Charlie’s Idea
I woke well before dawn again and crept into the kitchen to drink coffee and brood. I found a notebook to write my thoughts in. I was still making notes and doodling when David walked in. He rubbed his eyes and yawned and brimmed a mug with coffee. He didn’t even acknowledge me until he slugged down half a cup. I observed that he looked tired.
“It was a long day yesterday.”
It had been a long day, but the day had nothing to do with David’s exhaustion. I teased him a bit. “Uh huh. What’s the saying? Oh yeah, rode hard and put away wet.”
He shushed me but grinned at my joke and whispered, “you’re gonna get me in trouble.”
“I’m happy for you my friend, and a little jealous, of Abby!”
He laughed, then coughed and shook his head and spoke to someone behind me. “Morning, Char.”
Charlie came all the way into the room and filled a mug with coffee. “Morning, Dad. Morning, Law. What’s so funny?”
I answered. “I was being inappropriate. Your dad made me stop.”
Charlie didn’t believe a word I said, but I had no intention of telling him what I said and why. He pointed at my notebook. “What’s that about?”
“I’m working on the case. We’re waiting on a little information, but not enough to start a new line of inquiry. I can’t figure out where we go from here.”
Charlie sipped his coffee and took his cigarette pack out to play with. He obviously needed to get outside. I stood from the table and pointed toward the door. “Let’s reconvene on the porch.”
We went outside so Charlie could light up. I refused a proffered cigarette, but it was difficult. I explained my thinking. “We know someone has been fouling stuff up on the Krengel farm. They did it when Krengel owned it and they’re still doing it. We met the saboteur yesterday, but he’s not who we want. I don’t think so anyway. He’s just a man with no conscience who will do bad things as long as someone pays. There are men like him in every corner of every place on Earth. We could probably find him, but I doubt he’d tell us anything, so we’ll set him aside.
“We’re trying to find out who made the anonymous offer on the place, but I doubt the information will come. Chris the lawyer is going to try, but if the party wanted to say who they were, they would have done it by now. Chris said it’s likely a big company, but I’m not so sure. The games that are being played seem petty and cheap. I don’t see a big real estate developer screwing around with sabotage and a half-assed cowboy with a road flare. We could research the law firm who handled the offer, but law firms hire themselves out just like our sabotaging cowboy apparently does. In this case, they’re not even doing anything crooked. We’ve got no way to make them tell us who their client is. So, what do we do?”
David sipped his coffee and shrugged. “No idea.”
Charlie exhaled smoke and shrugged like his dad. “Got me.”
“I’m not sure either. The state police have the flare cap now. If it’s got a fingerprint on it, I’d like to know if the print matches any from Lars Krengel’s cottage in town. That would be interesting, but it wouldn’t give us anything to go on. I thought about calling the refrigeration company who worked on the plant at the dairy to find out what was wrong with it, but I don’t think that would tell us anything either. I really want to know when all this nonsense started. Was the water well the first piece of sabotage? How do you damage a well?”
David shook his head. “I don’t think the well was sabotage. Lars moved here from Wisconsin in 1908 or 09. He built a lot of what you see on his place. The well he was using up to a year ago, he dug himself with a wooden pile driver. It was shallow. I remember when it ran dry, he said he was surprised it lasted as long as it did. The drillers came and sank a deep well. There’s plenty of water now.”
That sounded alright, but it didn’t explain anything. “You said that Lars thought the dry well was the start of the bad luck. Does the well have anything to do with the bad luck, or was it just the first unwelcome expense in a string of unwelcome expenses?”
David and Charlie shrugged in unison. They didn’t know, so I pursued a fresh line of thought. “I also want to know about Andy. What’s his deal? Is he a big enough asshole to have done all he did just for bigotry and spite, or is there something behind it? He seems like a petty little weasel, but why go as far as he did? Did he really think the arrest would stick or did he just lose his mind and overreach?”
