Chapter Four
Clouds rolled in with the afternoon. Summer set out her drawing pencils with her sketchbook while waiting for hot chocolate.
She was known for landscapes, but she also loved drawing people.
A full restaurant at Clem’s burst with characters, colors, and emotions.
She chose the small child sitting in a high-chair and stuffing French fries in her mouth.
Her dark hair was tied in a tall waterfall of a ponytail.
Against the backdrop of all of Clem’s decorations, her festive red pants and red shirt kept pace with her glee, and the red matched her cheeks.
Tom had been right. The weather had changed drastically, and the chill had her burrowing her other hand into her pocketed hoodie. She sketched quietly, concentrating on getting the gist on paper.
Her drink appeared. Myrna dropped it on the table and left her drawing.
She wasn’t the first person who came in and chose to read, study, or color and wanted to enjoy coffee or a piece of pie in peace.
“Summer, dear, may I interrupt you?”
She glanced into the light blue eyes of Mrs. Heigl.
The town’s beloved English teacher, now retired, wore a bright green Grinch sweatshirt and a red tam with black pants and black slouch boots.
Her face was flushed with cold and if the twinkling in her eyes was to be interpreted correctly – happiness.
Summer dropped her drawing pencil and pointed at the opposite seat in her booth.
“I’d love an interruption. Join me, please.
” Honestly, she was hanging out waiting for some of the library’s town history to spur some inspiration for her mural.
Plus, this prime location let her stalk her husband for some pictures. Mrs. Heigl was good cover.
“What are you drawing, dear?” She signaled the waitress for tea.
Summer pointed at the little girl across the way.
Mrs. Heigl’s sweet smile said it all. “Imagine some day that child will discover her portrait among the famous Summer LeFey’s drawings.”
Summer snorted. “How so?”
“Well, all the famous artists publish their earlier drawings sooner or later.”
Summer froze. Jonathan had mentioned as much to her a few years ago, but she’d dismissed it because they were only sketches.
Mrs. Heigl grinned, lost in her thought process. “DaVinci being the most famous one I can think of. Picasso.”
“I’m nowhere in their realm.”
“Oh, you don’t give yourself enough credit. What’s this I hear about a mural?”
Summer dropped back in her seat, surprised again. “Who told?”
“Helen. I’m a de facto member of the city council.”
“Oh, she’s cleared to talk about it. I could use some ideas. I want to do an elaborate piece but what elements go into putting it together are eluding me.” Could it be because she still had the monster process in Chicago stuck in her brain?
The teacher’s thoughtful gaze traced over the drawing in front of her. “The trick is to start. It’s true of writing. I’ve been helping Gage Caldwell with his next book, and I love the process.”
Summer wasn’t sure what to say. Mrs. Heigl couldn’t help with art. Or could she?
The idea bloomed.
Mrs. Heigl stopped mid-sentence and gave her the strict look made famous in English class when you were not paying attention. “You have an idea, right?”
“Yeah. I do.”
She clapped her hands and cackled. “You used to get the same expression in high school, and I’d find you off in a corner scribbling in your art book after class.”
Summer smiled. Some memories were forever. “Next time I get stuck on an idea, I’m finding you.”
“Funny, dear. Gage says the same thing.”
Myrna stopped at the table with tea for the teacher.
Summer studied the way Myrna weaved through the crowd, balancing coffee and dirty dishes on her way back to the kitchen. “Gotta draw that woman one of these days,” she muttered.
“I agree. Nobody ever notices how hard she works. She deserves a medal. She keeps track of most of the elderly in town and whether they’re eating or not.”
Summer squashed the original idea and studied Myrna with new eyes. People had so many layers, and she’d learned to go deeper long ago.
“How many are there?” She shifted back to Mrs. Heigl.
“You mean besides me? I eat here more than I do in my own kitchen. Hazards of being single. There’s several dozen.”
“I used to eat alone a lot, too. But mostly I was painting or drawing and didn’t care.”
“But now you do.” Mrs. Heigl’s blue eyes deepened in color, enthralling her, but also forcing her to spill her guts.
“I adore my husband, so yes. I was worried our connection suffered while I was gone, but we’re solid.”
“Tom’s that kind of man. One woman for him, and it is you.”
Summer propped an elbow on the table and tucked a hand under her chin. “You are very observant.”
“I had all these people in my classroom. They’re like family. Clem opened this restaurant the same year I started teaching here. I worked part-time as a waitress on weekends while Mr. Heigl and me were saving money to buy our house.”
