Bury the Hatchet in Dead Mule Swamp (16 page)

Of course, the first thing
she did was open a scrapbook containing a photocopy of a news
article. This was a summary after the fact, highlighting the effect
on Cherry Hill. She’d told me the basic details of the case in the
spring, and as I scanned the report, I was reminded of what had
happened. Zeke Bradley’s wife, Nora, had always had light fingers.
She would sneak a few penny candies into her shopping basket even
though she paid for the rest of her goods. Hoyt O’Rourke accused
her of pocketing an extra egg, one she hadn’t purchased, from his
chicken coop. But no one wanted to start a ruckus. She didn’t take
very much at one time, and everyone liked Zeke. He worked at the
local service station, and could keep old Fords running like
nobody’s business. It wasn’t going to be a good idea to antagonize
him.

“I didn’t realize Zeke was
a respected man,” I commented. “It seems out of character with what
he finally did.”

“There’s no accounting for
the wickedness that lurks below the surface in some people,” Cora
said, shaking her head.

I read on, out loud
now.

On August 25, 1924, Nora
Bradley was apprehended by Dieter Volger, of Volger’s General
Store, as she exited via the alley door carrying a large ham for
which she had not paid. This crime was too much to overlook, and
Dieter pressed charges. Nora was sentenced to thirty days in the
county jail, which she served without incident. After her release
on October 6
^th
, she returned to her home
behind Keto Brothers Oil and Service, where she resided with her
husband, Ezekiel Bradley.

Cora interrupted. “Keto
Brothers is now Aho’s. John’s grandfather, Miko, bought it around
1950.” For a few moments the room was quiet as I assimilated this
information. The large gas heater kicked on, ending the silence.
“Keep going,” Cora urged.

Only six weeks later, on
October 8
^th
, appearing to shop as usual at Volger’s, after Nora had paid
for a few sewing notions, Dieter Volger demanded to inspect her
basket which was lined with a gingham cloth. Beneath the cloth he
found a set of fine linen napkins, a tin of tooth powder, sheet
music for "
I’m Always Chasing
Rainbows
," and several handfuls of loose
horehound candies. He also uncovered a gold broach which had been
traded for goods the previous day, and which he had not yet placed
in the safe. Dieter declined to say who had surrendered the
valuable trinket in exchange for sundries. He valued the items at a
total of $31.87. “Those napkins were made by Mrs. Ethel Radcliffe,
and were worth a dollar a piece,” Volger explained to the
Herald
.
“
Ja
, that is what
makes it so much provoking. Ethel does not make those fine linens
for my store, but once in a while.”

Cora interrupted again.
“Ethel’s granddaughter claims to have those exact napkins. I have
my mind made up that they will be part of my collection one of
these days.”

I was sure they would be. I
read on.

The Sheriff was summoned
via telephone, and Nora was then escorted in handcuffs to the
county jail. Ezekiel was informed of his wife’s misdeed, and he
visited her nightly until her appearance before Circuit Court Judge
Reuben Pierce Oldfield on November 7
^th
. She pled guilty, on the
advice of Arnold Schoenbrunn, Esq. who was appointed to represent
Mrs. Bradley. He recommended a light sentence, and required visits
with a specialist doctor in Emily City.

However, when court next
convened on November 21
^st
, and sentence was passed,
Judge Oldfield stated that the recurring nature of Nora’s crimes
caused her to be a public menace, especially due to the escalating
value of the thefts. Surprisingly, he handed down the maximum
sentence, one year in the state prison.

On Sunday morning, just two
days later, the Honorable Judge Reuben Pierce Oldfield was asleep
in his bed at the family home on Peach Street, his wife having
already arisen to fix breakfast, as it was the servant’s day off.
Suddenly, Ezekiel Bradley crashed through the window of the ground
floor room and waved a pistol in the air. Shouting like a madman,
Zeke declared that if his wife was going to prison he’d go there
with her as she was the best dad-gummed cook he’d ever lived with.
Upon making this statement, he leveled the pistol at the judge, and
shot him through the breast. The judge lived but a few moments
more, and uttered no dying words, according to Bradley. He was the
only other person in the room when the Judge expired, and we may
assume his account may not be entirely trustworthy.

“Ezekiel perhaps wasn’t the
brightest man in the world, but he certainly loved that woman,”
Cora said.

“This must have been very
upsetting in such a small town,” I commented.

Cora pointed at the printed
page. “Read the ending. It’s something of an editorial.”

It is a sad commentary on
the state of the human condition, that in a village as close-knit
as Cherry Hill that in one rash act we have lost more than one good
citizen. The loss of Judge Oldfield, of course, can hardly be
measured. But yet, who can place a value on someone who knew every
motorcar on the local streets, inside the engine compartment, as
well as by make and color, and kept them running smoothly. Zeke
Bradley’s skills will be missed. Nora, despite her attraction to
trinkets and candies, was always cheerful, and a staunch member of
the Ladies Aid Society. Dieter Volger, our own merchant
extraordinaire, is less likely to be as trusting and open as on
previous occasions. And all these troubles because a woman was
possibly in need of a special sort of treatment from a doctor not
found in our small city.

“
For want of a nail the
shoe was lost. For want of a shoe the horse was lost. For want of a
horse the rider was lost. For want of a rider the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost. And all for the want of
a horseshoe nail.”

I laid the scrapbook on the
table and looked at Cora. “Rather melodramatic writing, isn’t
it?”

“Those were the customs of
the times,” she said.

“I know you have the actual
furniture set up in the corner over there. The judge’s bed and
all.”

“Yes, that’s a permanent
display. But look what else is on the table. I have the pistol Zeke
used, the bloody nightshirt...”