David finished his coffee and set his cup down so he could cross his arms over his chest. “Abby said something like that last night after we…ahem…uh, cough!” He collected himself and explained what his wife said as opposed to when she said it. “She said she never thought he had the gumption to do what he did. She would have been impressed if she wasn’t so angry.”
His observation was a good one. Whenever people act out of character, it’s worth considering. “Let’s think about that. Andy came here and collected the evidence from the arson even though he said it was a waste. He hurried to Lars’ cottage when we called to report the death. He tried to cause trouble for us at every turn. Maybe he’s involved in whatever is going on.”
David shook his head negatively, but I insisted he hear me out. “What if he collected the evidence because he knew it really was evidence? What if he was pissed we took it from his car because he didn’t want to lose control of it? What if he’s bullying us because he wants us to leave well enough alone and for you to sell out?”
David shook his head again. “Andy is not a…a, what do they call the brains of a gang on television?”
Charlie answered. “A criminal mastermind.”
David snapped his fingers. “That’s it! Andy is not one of those.”
I laughed. “Of course he isn’t, but he could be involved. Maybe he knows the mastermind. If you were going to sabotage a farmer to make him sell, wouldn’t it be good to have the local sheriff on your side? I think Andy is a hired hand just like the cowboy with the blue pickup. The trouble is, I don’t know where the payoff comes from. I still don’t know why they want the property. It’s nothing but grass for hay and old buildings and antiquated equipment. I don’t see any value anywhere.”
Charlie shook another cigarette from his pack and lit up. He drew smoke in and blew it out. “What if you can’t see the value?”
I didn’t understand his point. “I can’t. That’s what I’m saying.”
“That’s not what I mean. When we were talking last night, you said about coal and iron ore where Walt grew up. I remembered there’s mining around here. What if the well driller found something underground and didn’t tell Mister Krengel? What if he told someone else instead and they want the property so they can dig it up?”
I stared at Charlie long enough to make him uncomfortable. “What?”
“You’re a fucking genius is what! That must be it! It’s the only thing that makes sense. The well driller found something underground, but he didn’t tell Lars Krengel because he wanted whatever it was. Somehow a conspiracy of people grew up around their greed for whatever was drilled out. The people thought they could drive poor old Lars off his land and buy it up cheap. Their plan blew up in their faces when Lars sold out to David instead of to them.” I asked David a question. “Do you know who drilled the well?”
He nodded. “Simon Hansen and Sons. Simon is dead, has been for years. Simon Junior runs the operation now. He bought out his two brothers and holds the company on his own. He’s got a dozen employees or so. He deals farm equipment, does service work, drills wells, and does a few other things. He’ll do contract harvesting, truck rentals with a driver, whatever has a dollar attached to it. He’s got an office and a little showroom in town.”
I liked the idea that the well-driller was involved. The man David described sounded like one of those businessmen who was legitimate enough to keep clear of the law, but shady enough to be wary of. “Is he the type to be in on something like this?”
David said he could be.
“We’ve got to look into it somehow. I don’t know how to do it, but we’ve got to. I’m half tempted to go see the guy and try to needle some truth out of him. Then again, he could be the head of the conspiracy. We wouldn’t want to go up against him until we’re sure of our facts. The last thing I want is to blunder into the main guy and alert the whole group that we’re onto them. On the other hand, he might not know anything about it. If he’s the business owner, he didn’t drill the well himself; his employee did. I wonder.”
David looked like he was formulating an idea. He uncrossed his arms and took his coffee cup from the arm of the chair. “I know someone who might be able to help. Maybe he can look at the drilling spoils they left next to the well and tell us if there’s something valuable way down deep. Charlie, do you remember old George Steltz?”
“Mad King George? Yeah, I know him. Why?”
“Mad King George?” I asked.
David explained. “He’s a crusty old prospector.”
Charlie interrupted. “You mean a crazy old prospector.”
