14
The man in charge of The Mill's fate and fortunes was sitting in his study and eating a corned beef on rye in big snaffling bites when Junior came in. Earlier, Big Jim had caught a forty-five-minute power nap. Now he felt refreshed and once more ready for action. The surface of his desk was littered with sheets of yellow legal paper, notes he would later burn in the incinerator out back. Better safe than sorry.
The study was lit with hissing Coleman lanterns that threw a bright white glare. God knew he had access to plenty of propane - enough to light the house and run the appliances for fifty years - but for now the Colemans were better. When people passed by, he wanted them to see that bright white glare and know that Selectman Rennie wasn't getting any special perks. That Selectman Rennie was just like them, only more trustworthy.
Junior was limping. His, face was drawn. 'He didn't confess.'
Big Jim hadn't expected Barbara to confess so soon and ignored this. 'What's wrong with you? You look peaky as hell.'
'Another headache, but it's letting go now.' This was true, although it had been very bad during his conversation with Barbie. Those blue-gray eyes either saw too much or seemed to.
I know what you did to them in the pantry, they said. I know everything.
It had taken all his will not to pull the trigger of his gun after he'd drawn it, and darken that damnable prying stare forever.
'You're limping, too.'
'That's because of those kids we found out by Chester Pond. I was carrying one of them around and I think I pulled a muscle.'
'Are you sure that's all it is? You and Thibodeau have a job to do in' - Big Jim looked at his watch - 'in about three and a half hours, and you can't mess it up. It has to go off perfectly'
'Why not as soon as it's dark?'
'Because the witch is putting her paper together there with her two little trolls. Freeman and the other one. The sports reporter who's always down on the Wildcats.'
'Tony Guay'
'Yes, him. I don't particularly care about them being hurt, especially her' - Big Jim's upper lip lifted in his doglike imitation smile - 'but there must not be any witnesses. No eyeball witnesses, I mean. What people hear... that's a very different kettle of cod.'
'What do you want them to hear, Dad?'
'Are you sure you're up to this? Because I can send Frank with Carter instead.'
'No! I helped you with Coggins and I helped you with the old lady this morning and I deserve to do this!'
Big Jim seemed to measure him. Then he nodded. 'All right. But you must not be caught, or even seen.'
'Don't worry. What do you want the... the earwitnesses to hear?'
Big Jim told him. Big Jim told him everything. It was good, Junior thought. He had to admit it: his dear old dad didn't miss a trick.
15
When Junior went upstairs to 'rest his leg,' Big Jim finished his sandwich, wiped the grease from his chin, then called Stewart Bowie's cell. He began with the question everybody asks when calling a cell phone. 'Where are you?'
Stewart said they were on their way to the funeral home for a drink. Knowing Big Jim's feeling about alcoholic beverages, he said this with a workingman's defiance: I did my job, now let me take my pleasure.
'That's all right, but make sure it's only the one. You aren't done for the night. Fern or Roger, either.'
Stewart protested strenuously.
After he'd finished having his say, Big Jim went on. 'I want the three of you at the Middle School at nine thirty. There'll be some new officers there - including Roger's boys, by the way - and I want you there, too.' An inspiration occurred. 'In fact, I'm going to make you fellows sergeants in the Chester's Mill Hometown Security Force.'
Stewart reminded Big Jim he and Fern had four new corpses to deal with. In his strong Yankee accent, the word came out cawpses.
'Those folks from the McCains' can wait,' Big Jim said. 'They're dead. We've got an emergency situation on our hands here, in case you didn't notice. Until it's over, we've all got to pull our weight. Do our bit. Support the team. Nine thirty at the Middle School. But I've got something else for you to do first. Won't take long. Put Fern on.'
Stewart asked why Big Jim wanted to talk to Fern, whom he regarded - with some justification - as the Dumb Brother.
'None of your beeswax. Just put him on.'
Fern said hello. Big Jim didn't bother.
'You used to be with the Volunteers, didn't you? Until they were disbanded?'
Fern said he had indeed been with this unofficial adjunct to the Chester's Mill FD, not adding that he had quit a year before the Vols had been disbanded (after the Selectmen recommended no money be allocated to them in the 2008 town budget). He also did not add that he found the Volunteers' weekend fund-raising activities were cutting into his drinking time.