Wonderland Creek Part 20

"My novel will be an expose of the mining industry here in Kentucky. It isn't even finished yet and it has already caused a ruckus here."

"The mining company knows about this expose you're writing?"

"I had to tell a couple of people about it when I first came back because I needed to do some research. On the day of Hank Coots's funeral, someone broke into the library while I was gone and stole the ma.n.u.script. All of it, including my research notes. I had to start writing it all over again."

"That must be some book if they don't want you to finish it."

"Well, when you read it, maybe you'll understand what I'm trying to do . . . what we're trying to do."

"You and Lillie?"

"No. You and me."

Oh, boy.

"Please, Alice, just look around in the mining office and tell me if it's cleaned out or not. The sooner I finish my work, the sooner you can go home."

"Can you give me a timeline or a date? How much longer will I need to stay in Acorn? I'm sure my parents will want to know when I finally find a telephone and call them."

"Can you give me about a month? I'll help you get home after that, Alice, I promise."

I thought of all the endless work there was to do every day, and how hard it was to do it without modern conveniences, and how tired I felt when I fell into bed at night. Another month? I couldn't help groaning. Then I thought of June Ann who needed a friend, and Maggie Coots and all the children on my route who eagerly awaited their books.

"Okay," I said with a sigh. "I'll stay for another month."

I've decided to stay in Acorn a while longer and help out," I told the other librarians the next morning. I expected smiles and maybe even thanks. I got neither. The women didn't seem to believe me-or else they thought I was a fool who couldn't make up her mind. I packed some books and rode my route, stopping to see June Ann, the Sawyers, and Cora's brother and sister-in-law. Lillie had said I should poke around. Mack implied that if we solved the mystery of who had tried to kill him, maybe he could come out of hiding. I would begin today.

Cora's brother was finally out of bed, limping around the cabin in his long johns. As I piled books on his table and handed Granny a new Ladies' Home Journal to read, he squinted at me suspiciously. "I don't believe Cora ever told us why you come down here to our town in the first place."

I explained how I had collected the donated books and brought them to Kentucky. "In fact, the book I brought you today is one of the new ones." I finished with a smile, proud of my achievement. Clint's eyes narrowed even more until they formed slits.

"Where'd you say you was from again?"

"I live in a small town in Illinois, not too far from Chicago."

"Chicago? Ain't that where all them gangsters come from? That John Dillinger fella-'Public Enemy Number One'?"

My perky smile began to waver. "Chicago does have that reputation. And it's true that Dillinger was killed in Chicago."

"Well, if you brought the books already, why ain't you going home?"

"I decided to stay and help out in the library after Mack's . . . accident."

"You a good friend of that MacDougal fellow?"

Before I could reply, Gladys chimed in. "He's a Larkin, you know."

I stifled a sigh. "I never met Mack until the day I arrived to deliver the books."

Clint picked up a poker and jabbed the fire. "Sounds mighty suspicious to me. Don't get too many flatlanders around here unless they're up to something."

Great. Was he going to accuse me of being a revenuer, too? My smile vanished completely as I searched for a graceful way to exit this conversation-and this cabin. I had liked Clint a lot better when he was flat on his back, not brandis.h.i.+ng a poker and squinting his eyes at me. I was supposed to be asking the questions, not answering them.

"Cora says you've been getting real friendly with Miss Lillie," Gladys said. "That true?"

"I'm not sure what you mean. We are friends, I suppose. We live together. Miss Lillie is all alone now that Mack is gone, and she needs someone to help her. Did you know that she's one hundred years old?"

Gladys nodded, her expression pinched with distrust. "Miss Lillie's been doctoring folks and birthing babies around here since before most of us was born. She knows everyone's secrets, and you can bet she'll use them to her advantage. I hear she took care of Great-Granddaddy Larkin before he died. Some folks believe that she and them Larkins spent all the treasure."

This conversation wearied me. I scooped up the pile of books from last week and shoved them into my bag. "Miss Lillie hasn't shared any secrets with me, Gladys. In fact, I'm trying to find out where her family is so they can come and take care of her after I leave, but she hasn't even told me that." I left a short time later, determined not to ask any more questions on my routes.

The next day, as soon the packhorse women left on their rounds, I put on a sweater and my walking shoes and hiked up the road to the abandoned mine. I still wasn't sure if I wanted to get tangled up in everyone's feuds and mysteries, but since I had agreed to stay for another month, I wanted to call home. My parents must be frantic with no way to reach me. And they must be furious with my uncle for not waiting to talk to me in person to find out when I'd be coming home.

I walked down the road alone, as if out for a pleasant stroll with no particular destination in mind. Every time I pa.s.sed a house, I imagined that people were watching me from behind their curtains, wondering what I was up to. My imagination had always been my biggest problem. I had read countless novels, and now it seemed as though this town had every type of plot: murder mysteries and lost treasure, evil mine owners and family sagas, horseback adventures and pioneer living, even a love story or two. I didn't need to read books. For the first time in my life I was living them.