David rolled his eyes. “Be nice! He’s a little strange, but he’s basically harmless. He’s been around these parts as long as anyone can remember. He knows everything there is to know about minerals and mining. He scratches out a living from the abandoned mines around the old boomtowns or by prospecting on people’s property, usually with permission, but sometimes not. He’s been out here a few times, but the soil is too deep. Good for farming, but bad for prospecting. They call him Mad King George because everyone suspects he’s got a king’s treasure of gold and precious gems salted away, but he lives like he doesn’t have one nickel to rub against another. I think he’s just an old man who’s been in the sun too long.”
I worried about anyone who had a history of prospecting and mining. “Could he be part of the conspiracy?”
David shook his head. “No chance. Nobody pays any attention to him. He’s got no money and no resources and he’s too old to do any real work.”
That sounded good to me. “Can we go see him after breakfast?”
David shook his head again. “I can’t take you. I lost too much time yesterday. My work is piling up. I can spare Charlie after breakfast, but I’m going to take Mitch with me today.”
Mitch came through the screen door. “Where am I going?”
“With me. We’re gonna work together; you and me and Charlie. We’re gonna be a team. You two are gonna learn how this place runs from top to bottom. I can’t do it all alone, and I don’t want to. I need help, and as much as Eddie does, he can’t be everywhere at once. If I get sick or need to take some time off, I want to know this place will run without me. That means you two are going to be more than just strong backs from now on. What do you say to that?”
The boys were thrilled. Their faces lit up like they’d been offered a golden ticket to heaven. They didn’t say much, but it was obvious they couldn’t wait to work with their dad. I was happy too; glad David took my advice, and it seemed like it would work.
Once that was settled, I asked about the prospector. “Where will we find the mad king?”
David explained. “Charlie knows where to find him. He lives in a canned ham travel trailer in the back parking lot of the Golden Grain Belt Saloon. He’ll either be there or in the saloon.”
“What the hell’s a canned ham?”
“You remember those trailers that came out ten years ago…maybe fifteen, that were kind of oval shaped? They’re called that because they look like a canned ham on wheels.”
I remembered the trailers but never noticed they looked like hams. David offered a word of caution. “George is an odd duck and a miserly old coot. Charlie, take some money with you. You’ll probably have to bribe him a little to get him out here.”
The big light came on in the kitchen. Abby was up with the girls to get breakfast started. David checked his watch and frowned. “I’m late. I gotta go and you boys have chores. Get after it. Mitch, you’ll go with me after breakfast. The day isn’t going to wait.”
I took all the coffee cups and carried them into the kitchen while the men disbursed to their work. I wished Abby and the girls a good morning and put the cups in the sink. I pulled my sleeves up to wash them, but Abby told me not to be silly. She got one of her girls to wash up and asked me if I wanted a snack before breakfast.
I refused but she cut a piece of butter cake for me anyway. She hummed as she put it on a plate and served it with a fresh cup of coffee. I sat to my snack while I watched Abby practically dance around the kitchen. She was in an excellent mood. I was glad she had a good time with her husband. I still didn’t understand how David maintained a relationship with her. I couldn’t reconcile the man who once had passionate sex with me and Walt with the one who apparently had equally passionate sex with a woman, attractive or not.
I finished my cake and handed in my plate. I thanked Abby and went to get cleaned up. Walt was just stirring when I got back to the bedroom. I announced my plans for the day. “I’m going with Charlie to find a crusty old prospector. Do you want to come?”
He demurred. “I can’t. Abby and I are going to be bold today. She wants to try her hand at Italian food. We’re going to make braciole.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a pounded flank steak rolled and stuffed with herbs and seasoned breadcrumbs. We’re also going to make Sunday tomato gravy and meatballs and a couple different kinds of pasta. I might even make a lasagna. I’m not sure what the dishes will be yet because the local market is a bit limited on variety. I may have to get creative.”
