The Chardon Chronicles: Season One -- The Harvest Festival (5 page)

He made a forced smile. “Court’s closed
today, Marcy.”

“Closed?” She frowned involuntarily, thinking
of all the people she’d need to call and argue with during the
day.

“Yeah, closed. There’s a problem with the gas
lines. Have George give me a call ASAP.”

“OK… gas. right, got it.” She was at least
relieved to have an excuse.

He walked briskly out of the building. His
cell phone rang.

“George, I smelled gas in the courthouse. I
need you to check it out.”

“Gas? Doesn’t the county have people for
that?”

“You turning down work? I need you to do a
thorough inspection all day today.”

“I’ll be right over.”

“When you get here, I really don’t care what
you do, just stay the entire day.”

“Alright, we’ll check it out.”

He hurried to his car. He pulled a burner
phone out of the glove compartment. A list of code names were
programmed in the phone’s contact list. He texted “bridge 30” to
Fonzi. he got a reply a minute later. “OK”.

The Sheriff was already there when the Judge
arrived. His unmarked patrol car was parked in front of a guardrail
barrier and a fading “DEAD END” sign. Beyond the sign, the road
continued to a sandstone abutment where the bridge once stood. On
the other side of the river, big white pines had long ago erased
the road bed. Rocky sand colored banks were shining on either side
of the black band of the river. The Sheriff stood on the bank. He
was a tall wiry man with slicked back salt and pepper hair. He
skipped rocks across a shallow pool in the river. They bounced over
to the opposite shore.

The judge held his arms out, looked up at the
sky and breathed deep.

“Chuck, this place, if it could talk. These
stones soaking up all that energy. Can’t you just feel it?”

“Blah, blah. You guys with the ooga booga
bullshit. What’s up?”

The judge sniffed. “No imagination, this one.
We need to kick it up a notch on the farm.”

“I thought you were taking it slow.”

“Jerry paid a visit. They’re not happy
now.”

“I don’t think it’s a two man job.”

“We have some help coming in a few days.”

“And who are they this time?”

“Well, the only ones I could get on short
notice are Israeli.”

“Think people won’t find that…
odd
? A
couple Israelis prowling around here?”

“Hear me out... First, I hit the local
churches, we start talking about the holy land… a couple weeks
later, a contingent from Israel shows up to spread peace and
understanding or whatever.”

“That could work.” Chuck sighed. “Jesus
motherfucking christ on a cracker. I’m getting too old for this
bullshit.”

Morgan got to school early and went up to the
calculus classroom before anyone else was even in the building. He
started picking at the wall, gingerly at first. He blew dust away
and saw the glinting edge of something round and gold. He worked at
it for about ten minutes before he started hearing people out in
the hall.

Steve walked in the door. “WTF? Dude, what
are you doing?”

“Keep an eye out. I’m almost done.”

Steve stood at the door. “Hurry up!” Other
students filed in. Carrie Crossling noticed him chipping away at
the wall.

“Almost got it…oops.” The cinder block
cracked and a big chunk fell on the floor. The coin came free.

Carrie said, “What the hell, Morgan? You’re
going to bring this whole shithole down! Loser.” She walked away in
disgust. The other students in the class kept looking back to see
what was going on.

Morgan held the coin in his palm. “How cool
is that?!” He showed it to Steve.

“Dude… don’t get me involved.” Steve slid his
desk away.

Tracy hissed, “what is it?” Morgan passed it
over just as Mr. Bartlett walked in. Morgan quickly slid his chair
back and tried to cover the hole in the wall with his head.

Tracy palmed the coin.

The whole room was murmuring and looking back
at Morgan. Mr. Bartlett sighed. “OK. What’s going on?”

Carrie spat, “Morgan broke the wall.”

“What? Move away from there, Morgan.”

