjoyed being a spectator, but not a participant. Diversion was the best tactic.

“So. I take it there is agreement to move forward with the bakery? Where are you thinking about putting it?”

Estelle responded, “I'm meeting with the bank tomorrow at ten about a property they own in the old Hatcher Building. It used to be a bakery years ago.”

“Oh, wow! Are you talking about the place that was once called Oscar's Bakery?”

“I think so. I found out the bank owns it. The bank president didn't want to show it to me at first. When he realized I was Connie's sister, he got all down in the mouth about it and finally agreed.”

To my surprise, Connie responded loudly, with a tinge of panic. “You didn't tell me about this. Why there?”

Clearly, Estelle had sensed the intensity of Connie's sudden apprehension.

“Well, dear, let's see. It's near all the downtown businesses. It has the right zoning. There's lots of parking. It's in that beautiful
old Hatcher Building with all that stonework and glass and marble. Seems to be a perfect location.”

Connie had regained her composure. She sat with folded arms, weighing each word. After what seemed an eternity, she pursed her lips and nodded.

“I guess you're right. It might be a good possibility.”

But Estelle wasn't satisfied. “So what got into you just now? Why are you all in a state about that place?”

“It's nothing. I just had a silly notion in my head. It's not anything that matters anymore.” Then, with noticeable effort, she inquired softly, “Why don't I come with you in the morning? If you're meeting with Randall Simmons, you might need some backup. He can be a little proud.”

I spoke before Estelle could answer. “Why don't we all go? I wouldn't mind seeing the place myself. Not sure I'll be much help, but I'd like to tag along.” There was a larger curiosity behind my interest, a desire to peek into the past regarding anything associated with Oscar Fox.

Estelle was ecstatic, almost giddy. Connie smiled lightly with a stoic resolve. The matter was settled. The two sisters rose from the table and began to clean up.

I, on the other hand, was now anxiously consumed with a completely different matter.