Stories from a Small Town

Robby O’Donnell looked up, his eyes red rimmed. He ran the palm of his hand over the stubble on his close cropped head. Teazle smiled to herself; she remembered that gesture in high school when Robby’s hair had been four inches longer.

“Well,” he said. “You’d hear it anyway, might as well make sure you get it straight. Amy Coderre was found dead about one o’clock this morning.”

Teazle caught her breath. Amy had also been in school, maybe a year or two younger. Had everyone but her stayed here forever?

Now she had to break the silence stretching across the early morning of the diner. She glanced back over shoulder, but Dee was in the back, preparing for the breakfast crowd.

“How? Where?”

Robby took another sip of his coffee, set the mug carefully on the counter. “Behind her house. Beaten up pretty badly. Don’t know the cause of death yet, the coroner took her.”

Teazle had to ask. “Donny?”

Robby shook his head. “Not home, nor the kids. Just Amy.”

Dee rang the bell at the kitchen pass through and Teazle fetched the eggs and bacon Robby had ordered.

“So you been there all along?”

“Yeah. Figured I’d get a bite before I go back to the station. Going to be a hell of a report to write. And a long day.”

“Who else was on duty? You didn’t go alone.”

“No, Mac was there. And Two Tone. We all stayed until the coroner left, then called Alf in to babysit the state police crime unit. Had to get out of there for a while.”

The front door opened, a gust of air accompanying two men who took the front booth. Teazle grabbed up two mugs for coffee, but leaned toward Robby before going to the table.

“Don’t you go anywhere just yet.”

Silvio and Cropper grinned their old man grins at her as she sat down the filled mugs.

“Hey girl! What’s up besides taxes?” Silvio’s greeting never changed.

Teazle looked back at Robby, but he was intent on his breakfast, so she said in a low voice, “Trouble, gentlemen, trouble.”

The two men stared at her, waiting.

“Woman died last night, mysterious circumstances,” she said, and waited for questions.

“Who? Goddammit Theresa, don’t be an asshole!”

She laughed, knowing she’d done exactly as they’d expected.

“OK. Don’t know much yet, but Amy Coderre was found beaten to death in her own yard last night.”

“Coderre? Wasn’t she a Duveau? Michael and Anne’s daughter? Married that boy who was in football I think…”

“No, no,” Cropper interrupted. “She wasn’t a Duveau, she was a Perkins. Her folks was Sam and Abby.”

“You old goat. She was a Duveau! Married her boy right out of high school! Had to, I heard…”

Teazle stopped them, “the usual guys?”

“Yeah, whatever. Listen Silvio, it was the Perkins what didn’t like her going with the Coderre. They had plans for her.”

Teazle wrote the order out, went back around the counter and rang the bell at the kitchen window.

“Order up!” she called, and Dee peered out.

“What are those old fools arguing about this time?”

“Who Amy Coderre was before she got married. She died last night.”

“Died? She wasn’t more than 35 if that. What was wrong with her?”

Teazle looked back at Robby again, who was intent on sopping up the last of his egg yolk with a corner of toast. She knew he’d told her the real facts, not idiocy.

“Found dead in her yard. Beaten up, but Robby says don’t know why dead yet.”

Dee tsked as she turned back to her kitchen. “Foolishness and hornswoggle,” she muttered.

Teazle went back to Robby, refilling his mug and leaning on the counter again.

“So the staties took this over?”

Robby shook his head. “No, I’m staying in no matter what. I need to know what happened.” He blew across the cup, sipping the brew. “How does Dee keep this so hot?”

She waggled her fingers at him, watching an older couple entering the door. “Magic,” she whispered.

The whole morning was spent fielding questions. Marvin had a police scanner at home and had information about the call.

“It was Avis next door who saw her lying there. She was taking her trash to the dumpster and she couldn’t tell for sure who it was, but she called it in,” Marvin said, proud to be the center of attention.

“I heard they thought the whole family was dead.” Cropper never left after breakfast, compiling the information and sharing it back out with authority, having his mug refilled regularly but never paying his bill.

“So the kids weren’t home? Where were they? It was a school night and all.” Dorothy Allen was the editor of the little weekly. She scribbled notes from everyone as she sipped her herbal tea, also staying for refills the whole morning.

Amasa Gilbert, heaving himself on his crutches to a back booth and whistling for Teazle as he settled his bulk into the bench said, “I can say. They’s out with their grandmother out on Henry Hollow Road. Seen them playing in their yard as I drove by.”

“Which grandmother is that now?” Cropper asked, hoping.

“Her mom, Abby Perkins.”

