Bury! The Lead Read online

  Bury! The Lead

  Shelley Dawn Siddall

  The right of Shelley Dawn Siddall to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the Author’s imagination or are used fictiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. No resemblance to persons living or dead.

  Copyright © 2019 Shelley Dawn Siddall

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by Mariah Sinclair

  www.mariahsinclair.com

  Dedication

  To my dear sister and friend, Linda Toews; who is consistently kind and generous to a fault. I wish you all the happiness in the world; may the beauty you create, and share be returned to you one hundred fold.

  Chapter One

  Crystal grabbed the phone and stopped it’s incessant ringing. She sat on the edge of her bed, phone in hand and wondered where she was. A tinny voice was sounding.

  “Hello? Hello CeeCee, are you there?”

  “Hi Mom. Just woke up; I think. I’m not entirely sure of what’s going on.”

  “You’re down a cup of coffee. Come on over, I’m pouring you one now.”

  Crystal massaged her temples. Of course, she was in her cabin. Where else would she be? It’s not like she had a life.

  She put on her clogs and schlepped over from her little cabin to her mom’s kitchen door and walked in.

  “Heah Mom.”

  “Heah girl. How did you sleep?”

  “Not so great. Forgot where I was this morning, which is kind of ridiculous since I’ve been living in the cabin for the past six years!”

  Her mom set a big mug of black coffee, sprinkled with cinnamon, in front of her.

  “So, did you think any more about our conversation?”

  Crystal turned her head and thought hard. She took a few more sips of her coffee in order to clear her head.

  “Our conversation about you getting a job? You know, becoming self-supporting?”

  “Oh that conversation. Right.” Crystal had in fact, spent most of the previous night thinking about that conversation. She could get a job as a delivery person, but what if she got the packages mixed up and, say, delivered someone’s heart medication to the wrong person and they didn’t read the information on the parcel and took the pills and had a bad reaction? And what about the person who was supposed to have the heart medication? They wouldn’t get it in time and would die and Crystal would be arrested, and everybody would hate her, and she would be in jail and her mom couldn’t visit her because she had to sell her house to pay for Crystal’s lawyer, who was ineffective and so now her mom was in a shelter and didn’t have a car and Crystal was all alone.

  Yeah. She had thought about getting a job.

  Her mom sighed. “You dithered all night about it, didn’t you?”

  Crystal nodded.

  “I’m serious this time, CeeCee. I don’t mind you living in the cabin your Dad built us; but I need you to start contributing to the household expenses. Plus I think you need to feel like you are contributing as well.”

  Crystal groaned. “Or so the Doctor says.”

  “Oh? You talked to Doctor Maroney about this?”

  “Well, more like his receptionist, Amber. She is so easy to talk to. When I went in last month for my heart palpitations and after she took my blood pressure, I told her it was probably just my anxiety. Which, as it turned out, it was. Anyhow, she said I should think about what I really wanted in life and go after it.”

  “So you’re going to earn money to buy a blue mustang?”

  “Mom, no. Amber also said I should pick a passion that ‘contributes to society’; maybe if I focused on others I would focus less on me.”

  “Wow. That’s sounds like something I might say; how do you feel about what she said? Wait, hold that thought.”

  Joanne Schmidt, Crystal’s mom, went to the broom closet and picked up a stack of newspapers. She plopped them on the kitchen island in front of her daughter and said, “Here, these will help. Go through the classifieds and see what appeals to you.”

  “Nothing like kicking the bird out of the nest, eh?”

  Joanne patted her daughter’s shoulder. “My little bird has been in the nest since she graduated. Time to fly.”

  “It’s not like I’m completely useless, Mom, I do drive around on my bike and help others.”

  Joanne sipped her own coffee. “I know dear; I just don’t understand you though and believe me I’ve tried. And so did your dad.”

  Crystal wasn’t paying attention. She was holding up a newspaper and staring at the headline, ‘Child Killed in Hit and Run’.

  “When did this happen? This is horrible!”

  “What?”

  “This hit and run.” Crystal looked at the date of the paper. Wednesday, May 4, 1988. “This was nearly three weeks ago! Where was I?”

  Her mom said nothing but just looked at her.

  “I know,” said Crystal quietly. “Watching television or reading my romance novels or just out riding around on my bike. But seriously, Mom, this is tragic.” Crystal quickly scanned the article. “The little girl died at the scene. She was only six years old!” Crystal started flipping through the remaining newspapers. “What is going on?” she mumbled.