Morgan sat with his dad outside the
principal’s office for an hour after the final bell. His father was
still in work clothes from the garage. The principal walked in and
out a few times and made a point of ignoring them. Morgan’s dad
just kept sighing and saying, “Geez, Morgan.”

Finally the door opened and the principal
leaned out. “Come on in.” he made an absentminded gesture and
picked up some papers from the desk and set the pry bar on his
desktop calendar. He sat back and stared at it.

Morgan and his father sat down in creaky
chairs.

“I deal with nonsense from these kids and
from parents every day, but honestly, I don’t know what to make of
this. Broke a wall with this thing… Why?” the principal set the pry
bar on the desk.

“I thought I saw something in there, in the
crack. I poked at it.
It
broke. I didn’t
break
it.”

“Morgan, you’re going to argue with me? You
know the zero tolerance policy. You signed it. Your father signed
it. Yet,
you
smuggled
this
--which some might say is a
weapon--and damaged the building. I could
expel
you.” He let
that word sink in. Morgan just kept looking down at the floor.
“Vice Principal Bowers thinks I
should
expel you just to be
safe.”

Morgan’s father leaned forward, “Principal
Phillips, my son is a lot of things--mainly a moron--but he
wouldn’t hurt a fly. I can’t even think of the last time he was in
trouble. What if he repairs the wall? I’ll make sure he does it
right.”

The Principal frowned. “A student repair a
wall? I’ve got about five union contracts that are involved with
building repairs. No, Mr. Klerc, we fix it, and I give you the
bill. On top of that, Morgan is suspended for 2 weeks.”

Morgan’s father shook the principal’s hand
and gestured to Morgan to do so. “You are going to pay every nickel
of that bill.”

The kids gathered at Tracy’s after school.
Chloe took a few pictures of the coin with her phone.

Morgan asked, “Is it real?”

“It looks real to me. Well, 24 karat gold
looks like that anyway.” Chloe said.

“What does the writing mean?” He asked.

“I can’t read it.” Tracy shrugged.

“Well, I hope it’s worth something… I mean, I
got suspended over it, and now I have to pay to repair the shitty
wall. Sell that for me?”

Tracy put up her hands. “I have no idea what
it’s worth… I couldn’t even guess. I mean, it looks
old
.”

“Shit… well, where do I go to find that
out?”

“Get online, find somebody that might have a
clue… get it appraised.”

Steve hit him on the shoulder, “Dude, my dad
might know something… He’s always talking about money, stocks and
stuff.”

Tracy shrugged and said. “Good luck
explaining where it came from.”

“Right. Steve. If we do that, your dad will
tell my dad. I won’t see a dime.”

“My dad won’t say anything to your dad. He
doesn’t like him.”

“Why?” Chloe asked.

“Let’s just say, he’s got a bad reputation.”
Morgan offered. He hated talking about it. “Yeah, Steve, let’s go
talk to your dad.”

Steve’s house was recently built McMansion. A
concrete drive followed a gentle hill up to a roundabout. A faux
white marble fountain with lion heads burbled water into a pool
that was surrounded by shrubs and flowers. A couple of SUVs were
parked in the drive. One of the plates read “2TH DOC”.

Steve and Morgan propped their bikes on the
garage wall and went inside. Ron Polloy, DDS was on the concrete
patio behind the house. He was laying in a lounge chair with a book
over his chest. He was half asleep. A ratty old Ohio State hat from
his college days covered his eyes. Flip flops dangled from his
chubby feet.

He stirred and grunted when he pulled the
lounge chair up to a sitting position. “Oh hey boys, what’s the
good word?”

“Dr. Polloy, I found this out in the woods, I
was wondering if you have any idea how much it’s worth…” Morgan
gave him the coin.

“Wow! Lucky. That is gold. How interesting!
It’s weirdly heavy stuff, isn’t it. Do you boys know where gold
comes from?”

“The ground?”

