Tuesday, February 7,
1899
Chapter 1.
“She’s
gone,” Virgil Follmer said.
“What?
Who?”
Virgil’s
head shot forward, his face going red as he rose up on the toes of his boots in
an effort to appear taller than he actually is. “Dammit, Tilghman,” he bellowed,
“open your ears. Don’t make me repeat myself. Time’s a-wastin’.”
Virgil’s
our town undertaker and generally the most docile, quiet man you’d ever want to
meet. So, seeing him get this excited, I knew something terrible must have
happened. “Calm down,” I told him. “I’m not a mind-reader. You’ll have to
explain if you want my help. Now—who’s missing?’
“Why Mrs.
Arbuckle, of course. Somebody’s stole her body. Zimmerman’s gonna have a fit.”
The late
Mrs. Arbuckle was Nathan Zimmerman’s mother-in-law. Zimmerman is burgess of
Arahpot, which makes him my boss. This news imposed a bit more urgency on my
response. “I’ll get my hat and coat and be right with you,” I told Virgil.
I’d just
returned home and was heating up a pot of soup Doc Mariner’s wife had sent over
when Follmer commenced pounding on my door.
He waited
impatiently by the door while I took the pot off the stove and got my garments.
“If you’d subscribe for phone service a body wouldn’t have to go runnin’ half
way across town to fetch you,” Virgil snarled.
I’m the
third of my family to hold the job of sheriff here in Arahpot ,
Jordan County, Pennsylvania
Virgil
huffed. “If I’d wanted your deputy, I’da gone there. Thought this was important
enough for your attention.”
I couldn’t
dispute his remark.
Slush from
the last snow made walking precarious and we had to concentrate on where we
stepped to avoid slipping. It didn’t prevent Virgil from continuing to harp on
the subject of the telephone.
“I’m sure
Miss Longlow would have seized the opportunity for the telephone contract if
she’d known about it in time,” he said.
I couldn’t
argue the point. Lydia is one of the most astute business women I know and she
certainly would have added the telephone to her various enterprises if McLean
Ruppenthal hadn’t got the jump on her with prior knowledge—one of the benefits
of being on the borough council, I suppose. He got the telephone franchise and
has his sister Cora operating the switchboard. That makes him privy to many of
the secrets in town—another advantage I’m certain he hasn’t overlooked.
Still, this
wasn’t the subject on my mind at the moment. “Never mind all that for now,” I
said. “Why don’t you fill me in on what happened before we get to your place
and I have to face Zimmerman.”
Virgil gave
me a look like a startled deer. “God, I haven’t told him yet. I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Well, you
haven’t told me a thing so far—other than that the old lady’s body is missing.
How’d it happen?” I drew my collar closer round my neck against the damp chill
of the evening, wishing I’d have thought to bring the nice warm scarf Lydia
Follmer
heaved a sigh and skipped his short legs in an effort to catch up to my longer
pace. “I wish to heaven I knew how it happened. We had her all laid out nice in
the coffin, set to deliver her for the viewing. Before goin’ out for supper I
stepped in to make sure all was in readiness. The casket was empty. Syl, I know
that old lady didn’t get up and walk out of my place on her own.”
“That don’t
make a bit of sense, Virgil. Why would someone steal a body?”
“I don’t
know. But they sure as heck did.”
‘I take it
Floyd helped with the layin’ out,” I said, referring to Virgil’s assistant.
“Course he
did.”
“Maybe he
moved the body and you looked in the wrong coffin.”
He peered
at me as though my remark was the most idiotic he’d ever heard. “Why would he
do that? I know which casket I put
her in.”
I shrugged.
“Just a thought.”
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