  Frustrated, Crystal picked up both cups of coffee and put them on the back counter near the sink. She looked at her mom who was looking surprised.

  “Scoot over,” Crystal ordered her mom.

  Instead, Joanne got up and retrieved her coffee and stood by as her daughter laid out the newspapers in date order on the kitchen island.

  “What is missing from this picture?” Crystal said, sweeping her arm in a wide arc over the newspapers.

  “Any picture in particular?”

  “I mean headlines. You’ll notice at no time is there a headline that says, ‘Murderer Found’ or even, ‘Search Continues For Driver’. What happened to the story?”

  “Good question; you can ask Matt when he comes by. I’ve been busy with this charity thing and didn’t really give it another thought. In the meantime, the classifieds await.”

  Crystal grabbed her own coffee, glared at her mom, and continued to read the hit and run story. She then picked up the next paper and started to read. She knocked back the rest of her coffee and, without looking, held out her mug for her mom to fill it up.

  “Will that be all, ma’am? Perhaps you’d like another bowl of entitlement to go with your coffee?”

  “I’m sorry Mom, but I’m searching for the rest of this story. I can’t find anything. I can’t believe a story this big in Harrogate would evaporate.”

  Joanne sighed and poured her daughter another coffee, then sprinkled a dash of cinnamon in Crystal’s mug. Joanne had not seen her daughter this excited about something for a long time.

  “I’m just going to go through the entire backlog of papers story by story in case the follow-up was buried somewhere. Poor little girl; imagine what her parents are going through!” Crystal shook her head.

  “You could sell frozen food,” Joanne said.

  No response.

  “You know, phone people and sell them meat, cut and packaged in family-size portions; designed perfectly to fill up a freezer for four people for six months. Your cousin Theresa did something like that for a few months.” />
  No response.

  “Or, because I hear that there’s a certain young woman who bikes around town doing random acts of kindness, from taking out someone’s garbage pail, to helping mow lawns or shovel snow, depending on the season, perhaps you could deliver groceries to shut-ins for a small fee. You already have sturdy steel baskets on your bicycle that will do nicely.”

  Still no response.

  Joanne put down her coffee cup. “Or perhaps you could just come on the honeymoon with Matt and I and live with us in our new home, forever and ever amen.”

  “I heard that,” said Crystal. “You want me to carry around a freezer on my bike; got it.” She turned and looked at her mom.

  “Mom, you know we lost Dad when I was about her age. I cried for days; and I know you did too, even though you tried to hide it from me. Like I said before, I can’t imagine what her parents are going through, let alone her little chums from school. Why hasn’t anybody done anything about it? I can’t find anything!”

  “Well, on the subject of traumatized children, why not help me with my new charity initiative, ‘Cycling for Kids’? One hundred percent of all the money raised will help children that are in need whether it is medically, physically or mentally. It’s a good cause.”

  Crystal pushed the papers aside and frowned. “What would I have to do, phone people and ask for donations to sponsor you?”

  “Oh no, dear, each participant has to be responsible to raise at least five hundred dollars for the charity before they can enter.”

  “Enter?”

  Joanne looked over at the clock. Why wasn’t Matt here?

  “Each participant not only raises the entry fee, but must of course, enter the ride from Harrogate to Patterson Lake and back again. And of course, get sponsored for each mile.” Joanne gave her daughter a big toothy grin. “Sounds good, right?”

  “Are you nuts? That’s nearly five hundred miles! How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Training. We start this Saturday. Every morning our group is going to ride for two hours every day for the next two months. Then we’ll bump it up to three hours.”

  “And you’re expected to raise money as well? This is one of your crazier ideas.”

  “You’ll be surprised how generous the people of Harrogate are.”

  “Mom, you make it sound like I’ve already signed up. Let’s think about what we know at this point, shall we? Your daughter, Crystal Cinnamon Schmidt, basically a recluse, is suddenly going to have the gumption to go to people’s homes and ask for money for an impossibly long bike ride. Then she will take part in said bike ride not sleeping not eating for over, what, ten days? And then fall over dead. I mean, what will the neighbor’s think?”

  “Oh Crystal, some of the terrain is pretty flat. We’ll probably average about eight hours a day riding or less. There’ll be time to eat and sleep.”

  Crystal continued to protest. “I don’t have the proper clothes. And even if I did, you know I sweat like crazy. Look at me now, I’m already sweating thinking about it. And what if I get tired or I’m not paying attention and then I get wobbly and fall over and smash into everybody else? The whole flock; wait, is it a flock of cyclists?”