“I mean… originally.” he looked at them over
the top of his sunglasses. “Two neutron stars collide and explode
into a supernova. Gold atoms are formed in the process. Look up
stellar-nucleosynthesis sometime.”

“Stellar-nucleo…”

“synthesis”.

“Are you sure he’s your dad? What happened to
you?”

“Crack a book someday… At your age, I knew
nothing about nothing. I hit the books in college… actually stayed
away from partying… It worked out, mostly.”

“Mostly?” Morgan wondered.

“Well… no matter what path you choose in
life, can’t help but wonder if the another one would be better
somehow…”

“Dad… Life lessons some other time.”

“Alright, alright. As a chunk of gold, it’s
probably $1200-ish. But as an antique coin? I really have no idea.
So, it could be a lot, or just $1200.”

“Wha…. wow. $1200? Man, I’d be glad to get
that. I haven’t seen that much money in my life!”

“Well, don’t take that until you know what
it’s really worth… We can head over to a coin shop out in Pepper
Pike. Maybe get dinner too.”

Judge Ralph and the two Israeli operatives
drove to the Sheriff’s campaign office, which had gradually turned
into a satellite office for personal business. One of the
operatives was a tall thin man with a short buzz cut, and perpetual
5 o’clock shadow. He was talkative, laughing and smiling all the
time. The other was short, slight, and quiet, and very young, in
his early twenties. He had a bushy mop of dirty blonde hair and had
gold rimmed glasses. Both were wearing non-descript slightly
oversized well worn clothes.

They exchanged the usual pleasantries, talked
about weather and geography. The talkative operative, Saul,
answered all the questions. Yuri fiddled with his phone.

“Does he speak English?” the Sheriff
asked.

The Judge interjected before Saul could
answer, “Like it matters, Chuck. who’s he going to talk to?”

Yuri added, “A little.”

Saul smiled, “He actually knows the language
well--from TV--but is out of practice making conversation. Everyone
watches BBC and American shows.”

“Maybe he’ll get some practice on this job.
Right, Ralph?”

“That’s Judge Ralph.”

“Yeah, whatever,
Ralph
. Judge Ralph,
Judge Fudge. It’s all the same to me.”

“Fudge?” Saul laughed. “I had fudge at a fair
one time when I was in upstate New York. Can we get some?” He spoke
Russian to Yuri. He nodded and smiled, but kept looking at the
phone screen.

The judge laughed and clapped his hands.
“I’ll get you some maple fudge, boys. You’ll love it. But first,
work… We’re looking for something, probably a rare book, probably
in the house or on the property of the Wells farm, here.” He rolled
out a map. “My plan was to buy the farm and its contents… make it a
museum, and take the time to inventory the contents. But I guess
that processes has been too slow. Now, we have to improvise.”

Saul said, “I like improvisation. Like Jazz.”
He held his hands up by his face and shook them. “Jazz hands.
hahahaha”

“Right, good. So, somehow we need to search
the place, thoroughly search it and inventory it. It’s a 100 acre
farm. Caves, barns, old wells, god knows where it could be; or what
it could be.”

“Who lives there?”

“As far as we know, just a girl, and
occasionally her Uncle. The parents are dead. Died in a car wreck a
few years ago. Incinerated.”

“Oh that’s a shame.” Saul tutted. He
continued, “Sounds like a scavenger hunt. I have a first
idea...”

Steve’s father stopped his car in front of
the coin shop. The three got out of the car and Dr. Polloy pulled
the door to go inside, but it was locked and rattled in the frame.
He said, “Oh shi--oot, I hope they’re not closed.”

“There’s an OPEN sign right there.” Steve
pointed at the window.

“There’s someone inside.” Morgan cupped his
hand over his eyes and waved through the door. The door lock buzzed
and the man motioned for them to come in.

“Hello, what can I do for you guys
today?”

Morgan took the coin out of his pocket and
bounced it in his palm.

Dr. Polloy said, “We have a coin to appraise.
It’s an old one… I think.”