The graveyard on the hill looked spooky to me, even on a sunny spring afternoon, the first day of April. I wondered how many secrets were buried there along with the bodies. I glanced at the mound of dirt over Mack's grave and knew that at least one secret was. A chill s.h.i.+vered through me. How could I know whether or not Mack had told me the truth, even now? He could have made up everything. I might be in cahoots with a criminal and not even know it. I was no good at snooping around-in abandoned mines or anyplace else. I wasn't cut out to be another Sherlock Holmes, yet I had been forced into the role against my will. Everything that had happened to me in Acorn had been against my will.

I reached the mine entrance and turned down the road leading to the office, ignoring the NO TRESPa.s.sING signs. "Look innocent," Mack had told me. I was innocent. I was here to use the telephone.

I arrived at the office door and found it secured with a padlock. Of course it would be locked if the mine was shut down. I sidestepped through the weeds to peer through the front window, wiping dust off the gla.s.s. The office was dark inside since most of the windows were boarded up, but I could make out a desk piled with papers and a row of filing cabinets along the back wall. Except for the lock and the boarded windows, the office looked as though someone had been here only yesterday. Maybe they had been. Maybe they were here right now. I leaped away from the window and glanced around nervously.

Silence. Nothing stirred except for a few crows and nameless insects buzzing in the tall weeds.

I looked through the window again and saw the telephone, black and modern looking, perched on a corner of the desk. I traced the wire across the floor from the desk to an outside wall. Then I tramped around the corner of the building and saw that the wire continued out of the building and up to a telephone pole. More telephone poles and wires stretched up the road into the distance, away from town. Out to the civilized world. Home.

I had felt so isolated these past few weeks, cut off from the world with no radio or daily newspaper. Now these wires would reconnect me. I had to get inside to use the phone.

I walked all the way around the building to look for a window I could open, but the front one was the only one that wasn't boarded up-and it was in plain sight of the road. I found another door in the rear, but it was latched from the inside with one of those little hooks and loops. I could see the latch through the window on the door. The window had small squares of gla.s.s, and I figured if I broke one of the panes, I could reach inside and unlatch the door. It made no sense to me that they would put a huge padlock on the front door, board up the windows, then leave the back door vulnerable to amateur sleuths like me.

I glanced around like a guilty person. I guess I was one. At least the rear of the building was more isolated than the front and not in plain view of anyone pa.s.sing by on the road. No one would see me if I broke in. I picked up a rock and smashed the window, taking two tries to do it, wincing as the sound of tinkling gla.s.s broke the silence. Crows screeched at the sudden noise as if to betray me. My heart pounded. My chest hurt. I had been holding my breath and hadn't realized it. The suspenseful stories I'd read had produced these physical reactions but this was the real thing-and twice as upsetting. I ran a stick around the inside of the window frame, knocking out the rest of the gla.s.s, gritting my teeth at the sound. Then I carefully reached inside and unlatched the lock.

I was officially a criminal.

Once the door was open, I drew a deep breath and tiptoed into the room, praying the phone still worked after all of my criminal activity. The office was cold and damp. It smelled like cigarettes and mildew and my parents' coal cellar. As I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, I saw the filing cabinets right beside me. Since I had already broken one law, I might as well peek into the files for Mack. The heavy drawer squeaked as I yanked it open. It was stuffed with papers. I quickly closed it again.

Fingerprints! Would someone check for my fingerprints? Forget the files. Forget Mack. I needed to use the telephone. Now. I needed to get out of here. I crossed to the phone and lifted the receiver.

Dead. No tone, no static, no operator asking if she could help me. Nothing. I had gone through all of this effort for nothing.

Should I snoop around a little more for Mack? I didn't even know what I was supposed to be looking for. Before I could decide, I heard a rustling noise outside the front door. Keys jingled in the lock. My heart stopped. I didn't have time to duck behind the desk and hide before the door swung open and there stood the sheriff. I let out a strangled shriek and clutched my chest.

"Oh! You scared me!"

He eyed me coldly. "Miss Ripley, I believe?" It sounded like a line from a cheap detective story.

"Yes! I . . . I . . . I . . ." All I could do was stammer.

"What are you doing here?"

For a very long moment, I had no idea. Then I remembered. "Th-the phone! I came to use the phone. B-but it's dead."

"That's because the mine is closed. Didn't you see all the NO TRESPa.s.sING signs?"

"No . . . I mean, yes. I saw them . . . But I also saw that the wires were still connected and so I thought it might still work. The phone, that is. I-I need to make an important call."

He looked at me as if waiting to hear more. Give a person enough rope and she'll hang herself, they say. But I couldn't help blurting out my story.

"I've agreed to stay here in Acorn a little longer and take care of the library and Miss Lillie. She's all alone now that Mack . . . now that Mr. MacDougal . . . And so I need to call home. I live in Illinois."

He still didn't speak. From the novels I'd read, I recognized this as a typical police maneuver: say nothing and let the criminal incriminate himself-or herself, in my case. The sheriff's uniform was neatly pressed. He wore a gun in a holster on his belt. It looked menacing-but I suppose that was the point of wearing a gun in the first place. Especially if you had to deal with criminals every day. Like me.