“That’s a bit gory,” I
protested.

“Probably for use in the
play, but what an artifact to have! When the Schoenbrunn law
offices closed, I convinced them to give me everything they had on
the case, and it turned out they had all the evidence. Who knows
why? It should have been in the District Attorney’s files. But I’m
thrilled!” Cora smiled and softly stroked an unstained portion of
the yellowed, striped flannel.

“What are these pictures?”
I asked, flipping to the next page of the archival
scrapbook.

“Take a look. I got the
book out just for you.”

The first picture was a
funeral procession. “For Judge Oldfield?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s on East
Liberty, right at the bend where it becomes Cemetery
Road.”

A hearse was drawn by six
black horses. Behind the dark wagon could be seen a long line of
automobiles, followed by carriages, curving away between fields of
corn shocks. On the next page was an image of a man in chains. His
eyes were sunken and he looked defeated and lost.

“Zeke Bradley, after his
trial.” Cora said. “He found out men went to a different prison
from the women. And he got sent up for life. No more good cooking
for him.”

The next picture was a
posed family portrait. There was a pleasant, round-faced young
woman, seated and holding a baby on her knee. Behind her stood a
slim man with a mustache. Although they were dressed nicely,
neither of them looked particularly comfortable. Beside the picture
was mounted a photocopy of some spidery writing, I assumed from the
back of the photo: “Ezekiel and Nora Bradley, Elizabeth,
1913.”

“What happened to
Elizabeth?” I asked. “She would have been just eleven or twelve
when this all happened.”

“Died in the great
influenza epidemic of 1918. She was gone before this happened. They
left no heirs.”

I turned to Cora. “This is
great stuff. Can we scan the pictures and article and send them to
Chad’s friend who wants to write the skit? We can take a new photo
of the furniture.”

“Certainly. I was hoping
you’d want to do that. How do you think she’ll end it? At the
shooting or with Zeke in chains?”

“Chains will probably
appeal to the young people, and it’s perfect for the Halloween
season. Maybe Zeke can appear out of the basement at the end and
give everyone a good scare.” I paused at looked directly at my
friend. “Cora, you’ll come to the Harvest Ball, won’t you? You
don’t want to miss this.”

Cora glanced sideways
toward the door. “I might,” she said with a little smile. “Can’t
let my museum pieces go unescorted, can I?”

Chapter 23

I stayed at Cora’s a few
more hours, trying to concentrate on the database, but my mind kept
drifting away to invent scenes for the skit. It was going to be
difficult to leave the creative process to the kids.

Cora copied pages from the
scrapbooks and newspaper stories. She also took pictures of the
furniture, pistol and nightshirt. Compared to her usual quiet self,
she was positively chatty, continually explaining connections with
the people and places from the Judge’s story to current Cherry Hill
residents and locations. By noon I was brain-weary and hungry. I
collected all the newly digitized information into one folder and
emailed it piecemeal to Chad. That took several tries. Internet
connections in the back corners of Forest County are not known for
their speed. Then I headed for town.

By that time it was past
one o’clock, and I thought I’d grab a bite to eat and drop in on
Detective Milford. Being at Cora’s had reminded me of the package
that had begun this long, strange sequence of events. I wanted to
know if there was any more information about where it came from. I
wasn’t sure he’d tell me, but I was going to ask, just as soon as I
got something in my stomach.

I did forget that the Pine
Tree Diner was closed. And that was another of the goofy things
that had happened since this—whatever it was—all began. What had
made Jack Panther suddenly lock his doors and take off? Where had
he gone? Wasn’t anyone interested in finding out why he had
disappeared on the same day the actual crime scene was located?
There were a lot of unexplained coincidences swirling around like
the golden leaves in the breeze. It seemed as impossible to put the
pieces of the story together as it would be to try to restore the
leaves to the correct branches.

Since I was on a focused
mission, I didn’t want to spend an hour chatting with Adele at the
grocery. Instead of turning right, I pulled the wheel left onto
Main Street and parked in front of the small drugstore. I had no
idea how it managed to remain open, but in addition to pills and
bandages, toiletries and small discounted novelties, they sold
candy bars and single bottles of soda pop. It wasn’t a lunch to
brag about, but it would have to do. The sugar set my teeth on
edge, and I chastised myself for thinking this was better than a
tub of coleslaw, even if I would have had to visit with Adele for a
while.

By the time I had finished
my snack and thought this through, I was already at the Sheriff’s
Department. I entered the plain building and asked to speak to
Detective Milford. I didn’t have too much confidence that he would
talk to me, but it was worth a try. The deputy at the desk made a
call in response to my request, and in just a few seconds he was
leading me back through the cold, dreary block hallways to
Milford’s office.

The detective was waiting
for me, standing behind his desk. “Have a seat, Ms. Raven. Do you
have some new information for me? Maybe another strange event to
report?” He pointed at the plain unoccupied metal chair and sat
down in his more comfortable, but worn, padded one.

“No, no. Nothing new,” I
said. “I think we have enough mysteries going on already, don’t
you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Are you having any luck
tracking our hatchet in a carton?” I tried to sound
lighthearted.

“Our
hatchet? You feel some ownership of it? Now, I find that
extremely interesting, considering where it came from.” He leaned
forward.

“Oh! You’ve tracked down
the sender. That’s great. Can you tell me who it is?”

“Maybe it was you.” Milford
cocked his head to the side and scratched the coarse gray hair
behind his right ear.

“What? I didn’t send that
box. I found it in Cora’s office,” I protested.

“Did you?”

“Of course I did. She told
you herself it came in the mail.”

“Now there’s the problem,
Ms. Raven. We don’t actually know where it came from, but it didn’t
come in the mail.”