A Short Story (Part 1 of 3)
Linda Carroll-Bradd
One More Time
“Everyone reacts to tragedy differently, miss.” Sheriff Jake Daniels ducked his head to study her expression, hoping she wasn’t about to become hysterical. Her vivid blue eyes looked clear enough, and she appeared solid on her feet, if the tanned, muscled legs were any indication. At the inappropriate thought, he straightened and flipped the cover from his notebook. Irritation clicked his pen to readiness—possibly a couple times too many. “Now, if I could get some—”
“Wouldn’t you just know it!” The woman threw up her hands and stomped across the grass toward a van parking at the curb. “Now, the photographer shows up.”
Jake jerked his head around at her apparent disregard for the gravity of the situation. He narrowed his gaze on the departing figure. A corpse lay on a nearby picnic table under a red-and-white checkered tablecloth, awaiting the arrival of the coroner’s wagon. Meanwhile, as Doniphan County Sheriff, he needed to collect particulars about the deceased.
Separated by a meandering creek running through Weston Bend Park, two crowds under a variety of umbrellas huddled around tables laden with food and drink. He could feel their sidelong glances following every move and resented the suppositions that might be forming. With long strides, he covered the twenty feet to the closest group. “Afternoon, folks.” He dipped his chin in greeting and slid his gaze over the mixture of young and old seated in folding chairs. Looked like a family gathering of some sort. “Name’s Sheriff Jake Daniels. First, let me offer my condolences on your recent loss.” He held up his pen and pad, ready for the first bit of useful data. “Will someone please tell me the woman’s name?”
All heads turned toward a gray-haired woman dressed in polyester slacks and a bright floral blouse sitting in a fold-out lounge chair.
From her posture and the response of the crowd, Jake had the impression of a reigning queen.
“She was Annie Finster.”
Connecting with the woman’s gaze, he held the pen poised over the notepad. “Is that spelled F-I-N-S-T-E-R, ma’am?”
She scoffed. “We sent Darla to talk to you. Didn’t she at least give you the poor woman’s name?” The older woman turned to the woman sitting to her right. “You’d think a gal who’s almost a lawyer could have handled that little detail.”
Jake stifled a chuckle at this woman’s use of the term “gal” for a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. “What is your name, ma’am?”
“Now, why would you want that?” Her eyes narrowed behind wire-rimmed glasses. “I weren’t anywheres near Annie when she keeled face first into her own Jell-o salad.” The woman flicked her hand toward the creek. “She was visiting yonder with them Kansas Fensters.”
“Beg your pardon?” He heard a slight pronunciation difference in the name.
With a thin wrinkled arm, the woman made a sweeping gesture that included both groups. “This whole kit and caboodle is a Finster family reunion. Over here are the Missouri Finsters, the ones who honored our heritage and kept the correct spelling of the name.”
Around her, several heads bobbed and people exchanged glances.
Jake struggled to order his thoughts. Through years of law enforcement service in Doniphan County, he normally maintained better control of his interviews. “I’ll be brief, but the coroner needs specific details. I have to talk with the folks who were near Annie before the…uh, she passed.” He turned to consult with the other group then hesitated.
“Wait! My name’s Martha Golden Finster. Annie’s my husband’s aunt.”
Finally, a fact he could use. At the sound of her voice, he turned, jotting down the new information. “Would any of you know her age?”
“Annie was the youngest of the Finster ten kids.” Martha gestured toward the picnic bench opposite her. “Maiden lady, she was.”
Again, he had the sense of being granted a privilege. He scooted aside a watermelon before sitting.“Her age?”
A woman sitting on Martha’s other side whispered, her gaze touching on Jake’s then skittering away. She pulled at the silver curls near her ear.
“Ruth here reckons Annie was in her mid-eighties.” Martha glanced around. “But who’s to know for sure? She quit telling people her age after she retired from the church. Her retirement shindig was ten or twelve years back.”
Jake turned his attention to the woman who’d presumably offered the information. “Ruth, may I assume your last name is also Finster?” At her nod, he added the detail to his notes. “Now, you said she was a minister?”
Ruth shook her head, and her tight curls bobbed. “No, an organist. The arthritis made her quit.”
The woman’s voice was barely audible so he’d leaned forward. Glancing down at his notebook, Jake scanned his notes. Elderly woman in an open public area died while eating a picnic lunch with no one mentioning foul play. Seemed like a clear case of natural causes. “Well, that should about do it. I’ll check with the folks across the way and let you people mourn your relative without further interruption.”
“Yeah,” a shaky male voice rang out. “You check with those folks. Ask them who cooked what she was eating when she croaked.”
Irritation added volume to the man’s voice. The hairs on the back of Jake’s neck rose. The wording sounded like an accusation. “Do you have something to add, sir?”
To be continued...
Part 2 of One More Time in Still Moments Magazine’s March/April 2020 issue.
©2020 Linda Carroll-Bradd. All Rights Reserved.
As a young girl, I spent lots of time lying on my bed reading about fascinating characters having exciting adventures in places far away and in other time periods. In later years, I discovered and devoured romances. At a certain point, I grew cocky enough to think I could write one of these stories. Twelve years later, my first fiction sale was achieved–a confession story. Since then I’ve gone on to publish more than 35 short stories, novellas and novels. Married with 4 adult children and 2 granddaughters, I now write heartwarming contemporary and historical stories with a touch of humor and a bit of sass from my home in the southern California mountains. http://blog.lindacarroll-bradd.com/
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