I drew a calming breath. "Do you know where I could find a telephone that's in working order? I'll be happy to make it a collect call."

"I have one in my office. Would you like me to drive you there?"

I didn't know what to say. I could hear Lillie's voice in my head shouting, A snake! That man is a snake! Mack insisted that Lillie was usually right about people. Yet if I refused his offer, my behavior would seem even more suspicious. Hadn't I just said that the telephone call was important? I swallowed a knot of fear.

"That would be very nice of you, Sheriff . . . to drive me there and let me use your phone . . . If it wouldn't be an inconvenience to you, that is."

"It's an even bigger inconvenience to have flatlanders trespa.s.sing and breaking into buildings here in Acorn. It gives me the inconvenience of arresting them."

"Oh, I-I-m sorry! I'm so sorry!"

He broke into a grin. No, it was more like a smirk. "I was making a joke, Miss Ripley. I'm not going to arrest you."

I nearly crumpled to the floor in relief. "Thank you. That's very kind of you."

"Shall we go make that phone call now?"

He motioned me through the door ahead of him, and I saw a ring of keys dangling from the padlock on the front door. He closed the door and locked it again. His black car was parked by the main entrance, coated with a fine layer of dust from the dirt road. Some spy I would make. I had never even heard the car drive up the road. I wondered how he had known I was here, trespa.s.sing. Who had been watching me? I knew better than to ask.

"How far away is your office?" I asked as I climbed into the car.

"We'll be there in twenty-five minutes."

I bit my lip to keep from voicing my frustration. Didn't anyone around here compute distances in miles?

The sheriff's car smelled like engine oil and cigar smoke. He slid behind the wheel and closed his door with a heavy thunk. I felt trapped. My heart pounded faster. How did I know if I could trust him? He started the engine and turned the car around, creating a cloud of dust. Gravel spit and crunched beneath the heavy car's tires. He pulled out onto the main road and drove away from town.

"I don't believe I've ever heard your story, Miss Ripley."

"M-my story?"

"What brings a nice young woman like you all the way to Acorn, Kentucky?"

I knew very well that he was interrogating me. "Books! Books brought me here . . . Or rather, I-I brought books here to Acorn." I had to get control and stop blubbering. I sounded guilty and I wasn't-well, maybe just a little. "I'm a librarian back home in Illinois, and we had a book drive to collect materials to donate to your library. I volunteered to deliver them."

"What's your connection to Leslie MacDougal?"

"None! No connection! I never even met him until the day I arrived. I read about the need for books in a magazine article, and we corresponded once or twice, but that's all. I-I thought he was a woman-from his name, I mean." I laughed nervously.

"And what have you learned from your stay with us, Miss Ripley?"

Careful . . .

"I've learned that we take books and libraries for granted back home. But I've seen how grateful everyone is around here to have reading material. They'll read the same book over and over if there aren't any new ones. Do you enjoy reading, Sheriff?"

"No. Books are a waste of time."

I tried very hard not to react to such an ignorant statement. It took an enormous effort, but I kept my mouth shut. He resumed the interrogation.

"You said that you've agreed to stay. Why is that, Miss Ripley?"

The question caught me by surprise. I needed to formulate an answer that would be truthful. If my father had taught me anything, it was to tell the truth.

"Well . . . Acorn seems to be without a librarian at the moment. I have the necessary skills, so why not volunteer them?"

"And your job back home . . . ?"

"I was laid off temporarily, due to the Depression."

"I see." He took a half-smoked cigar from the ashtray and stuck it between his teeth, then drove with one hand while he maneuvered to light it. I wished he would keep both hands on the wheel. The road was narrow and twisting, with a drop-off to the river on one side, a wall of rock on the other, and no shoulders along the road where a mistake could be forgiven.

"So you've made yourself at home here, have you?" he asked, puffing smoke.

"Everyone has been very nice to me."

He threw me a sideways glance. "That's unusual. From my experience, folks around here don't take well to strangers."

"We seem to have a love of books in common." I managed a smile.

"What about Miss Lillie?"

I gulped. "What about her?"

"She's an odd one, that's for sure. She take to you, too?"

"She's all alone now that Mack is . . . gone. She needs my help until we find a way to contact her family. That's another reason I've agreed to stay."

He didn't react. This man wasn't a snake-he was a rock, and as hard to read as one. I suppose that was part of his job, especially when dealing with criminals. Like me. For all I knew, he intended to throw me in jail for trespa.s.sing and breaking and entering. I gulped again.

"Since I've agreed to stay longer, I need to let my family know my plans-which is why I need a telephone. The one in the mine office was the nearest one I could find."

He still didn't reply.

"I'm very sorry about breaking in. I'll be happy to pay for a new window."

He puffed another cloud of cigar smoke and tapped the ash in the ashtray. Since he wasn't talking, I decided that maybe I should stop talking, too. The road twisted and turned as it snaked over the mountain. It felt strange to be moving so quickly and smoothly after swaying on horseback for the past few weeks.