“I’m not surprised they’re limited. This is a small place. Did you know this whole state only has a million people in it? Charlie told me.”
“Only a million? How is that possible? Philly has twice that and it’s just a city.”
“You got me. It’s a big country, bigger than I thought it was.”
“Sure is.” He grimaced with concern. “What about that awful redneck Andy? Will he cause trouble again?”
I waved off his worry. “Andy isn’t even a paper tiger. He’s a paper nothing. If you could have seen him apologize to us last night while his mother stood over him like he was a naughty child, you’d know he was no threat. I’ll be alright.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. I’ll be careful all the same. You be careful, too.”
“I’m too excited to be careful. We’re going to have an Italian feast tonight!”
I remembered about Aunt Violet’s planned visit and worried she might not like Italian. She’d been a big help getting me out of jail and I wanted to make sure she enjoyed the meal. “Could you make one traditional dish? Andy’s mother is coming to eat with us, and I worry she may think Italian is exotic.”
He thought for a second. “I’ll make a couple roast chickens with Italian herbs. She’ll love it!”
“Thanks, Love. I can’t wait.”
* * * *
The Golden Grain Belt Saloon was the biggest structure on the main street. It had a brick front and was one and a half stories tall. A pair of sprung screen doors guarded the entrance and big casement windows yawned into the soft morning. I was surprised the place was open at half past eight.
Charlie explained. “It’s mostly a restaurant now. They still serve booze all day, but they’re open from five in the morning to midnight.”
He drove us into the back parking lot where a dusty camper stood on dry stacked rocks with a battered step-side pickup parked beside. The pickup bed was covered by a ragged tarpaulin that was distorted by mysterious shapes underneath. We parked next to the truck and Charlie lit a smoke. I coughed out some of the dust from the drive. “Can you fold the windshield up for the ride back? I don’t know how you stand this thing.”
He jumped down and drew on his cigarette. “I thought you’d like it because you were in the war.”
“I was in The Great War. Jeeps didn’t come until World War Two. Even if we had them when I was a doughboy, I’m an old man and I like my comfort. A face full of dust and flies in my teeth isn’t my idea of a good time.”
He laughed out a lungful of smoke and coughed. “Sorry. I’ll put it up when we head home.”
I struggled out of the Jeep and rapped on the trailer door. No one answered. “Let’s try the saloon.”
We went in the back door and found ourselves in a vast, dimly lit, western style saloon. The whole place was made with dark, rough-hewn wood. The bar was varnished wood of some type that was too plain to identify. Round tables were dotted around the sawdust covered floor. Brass spittoons were scattered here and there, and there was a tin bucket of peanuts on every table. A huge jar of pickled eggs stood on the bar next to the beer taps. A sloppy fat man perched on a stool behind the bar. He didn’t look up from his newspaper when we walked in.
A few old men gathered at a table near one of the windows. They sat in the sunshine and solved the world’s problems over breakfast beers and scrambled eggs. One dusty figure sat on the customer’s side of the bar. He gnawed at a hunk of beef jerky while he clutched the handle of a huge mug of beer like someone may try to take it from him. Charlie pointed in his direction. “That’s Mad King George.”
I hoped it wouldn’t be the man, but I knew it had to be. He was a lean, shrunken old fossil, as dry and hard as sun baked leather. Even though the day was warm, he was bundled into a long sleeve shirt, a leather vest covered in buttoned pockets, and a pair of leather overalls with patches that were sewn with butcher’s string. His boots were cracked and the soles were tied to the uppers with twine. His face was completely hidden by a scraggly grey beard, and he wore a plain brown hat with a flat brim and a flat crown. If I’d have seen him in a corn field, I would have thought he was a scarecrow.
“Do you know him well enough to make an introduction or do we just go over and introduce ourselves?”
“I don’t know him at all. He’s just one of those guys who everyone knows but no one notices.”
“Fair enough. Let me do the talking and the bribing if it comes to that.”
