I wish I was a bird-watcher. Then there’d be two reasons to go away for the weekend.
Not that I’ve planned any of this – of course, I haven’t. I just know there’s a lot to see around here and I’m tired of not seeing it.
I leave Merc a message, just so she knows I’ll be gone for a few days, then pull out of town and head North. The rural route. I realize how much closer I am to the mountains here than I ever was in Albany. Only 45 miles to Utica.
In less than two hours, I will be sitting, lizard-like, on a rock, soaking in the summer sun – and it could not have come soon enough.
Middle Valley has its charms, without question. The Courthouse is iconic, built in the early 1870s with its corner towers. And, of course, the homes along River Road. I have to say … Mr. Nutwell knew what he was doing when he built those places, backing them up to the river like that. Splendid.
And my apartment is a stroke of genius. Thanks to Shirley for showing me that one. I am a fan of repurposing space of all kinds, but most especially a jail. If those walls could talk …
A part of me, though, is terribly restless. It feels as if we’ve been spinning our wheels with these cases. What a scourge Carson has been in this town. And all of this business with Sheriff Paul and Armand … I’ve had it with that one, too. We don’t seem to be moving forward very quickly.
I am trying to find a reason to stay in town, and I’m having trouble.
I slide into a parking space near the foot of the hiking trails and pop the trunk. Visitors are swarming around the lot – clearly this was not an original idea. I check my shoes, water bottles, tent, food supply, hoist the pack onto my back and set forth.
I watch the crowd for a moment as it disperses along the paths. Most people are veering to the trails on the right side. Therefore, I go left.
I follow a sign indicating the presence of a fishing hole about a mile up ahead and to the left.
I arrive at a clearing, the perfect place to take in the sun. An older man is standing in the water wearing hip boots. He looks up and nods.
“Have to get here early or you end up in the crowds,” he says with a low voice.
I nod in his direction. “Easy to do,” I say. “That looks difficult.”
The man waves his line, skimming it at the top of the water. He smiles as he walks to the edge, then reaches into his tackle box and pulls out a fly. His fingers move elegantly around the bait, then the line, and he begins to skim again.
“I have no idea what just happened there,” I say. “That was incredible.”
“Sixty-five years on these waters,” he says. “I’m Earnest.”
“Silas,” I say.
Earnest pulls a small bench from his box, sets up its three legs, and sits. He takes a long sip of water and runs a damp towel over his face.
“Warm one today,” he says. “Where you in from?”
“Middle Valley.”
“Middle Valley? That where the rock star died?”
I nod. “The one and only.”
“Well, we’ve heard about it clear up here, so it must have been a big deal. What do you do there?”
“I’m an investigator. That case – among others that are related – have been on my plate for some time.”
“So you’re in the thick of it,” Earnest says.
I nod. “About as deeply as one person can be in the thick of anything. I’ve been there for less than a year, but it still feels like just a little too much.”
“Small town, big news … yeah, I can understand that,” Earnest says. “Everyone looking for their 15 minutes.”
“Exactly!”
How does this person know that that is precisely what I’m experiencing right now?
“I know so much about so many people’s lives, when all I really want to do is my job. I don’t care that Wanda and Bitsy have an uneasy alliance. I don’t care that Elyse fell for someone who turned out to be a murderer and a fraud. I don’t care that Mercury married that lousy prince that didn’t even want her to have a career. I don’t care about any of it.”
Earnest began to laugh. “Who’s Mercury?”
“My partner, at work.”
Earnest nods. “You need a vacation, Son.”
I had to laugh with him. “Yes, yes I suppose I do.”
I take a deep sip from my canteen and offer some to him.
“No, I’m good,” he says. “But I do have one more question for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Could they get along without you? I mean, in town. If you leave, will they have to replace you?”
I nod. “They would have to replace me.”
“Then I’d say your job isn’t quite done,” he says. “A year isn’t long. Maybe give it a bit more time.”
I nod again. “I guess.”
Earnest rises and steps back out into the water. I can feel my cell phone buzzing on the side of my backpack and I lift it out.
The name Wanda Moreno appears on the screen. I click on voicemail and put it away.
Not today, Wanda. Not today.
Gunnar Olafsson