Summer took a sip of her hot chocolate. “I didn’t know that. I guess when I was a teenager fighting with my grandfather over my art, I wasn’t paying attention to my teachers’ histories.”
“Well, of course not, but you are going to paint a mural. I’m assuming you want to capture the essence of this town.”
“Of course.”
“Olivia Applegate, Mayor Helen, Garrett Slade, Coach Gutherie, Alexander Murray, Rafe Lopez, the Caldwell family – I could make you a list. All these people have deep family history here. Talk to Gage sometime about who is buried in the town cemetery.”
Stunned, Summer mulled the idea. It wasn’t about the generic town history she’d been reading at the library. Some of Adelina’s stories had hinted at the backstory, but this held the passion. It was about families and how they shaped the community yesterday, today, and in the future.
“Thanks, Mrs. Heigl.”
“I do wish you’d call me Lucille. I’m not your teacher anymore.”
Summer grinned. “Seems like you still are.”
“Well, I wasn’t presuming to tell you how to practice your art.”
“If you’re good enough for New York Times best-selling author Gage Caldwell, you’re good enough for me.” In a spontaneous gesture, Summer reached across the table and covered Mrs. Heigl’s hand. Lucille’s. “You’re the best.”
“Oh psshaw. I’m just me.”
“Your me is pretty great.” Summer watched Myrna scurry around several tables and come their way. “Dessert?”
“It’s almost dinner time.” Mrs. Heigl checked her watch. “Oh who cares. Yes. Pie all around.”
Lucille ordered lemon meringue. Summer ordered chocolate cream and flipped to a fresh page in her art book.
“Tell me those family names again. As many as you recall.”
“Oh, we’ll be here until closing.”
“I don’t have any place to be.”
“Coincidentally, neither do I.” Her infectious laugh encouraged Summer’s mood.
Dessert disappeared and still they talked.
&&&&&&&&&&&
Tom kept his disgust to himself and took out a flashlight. Mia took one from her pocket and clicked it on. He raised a brow at her, about to order her back to the car.
“It helps you catch things you miss with the naked eye,” she intoned as if reading from a book.
The simple statement reminded him why he was including her.
He walked carefully around the gazebo. The white posts and steepled roof were decorated with white lights that stood out in the cloudy day.
The planked floor of the structure had been swept clean.
A slight whiff of lemon in the air told him they’d wiped all the surfaces.
“Sergeant Applegate?”
Mia stood in the grass with her flashlight focused on the ground.
He hustled to her side. The wind whipped around them and tossed the musty smell of dirt and grass through the air.
A trail stood out. Since the park was on the winter mow schedule, it hadn’t been serviced in more than a week causing the outline to be plain as day.
Mia flicked her flashlight over the tracks. “Wheels. Wheelbarrow? Wagon?
Tom stooped to inspect the deep grooves. “Wheelbarrow. Santa’s too big for anything else.”
Mia moved on to shine her light on leaves. “They may have covered him with these to hide him.”
“I agree.” Tom followed the trail through a block of the park to the curb on Walnut Drive by the baseball field. The bank across the street might have gotten a view with their cameras. The courthouse was further along the street, but they’d check.
“They had a vehicle here, don’t you think?” Mia studied the street like a pro. He couldn’t decide whether it was something she came by naturally or whether she watched too much television. “Here comes Detective Vogel.”
Tom waited for the detective to reach him. “Here, then not,” he called to her.
“I’m behind on the latest.”
“Mia explain.” Tom left them talking and paced both directions to the corners and back to the center again, crossing the street to check, too.
“Nothing?” Carmen stepped into the street, coming back from walking the line through the grass again with Mia.
“Nothing. Except the bank camera.” Tom kept the snap out of his tone, but he was not amused.
Carmen crossed her arms and widened her stance as if ready to give a lecture. “So let me get this straight. Had to be more than one. Correct?”
“Agreed.”
“They dragged this cumbersome stuffed man from a vehicle parked somewhere on the street into the park, propped him in the gazebo, snapped pictures, posted one online, cleaned the scene of the crime, and hauled him back to the street then disappeared. Why?”
“Feels like a prank.”
“Hell of a lot of work for a prank. And why not leave him behind?”
Tom sighed. “I have no idea. Mia, got any thoughts?”
The girl froze like lights from a police helicopter had landed on her, highlighting the criminal.
She searched her pockets and pulled out her phone. “The post has lots of views.”
Carmen reached to check the phone. “How many?”
“It’s over two hundred.”