Cropper slapped the table with glee. “Knew I’se right! I knew it! So, how’d they get there?”

But the small crowd couldn’t solve that question. Dorothy pulled out her cell phone and made a call.

“Colleen? Look up the Perkins on Henry Hollow Road.” There was a pause. “And a phone number? Thanks.”

Dorothy gathered her belongings, leaving a generous tip with her payment on the table.

“Keep us informed!” called Teazle.

“Buy a paper!” was the retort as Dorothy strode toward the door.

The lunch crowd was dwindling as the two o’clock close approached. No one had wanted to leave, hoping for one more bit of information, but nothing new had been added for at least an hour and even Cropper gave up. Paying for both breakfast and lunch, he drank down the dregs of his coffee as he left.

“Big news in Wakeford,” he said. “Nothing like this for a good 15 years or more. Last one was that boy who drowned, do you remember that?”

Teazle wiped at the coffee stains at the table he had left and shook her head. “I think I was working or at school in Boston then. My dad might have said something.”

“Well, it wasn’t a natural death if you know what I mean, but nobody was charged with nothing. Guess someone got away.”

He left and Dee stepped out of her kitchen.

“Old fool. He should leave off that gossipy crap and take care his own business. We’d all be better off.”

She poured herself a mug of coffee and slid into a vacated booth. “So, share.”

Teazle sat down, wrapping the cleaning cloth around first one hand, then the other. “Well, Robby didn’t say much. She was beaten up pretty bad, but no one knows what killed her. The coroner took her and the statie unit is investigating.”

Dee nodded. “Got that pretty much. So, where was the kids? And her husband?”

“Her kids are at her mom’s, but when they got there isn’t certain. No one has seen Donny at all.”

“He a wife beater?”

“Don’t know Aunt Dee. Never heard such, but don’t know.”

The door swung open, and Robby came in, carrying a styrofoam cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee.

Dee growled. “You come in here with that swill? Ought not to serve you!” Robby glanced at the cup and had the good sense to blush.

“Sorry Aunt Dee. Someone bought it for me. Can you throw it out?”

Teazle stepped behind him and turned the lock on the door, flipping the sign from Open to Closed. “Sit down Robhy. You look dead on your feet.” Teazle pushed him to a booth and turned off one row of lights, leaving the diner in cool semi-light.

Dee took the offending cup with two fingers and carried it behind the counter. She was more than a bit old fashioned about her coffee, finally breaking down and switching from a percolator to drip system only three years ago. But she still didn’t use the prepackaged coffee, mixing her own store bought Maxwell House with her “secret” and measuring it out into paper filters stacked and waiting behind the counter.

When the convenience stores started offering coffee and the donut chain had opened down the street, Dee had run a challenge to choose the best brew in town. Dorothy Allen was in on it, running a survey in the Wakefield News, and sure enough it was Dee who won hands down. She had a poster made, now sun faded and tattered but still displayed proudly in the front window: Best Coffee in Wakeford.

Robby smiled tiredly and asked, “Can I still get lunch?” Dee bustled to the kitchen, “It’ll be right out.”

“I want…”

"I’ll bring it out,” she cut him off.

He shrugged and wrapped his hands around the mug Teazle set down. Then she took the seat across from him.

“So?”

“Well, Abby Perkins said Donny brought her the kids about suppertime last night and said he was taking Amy out to a movie. Said would Abby keep them overnight and he’d pick them up this morning in time for school. He never showed up.”

“When did she find out about Amy?”

“Two Tone drove over there this morning, offered to bring Emma to watch the kids if she wanted. But Abby is a strong woman. She just asked where Amy was then, thanked Two Tone for his trouble, and closed the door.”

“Any news from the staties?”

“Dribs and drabs. She didn’t die where they found her. And there’s nothing out of place in the house. No blood anywhere except on her. Kind of strange.”

Dee came out of the kitchen and put a heaping plate of macaroni and meat sauce in front of Robby. “Stick to your ribs, fill you up,” she said.

He dug in, Teazle and Dee sipping coffee and silently watching him eat. When he’d cleaned the plate, Dee took it to the kitchen saying “Always liked a man with a healthy appetite. My second husband was a good eater, but the first one was too picky and Hank always claimed he was allergic.”

She snorted. “Who’s allergic to good food I ask you? Glad I sent him packing.” Her voice faded as she walked further away.

Robby leaned back and closed his eyes. “

You’re exhausted. You need to sleep.”

