nce in the van, I locked the doors then looked around inside to make sure nobody had climbed in while I was wading in pumpkins. The backward order of those actions indicated how rattled I was.
Luckily, just across the interstate, maybe three city blocks away, there was a gas station and convenience store. I drove across the overpass, nearly sideswiping a red Volkswagen with a Warner Pier High School bumper sticker in the rear window. It had pulled out suddenly from somewhere. The clerk in the bulletproof booth called 9-1-1, and I waited there. The Haven Road exit is not in Warner Pier; the Warner County Sheriff’s Department would be in charge of the situation. But they have a cooperative agreement with Warner Pier, I guess, because Jerry Cherry, one of the three Warner Pier patrolmen, was the first officer on the scene.
I followed Jerry back to the Snow farm and parked on the edge of the fruit stand’s gravel lot while law enforcement gathered. Sheriff’s cars, Michigan State Police cars, and more Warner Pier cars pulled up, and all sorts of uniforms got out.
Jerry didn’t make me show him where the body was; he found the spot from my description. After about twenty minutes, Chief Hogan Jones came over to my van, leaned on my door, and told me the sheriff said I could go home.
“We know where to find you, Lee,” he said. “It’s probably an accident anyway. We’ll have to shift all those pumpkins before we know anything. What were you doing out here?”
I couldn’t think of a good lie, so I told the truth. “I was trying to find out something about Aubrey Andrews Armstrong and his company. There was nothing on the Internet. I thought maybe I was spelling his name wrong, and since Silas Snow had mentioned having a business card . . .”
The chief shook his head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I’m worried about Aunt Nettie.”
“Then you’d better get home and be there when Armstrong brings her home.”
He asked Jerry Cherry to follow me home. I assured him this wasn’t necessary, but I was glad when he insisted.
As soon as I had gone into the house and had waved Jerry off, I discovered I was starving. Nerves, I guess. I had my head in the refrigerator checking the egg and English muffin situation when I heard another vehicle driving up. I wasn’t mentally ready for Aunt Nettie and Aubrey, so I was glad when a glance out the side window showed me Joe’s pickup. In fact, it was just plain good to see Joe, even though we had parted on bad terms.
I met him at the back door. “Do we have to settle the plans for the rest of our lives tonight?”
He smiled. He did have a wonderful smile. “Nope. Figuring out the rest of our lives is way too serious a subject for right now. How’re you doing?”
“I’m okay. I guess the chief called you.”
“He thought you might want some company.”
“I could sure use a hug.”
Joe obliged. “Have you eaten? I could take you out.”
“No, thanks. I want to be here when Aunt Nettie gets home.”
Joe frowned, but he didn’t say anything.
“She asked me to be here, Joe. I was going to scramble myself some eggs. Do you want some?”
He gestured at the eggs and muffins on the cabinet. “I’ve had dinner, but I might have an English muffin and some of Nettie’s peach jam.”
“Preserves, you mean.”
“Jam,” he said. “And maybe sprinkle some pee-cans on top.”
Joe and I carry on a joking argument about the proper names of items that are labeled differently in Texas and in Michigan, such as “preserves” versus “jam” and “pecahns” versus “pee-cans.” He carries groceries home in a “bag,” and I use a “sack.” I’ll let him settle the “Michigander” versus “Michiganian” controversy.
Joe split and buttered the muffins, then set the table with one place at the head and one on the side. I put on a large pot of coffee so Aunt Nettie could offer Aubrey some if she wanted to, then I scrambled eggs. Two of us moving around
Luckily, just across the interstate, maybe three city blocks away, there was a gas station and convenience store. I drove across the overpass, nearly sideswiping a red Volkswagen with a Warner Pier High School bumper sticker in the rear window. It had pulled out suddenly from somewhere. The clerk in the bulletproof booth called 9-1-1, and I waited there. The Haven Road exit is not in Warner Pier; the Warner County Sheriff’s Department would be in charge of the situation. But they have a cooperative agreement with Warner Pier, I guess, because Jerry Cherry, one of the three Warner Pier patrolmen, was the first officer on the scene.
I followed Jerry back to the Snow farm and parked on the edge of the fruit stand’s gravel lot while law enforcement gathered. Sheriff’s cars, Michigan State Police cars, and more Warner Pier cars pulled up, and all sorts of uniforms got out.
Jerry didn’t make me show him where the body was; he found the spot from my description. After about twenty minutes, Chief Hogan Jones came over to my van, leaned on my door, and told me the sheriff said I could go home.
“We know where to find you, Lee,” he said. “It’s probably an accident anyway. We’ll have to shift all those pumpkins before we know anything. What were you doing out here?”
I couldn’t think of a good lie, so I told the truth. “I was trying to find out something about Aubrey Andrews Armstrong and his company. There was nothing on the Internet. I thought maybe I was spelling his name wrong, and since Silas Snow had mentioned having a business card . . .”
The chief shook his head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I’m worried about Aunt Nettie.”
“Then you’d better get home and be there when Armstrong brings her home.”
He asked Jerry Cherry to follow me home. I assured him this wasn’t necessary, but I was glad when he insisted.
As soon as I had gone into the house and had waved Jerry off, I discovered I was starving. Nerves, I guess. I had my head in the refrigerator checking the egg and English muffin situation when I heard another vehicle driving up. I wasn’t mentally ready for Aunt Nettie and Aubrey, so I was glad when a glance out the side window showed me Joe’s pickup. In fact, it was just plain good to see Joe, even though we had parted on bad terms.
I met him at the back door. “Do we have to settle the plans for the rest of our lives tonight?”
He smiled. He did have a wonderful smile. “Nope. Figuring out the rest of our lives is way too serious a subject for right now. How’re you doing?”
“I’m okay. I guess the chief called you.”
“He thought you might want some company.”
“I could sure use a hug.”
Joe obliged. “Have you eaten? I could take you out.”
“No, thanks. I want to be here when Aunt Nettie gets home.”
Joe frowned, but he didn’t say anything.
“She asked me to be here, Joe. I was going to scramble myself some eggs. Do you want some?”
He gestured at the eggs and muffins on the cabinet. “I’ve had dinner, but I might have an English muffin and some of Nettie’s peach jam.”
“Preserves, you mean.”
“Jam,” he said. “And maybe sprinkle some pee-cans on top.”
Joe and I carry on a joking argument about the proper names of items that are labeled differently in Texas and in Michigan, such as “preserves” versus “jam” and “pecahns” versus “pee-cans.” He carries groceries home in a “bag,” and I use a “sack.” I’ll let him settle the “Michigander” versus “Michiganian” controversy.
Joe split and buttered the muffins, then set the table with one place at the head and one on the side. I put on a large pot of coffee so Aunt Nettie could offer Aubrey some if she wanted to, then I scrambled eggs. Two of us moving around
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