Evergreen by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 4

Christine first walked the new deputy to the downtown area. She wanted to introduce to the town’s business owners. They would see him a lot, and she thought this would be the best way to get him integrated into the town, as long as he made a positive impression. With this in mind, Christine gave him one simple piece of advice: Be polite and the smile. But, Chuck already realized how important it was to earn people’s trust and respect. He believed it represented the golden rule of good police work. People are more willing to talk when trust has been established. Often, the difference between helping and resisting can hinge on nothing more than an odd expression - a gesture, a particular tone of voice. Beyond this, the deciding factor of Chuck’s acceptance into the community was time. He knew that, over time, he would be scrutinized by the entire town. Compared to most cities and towns in Maine, Main Street in Evergreen didn’t take up a lot of space, its length easily fitting within the confines of seven or eight blocks. But on any given day, Main Street would be lined with cars and utility trucks. Especially, vehicles from the mill and there were always people. The rhythm of footsteps on the sidewalk gave the town its pulse, the chatter of casual conversation, its voice. Evergreen was the living epitome of small-town America. Making their way down Main St., Chuck stopped about ten yards from George, who sat on the sidewalk with his back against the façade of the town’s small hardware store. “Who’s the old guy?” he asked. George was fast asleep, his hands cradling an empty Styrofoam cup, containing the last few drops of coffee. “That’s George,” Christine answered. “He’s been here for a long time.”

Chuck continued to study him.

“So, what’s his story?” Chuck asked curiously. Everyone has a story. It may not be pleasant, but it is our back story that makes us who we are. One might say that in the creation of our own story, we create ourselves. Yet, George’s story had been met with an abrupt interruption that gave the appearance of dementia. Now, his story was heavily clouded by the loss of who he had been. He did, however, retain his fear of something no one else in town could truly understand. They crouched down near George and looked at his sleeping face.

“I don’t really know a lot about him,” Christine answered. “But, we take care of him.”

Her answer was only half true. She knew more about George than she was letting on. At this point, the new deputy would only know what he needed in order to do his job, at least, until he could be trusted. “So, where does he sleep?” Chuck asked. He was already concerned about George’s welfare. With the state of the world as it is, Christine was relieved to see that Chuck was a cop with a heart.

“Well,” she began. “We don’t have a regular hospital here. So, George sleeps at the clinic. Now, he does tend to wander off into the woods once in a while. But, he never goes too far.”

“It’s a wonder you can find him at all, way up here,” Chuck replied. “How do you know where to find him?” Christine found herself fumbling for an answer. George always went to the old house in the woods. He seemed to be drawn there like a moth to a flame, but Christine was trying to avoid any conversation about the house. It was far too soon.

“Well, he’s confused,” she began. “But George is still a creature of habit. Just like the rest of us.” Chuck sensed that Christine was trying to avoid something. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he wasn’t going to start probing, not yet. For now, he would do what any good cop does, observing, listening and remembering. He would begin keeping a journal of the things he saw and heard. From the outset, Chuck got the distinct impression that there was something odd about Evergreen. He didn’t take it as seriously as to call it a secret, but he knew Christine was holding something back and his curious mind wanted to know more. Leaving George to sleep, Christine and the new deputy continued to mill about the downtown area. They engaged people in casual conversation with Christine continually gauging everyone’s reaction to Chuck’s presence. Like it or not, the townspeople would have to get used to him. So, the sooner people accepted him, the better. They continued walking, and shortly returned to the sheriff’s office. Sitting down for a more-lengthy conversation, each knew how important it was for them to get along as coworkers. But, it was during this conversation that Christine recognized something obvious in Chuck. He was a very quick thinker and could read people like an open book and during a brief pause, Chuck decided to act on his instincts and do a bit of his own investigating. “So, what’s with the house in the woods?” he asked. Any follow-up questions he would ask depended on the answer he got. Seeing how intelligent Chuck was, Christine fully expected him to ask about the house at some point, and she had already formulated an answer. “Well,” she began. “There used to be an elderly couple living there. No one had seen them around for a while and when they finally went to the house, they were both dead.”

Chuck sat in the wooden chair across from Christine’s desk, ankle over knee. He studied her face, trying to ascertain whether she was telling the entire story, but Christine had made one critical mistake. As she answered Chuck’s question, she broke eye contact. It occurred in less than the completion of a heartbeat, yet there it was and it spoke to Chuck loud and clear. There was something more going on and while many things in life are governed by simplicity, some things are not as cut and dry.