“I am. Two Tone got Gary to take my shift tonight and Mac is coming back for 10 for a partial shift so I can go home. I’m going to take a nap in about half an hour.” He sat up and reached for her hand. “Listen, do you want to get a drink later? After I get some sleep? Maybe dinner?”

“Sure, why not. Just can’t be too late, diner opens again tomorrow at six.”

“Not too late. Thanks Teazle. I don’t want to spend the whole evening alone, thinking.”

“I hope you can sleep this afternoon.”

He grinned with a lopsided smile. “I’m too tired not to. I’ll call later, when I wake up; and set a time. Now let me out.”

She unlocked the door and watched him pile into his Jeep.

She had helped the home health aide feed her dad and settle him for the night before Robby called her. The aide agreed to stay until the night nurse came on duty, glad for a little overtime. Robby was at the door within the hour, a sports coat hiding his holster but his posture screaming “cop.” Teazle laughed at him, pointing out the wide stance of his legs, balanced toward the balls of his feet.

“Can’t help it,” he grinned. ”I don’t remember, but they must have taught ‘standing’ at the academy.”

She checked her dad one more time, as she grabbed a sweater from the hall closet. He was already snoring softly, his television turned low and the flickering picture his constant night light. She knew from experience if the TV was turned off, he would awaken and, in a foul mood, not easily return to sleep. Phyllis was watching the living room TV, some sort of crochet project growing in her hands. She returned Teazle’s wave, turned back to her show. Robby took Teazle to the Crown, a friendly little place at the edge of town known for its seafood. They were seated near a window at the back, but Robby couldn’t seem to relax.

“How did you sleep?”

“Great, for a while. I kept dreaming about it, and waking myself up. I kept thinking about Donny and wondering where he is and why he isn’t around. Kind of suspicious, you know?”

“You aren’t the only one thinking that way.”

“I know. I called in, and talked to Ezra White from the crime unit. They want to talk to Donny too, in the worst way.” He munched a breadstick, took a sip of his draft beer. “Nobody has seen him. We spent most of the day searching, an APB went out to the other towns, a description of his truck. Nothing. No one has seen or heard from him since he dropped the kids off at Abby’s.”

“Sure looks bad for him doesn’t it? Did he have any history?”

“Naw. Some tomfoolery when he was a kid. Vandalized a fence once, got in a couple of fights, But once he and Amy settled down, not even a speeding ticket.”

“And no domestic stuff?”

“Nothing reported. Nothing on record. If he was abusing her, she wasn’t telling anyone.”

“But where is he then? Where did he go? And why?”

“Look, let’s talk about something else. Until I get some reports from the state, we’re just going in circles here.”

“OK. So, how’s your sister and the kids? Is she still living in Bolton?”

“Yeah. Saw the kids at Christmas. They’re getting big. Hey, do you remember a kid we called Duffy? Found out he lives in New Hampshire now.”

They were sharing a decadent chocolate dessert when Robby’s cell phone went off. He seemed a little annoyed as he answered, but his face turned grim as he listened. He snapped the phone closed, sitting very still a moment before pulling out his wallet and beckoning the waitress.

“That was Mac. They found Donny.”

The body was behind a dumpster at the high school. Kids had been in classrooms mere feet from the site all day. Teazle couldn’t wait in the Jeep while Robby joined his fellow officers. She walked to the group quietly, hoping not to be noticed. The crime unit guys were already there, having spent the night in the local motel and coming immediately when called. The medical examiner had to come from Worcester though, so the scene would stay as it was for a while.

She stared at the body. She couldn’t think of that being Donny, and with his face so battered and beaten as it was, it didn’t look like him anyway. She’d never seen a dead body outside a funeral home. The made up, serene corpses of her mother, her Aunt Elise, her grandpa Bart had not seemed nearly as dead as this. But she wasn’t ill, just fascinated.

She took another step closer, standing at Donny’s feet, watching the only other woman there, a CSI, playing some sort of light over the body, and around it. The blood glowed a ghostly grey blue, and there was none on the ground.

“Not the crime site,” said the woman into a microphone pinned to her shirt. “No blood spatter, some seepage from wounds, no drag trail.”

Someone touched Teazle’s arm and she jumped. Officer Dick McNamara pulled her gently and she followed him away from the gathering. “You shouldn’t be here, Tessie. Get Robby to take you home.”

“Can’t I stay? I won’t get in the way, and Robby needs to be here.”

Mac shook his head sadly. “The big news people will be here soon. Two suspicious deaths in one small town will bring them out from Boston. You don’t want to get caught up in that. They’d all want to know who you are and why a civilian is here at all.”