I wanted a way to insinuate myself into a conversation with the man. I asked Charlie if he drank.
“Not really. Dad doesn’t hold with drinking.”
“I’ll order you a beer. Sip it to be companionable.”
He said he would and we went to the bar. The bartender glanced over his paper without a word. “Beer for me and one for my nephew.” I nodded to the prospector. “One for my friend if he’d like a refill.”
George eyed me suspiciously. “Friend, is it?” He asked with a voice as cracked and dusty as he was. “We’ll see. If you was a friend, you’d buy me some whiskey.”
I agreed and amended my order. “Whiskey for my friend, and for me. Beer for my nephew.”
The bartender filled the order and stood waiting. I handed over a five-dollar bill and let him keep the change. He nodded his thanks and went back to his paper.
George put his gnawed jerky on the bar and threw back his shot. I did the same to be companionable. Charlie sipped his beer. The whiskey was awful. It burned all the way down. I coughed and gasped. George cackled like a crowing rooster. I sucked a breath and shook my head. George laughed some more. “What’s-a matter, sonny? Can’t handle your liquor?”
“I can handle liquor. I think that was turpentine.”
“It’s better than Sterno, but only a little.”
“We friends yet?”
“Almost, lad. One more and we’ll be friends. Throw in a couple-a them pickled eggs and we’ll sing Darlin’ Clemintine.”
The bartender looked up again and I placed another order. “Whiskey for my friend; a double if he’ll have it, and a pair of pickled eggs. Short beer for me.”
He filled the order and I handed over another five. He kept the change without being prompted and I let him have it. George swallowed the double in a lump and ate the eggs. He smiled with bits of egg stuck in his brown teeth. “What key do we sing in?”
I drank some of my beer. It was as sour as the whiskey. “I’ve got a proposition, but I’d like a little privacy with it. How about a chat around the back?”
“Sure, friend. I just gotta finish my beer.”
He hoisted his mug and drained it as fast as if he were taking a breath. I had another sip of mine and abandoned the rest. We followed the old man into the parking lot. “This private enough?” He asked.
I offered my hand and introduced myself. “Law Edwards. I’m a friend of David Ploughman. This is his son, Charlie.”
“George Steltz and I know who the boy is. What’s the pitch, sonny?”
“Why do you call me that? I’m almost seventy.”
He smiled with his nasty teeth again. “I’m ninety-one! Everyone is sonny to me.”
I was impressed. I skipped the pleasantries and made the pitch. “We found something on the Ploughman place. We’d like some advice from an expert. I want you to come take a look.”
“Do you, now? What do you think you found?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe something. I’m willing to cough up a little scratch to have your opinion.”
The old man’s eyes glinted greedily. “You were tossin’ it ‘round in there like you were made of it. What’s your offer?”
“How’s twenty?”
He pouted like I insulted him. “Fifty.”
I didn’t know if he was serious or he was just testing me. I countered. “Twenty-five.”
“Fifty or we ain’t friends no more.”
I held my hand out to shake. “Fifty it is. Twenty-five now and twenty-five when I get the information I want.”
He shook and the deal was made. I peeled off three fives and one ten-dollar bill and handed them over. He separated the bills and folded each lengthwise and crosswise and lengthwise again and secured them one at a time in various vest pockets. “Gimmie a minute to get old Bessie stirred up and I’ll follow you.”
He moved toward the truck with loose limbs like a marionette with its strings tangled. His feet seemed to be trying to outrun his body while his shoulders and arms lagged behind. In spite of the oddness of his gait, he moved fast for a man more than twenty years my senior.
Charlie and I went to the Jeep. He folded the windshield up and lit a smoke. George piled himself into his truck and ground the starter. The engine caught and started with a bark. Blue smoke poured from a vertical stack between the cab and the bed. He leaned from the window and shouted over the noise. “LEAD ON!”
I waved for Charlie to get moving. “Lead on.”
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