“Look,” she begged. “I’ll watch out, and if anyone shows up, I’ll go sit in the Jeep, OK? Just don’t make me sit over there now, when stuff is going on.”

“I never could say no to you, Little Tess. But you be careful, and you watch for the vultures, you hear?”

“You bet. I’ll stay out of the way.”

But on impulse, as Mac walked away, she pulled out her cellphone and made a call. When Dorothy Allen answered, she said, “Before the big guns get here, you should come up to the high school. Someone should have called you last night, I’m calling you tonight.”

“What is it?”

“A second dead body. Donny Coderre.”

“I’ll be right there.”

…………………………………

Ellen took another drag on her cigarette, pacing the pavement in front of the motel room, shivering a little. David sat in one of the Adirondack chairs against the wall watching her, a can of beer hidden in his big right hand. He stretched his left hand out, splaying his fingers, examining his knuckles.

“I hit him hard, didn’t I Ellen? I hit him really hard.”

“Yeah, Davey. You done really good. Real good. Now let me think Sweetie. I gotta think.”

He drank the beer and crushed the can. “Can I have another?”

“You had four. Four is enough Davey.”

“Two left. Two left Ellen, see? There was six, and I had four, so two left.”

“I might want one, Davey.”

“You don’t like my kind. You said so the last time. Can’t I have another? Why can’t I have another?”

She stopped pacing, turned to him with her voice low and snarling, “OK you. Have another and I don’t buy any more all week. All week you don’t get any more. You like that?”

He rubbed his nose furiously, blinking his eyes quickly and screwing up his wide mouth. “Can’t make me cry, you. Won’t. Won’t. Won.t”

But the tears ran down his cheeks anyway, and he howled. Ellen regretted, not her treatment of him, but the resulting noise. She hastened to pull a can from the plastic rings and handed it to him.

“Here. I didn’t mean it. You can have it. And the last one too, if you want it.”

He’d fall asleep then, at least. She’d have some peace. He wiped at his face with his shirtsleeve and smiled, a benign, beer sotted Buddha.

“I knew you’d give me. How long is a week, Ellen? Would you really not give me for a week? I’m not weak, I’m strong. I hit him really hard, didn’t I?’"

Ellen lit another cigarette from the first one, and threw herself into another chair. “Yeah, Davey. You did real good.” …………………………………..

Dorothy and Teazle stood at the back of Two Tone’s unmarked police car, Dorothy handed Teazle a pen and a reporter’s notebook, she held a digital camera. As the Boston news van bumped across the parking lot, Dorothy said again, “You’re a stringer. Remember that term. A stringer for the Wakeford News. Just keep writing, look like you belong.”

Teazle nodded, writing down a description of the van with its satellite dish on the roof and the station logo on the side. A big SUV followed the van, pulling to a halt behind Two Tone’s car. Dorothy pointed out the elaborate camera carried by one man from the SUV; the second man adjusting his LL Bean jacket and pulling a notebook, identical to Teazle’s, from a pocket.

“Print media, probably the Globe, but it might be the Herald,” said Dorothy. “He’ll ignore us, but TV might want to talk.”

Both groups pushed past the two women and the man with the notebook called, “Who’s in charge here? Bradley from the Globe.”

The CSI team ignored them entirely. The body had been covered by a blanket, and the state unit was standing to one side, comparing notes. Two Tone looked hopefully at Robby, but gave a sigh and approached the reporters.

“What can I do for you fellows? Step back some more, you’re too close there; can’t get into the scene now, can we?”

The onscreen reporter slicked back his hair before stepping neatly in front of Mr. LL Bean to push his microphone at Two Tone’s face. “I’m Allan Bray, sir. Can we have your name for the camera please?”

“I’m interim police chief Anthony Antonelli. Let’s just move a little further away, over here…” Two Tone, his nickname derived from Tony Tonelli, led them away splashing through a puddle left by a recent rain and stepped onto a platform created by propane tanks shelved at the back of the high school building; making himself a foot taller and towering over the news crews. Teazle giggled as she and Dorothy walked around the puddle and took their places to one side, able to see both Two Tone and the faces of his antagonists.

“He’s really good at this, isn’t he?” Dorothy nodded, adjusting her camera for low light, and taking her photo of the group with Two Tone expansively saying nothing.

“Husband and wife. Both badly beaten. Cause of death not determined as yet, have to let the crime people do their jobs.”

“Chief Antonelli, we were told the body of the wife was found at a different location yesterday. Can you elaborate?”

“Yes, well. The first body was found at the family’s home, and of course the second body is here. Yes.”

“And can you tell us anything about the condition of the bodies? Probably cause of death? Anything?” Mr. TV was sounding a little tense. He had nothing he could use so far.

“Not really very much at this time. The state crime unit is doing its job, but we don’t have any answers as yet. The medical examiner has the first body already, of course, but there is no report as yet. And we are waiting for the ME to come for this victim now. We have no information on cause of death at this time.”

It was a long speech for Two Tone, he didn’t really like speaking in public, or at all actually. He was a quiet man. And Teazle was scribbling furiously trying to get it down, but Dorothy touched her hand, “My recorder is going in my pocket, don’t worry.”

Teazle relaxed a little, and enjoyed the show Two Tone was putting on. The story, she thought, should be about the media trying to take over and the hicks sticking it to them. The medical examiner’s van pulled into the lot. Two Tone stepped down from his impromptu stage.

“Excuse me one and all. I need to get back to my job.”

The Globe photographer tried to get a shot of the ME over the body but every time he set up it seemed a cop or a CSI was in the way. He tried moving to the other side, but was stopped by Robby. “Can’t let you back here sir, it’s past our barriers.”

“There aren’t any barriers,” the photographer pointed out.

“Yes, well, if we had put them up, this is where they’d be. I’m sorry,” Robby said sternly.

The Globe representatives climbed back into the SUV. They hailed someone walking across the lot toward the crime scene. “Hey! Is there a motel around here?”

“Yep, back down the road a bit to the east there. But it’s booked up, the staties you know,” Cropper was pleased to be helpful, not knowing to whom he spoke.

“So where’s the next closest?”

“Keene, New Hampshire maybe, up that way, or maybe Fitchburg, or yeah that big place off Route 2, can’t remember the exit number though. Or maybe the ski area, I think there’s one down there.” The reporter rolled up the window and the SUV threw gravel as it sped away.

The TV crew was sitting in their truck, watching the activity from their vantage point. Cropper peered at them curiously, but kept walking to Dorothy and Teazle. The TV reporter hopped out of the van and followed him, putting his hand out to Dorothy.

“Local press? Hi, anything you can share?”

“Not on camera, but I can give you background,” Dorothy shook his hand. Cropper watched silently, sidled up to Teazle.

“What you here for?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“Curiosity. I’m surprised half the town ain’t here.”

“Actually, so am I. At least the scanner owners know something is up. How did you find out?”

“I didn’t. I don’t. I saw all the cars and the lights back here, figured I’d check it out.”

“Well, they found another body. It’s Donny Coderre.”

“The husband? Well, don’t that beat all?”

Dorothy and the TV reporter were still talking half an hour later when the medical van, with Donny’s body on board, pulled away. Now the CSI people put up the yellow tape, enclosing the entire dumpster and several feet beyond on all sides. Robby finally walked to Teazle, grimly hunching his shoulders in his sports coat. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t take you home first. It must be three in the morning."

“It’s OK, I’m glad I was here. I learned a lot.”

“Ha!”

“No, seriously. I’m glad I was here.”

He cocked his head, definitely dubious. “What about seeing Donny? You were OK with that?”

“Actually, yeah, I was. I mean, it isn’t pretty, it’s pretty gross; but it’s fascinating, you know?”

He grinned, a tired, one sided grin and he took her arm. “Tell your ‘boss’ I’m taking you home. It’s late.” Teazle caught Dorothy’s eye and waved goodbye.

Dorothy nodded, but continued to listen to the TV reporter, interrupting him to say, “No. No suspects and other than the obvious physical trauma, we don’t know how, or why, either of them are dead.”

Cropper tagged behind Teazle and Robby. “Can you drop me home, officer?”

“Sure, climb up in back.”

Teazle waited until after Cropper struggled out of the backseat at his home before asking her nagging question. “How come half the town didn’t show up? Especially after last night?”

“It was Mac who found the body, not a citizen. He called everyone on cell phones, so it didn’t go through dispatch. No scanner call.”

“So how come Cropper knew to come?”

Robby pointed out from the end of Cropper’s driveway before they pulled away. The back lot of the high school, still with several vehicles with lights on, was visible across the wooded field between.

“He really did just see us and came to see what was up. Must have taken him at least an hour to walk the road around the field and up to the school.”

“Why didn’t he drive?”

Robby looked at her in surprise. “Cropper doesn’t drive. Hasn’t since he was about 20 and had an accident. His girl was in the car, Mamie Anderson. She was killed, he walked away. He hasn’t been behind the wheel since. Never had another girlfriend that I know of either.”

Teazle stared out the window. Lot of stories in a small town.

(End part one; not sure where chapter breaks will be yet)