  “I think the word is peloton; but flock will suffice.”

  “What if I smash into the whole flock and everybody crashes and then a prospective employer happens to drive by and see the whole mess and knows I caused it, so when I eventually give them my resume, you know, after I’ve recovered from my broken leg and being sued; they look at my resume and remember me and draw a great big red “x” through it?”

  “Are you quite finished?”

  “No! How about a future boyfriend? He takes one look at my butt in bike shorts and that ends any romantic notion he might have. There goes the wedding and any future grandchildren! Are you prepared to live with that Mom? Are you?”

  “It’s a risk I’m prepared to take. Let’s shelve the charity idea for now. What about being a delivery person? You already drive all over town randomly helping people. How would being a delivery person be any different?”

  “For one; there is no pressure. If I’m out for a ride and I see Mrs. Jeffries struggling to drag her garbage can out to the roadside, I can chose to stop and help her, or I can just ride by. If she happens to mention that her next door neighbor, you know her I think from choir, Mrs. Hansen who drives a wheelchair, needs some bread and milk, I can chose to run up to the grocery store for her or not. It’s the same when I see the Peters attempting to mow their lawn. Why they don’t go electric, I don’t know. But I can chose to get down off my bike and push that mower around their lawn or not. Actually, I’ve even sharpened the blades, but it’s my choice. It’s not like I have to do it.”

  “What’s on your agenda for today or dare I ask?”

  Crystal smiled. “It’s okay Mom; you know I had nothing planned.” She glanced down at the newspapers again. “However, something needs to be done about this!” Crystal could feel herself getting heated up again over the article. “Somebody should do something! How could anyone not see a child in broad daylight walking on the sidewalk? The article says the girl, Lisa Filipowitz, was walking home from school. Somebody should go and talk to the people who lived on…” She quickly scanned through the article. “The people who live on Birch Avenue and see if they know anything. Surely to goodness the police have some forensic evidence? Why hasn’t anyone done anything?”

  Her mother put their mugs in the sink and sat down beside her daughter.

  “Have I ever told you a poem about Everybody, Somebody and Nobody?”

  “Mother, please, I’m not in the mood for poetry.”

  “And yet, I am. Now listen. Once upon a time, there were four people…”

  Crystal rolled her eyes but listened.

  “Their names were Everybody, Somebody, Nobody and Anybody. Whenever there was an important job to be done, Everybody was sure that Somebody would do it. Anybody could have done it, but Nobody did it. When Nobody did it, Everybody got angry because…it was Everybody’s job!”

  Joanne stopped and looked over her glasses at her daughter. “Here’s the point: Everybody thought that Somebody would do it; but Nobody realized that Nobody would do it. So consequently, Everybody blamed Somebody…when Nobody did what Anybody could have done in the first place!”

  “You said there was a point?” Crystal said.

  Joanne gently put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and stared at her. “So Crystal, aren’t you like Everybody? You’re mad because Nobody has looked into this mystery; Nobody has investigated the hit and run. You want Somebody to do the job, but Nobody is.”

  Crystal stared back at her mom. “This is confusing,” she said sullenly.

  Her mom continued. “If Anybody could do the job, why can’t you be that Somebody?”

  Crystal shrugged.

  “I’m actually expecting an answer, CeeCee, why can’t you be Somebody?”

  Chapter Two

  Fortunately, before Crystal could formulate an excuse, Matt knocked on the kitchen door.

  “Did you bring every piece of mail known to man with you?” Joanne asked as Matt came in with his arms full of envelopes.

  Crystal hurriedly moved her newspapers and Matt dumped his letters on the kitchen island.

  “Good morning beautiful!” he said as he kissed Joanne on the cheek. “And how are you Crystal?”

  “Fair to middling.”

  “She’s been reading the story about the hit and run and the death of the little girl.”

  Matt grimaced. “Yeah, that was a tough one. You asked about the mail? It was nice being on holidays for the past three weeks; but I made the mistake of popping by the office this morning and found this pile of…”

  “What happened with the murder?” Crystal asked, ignoring Matt’s plight.

  “Murder?” he said alarmed, “There was a murder?”

  “The child,” Crystal said testily.

  “Oh. Well, that coul
d have been an accident; I don’t think someone would do that intentionally. I only know what I read in the paper; there’s been very little follow-up as far as I can see.”

  “How are your kids in Alberta? Their shop doing well?” Joanne asked.

  “You bet. They keep asking themselves why didn’t we do this sooner? I don’t understand why anyone would want to buy new furniture redone to look like old furniture, but apparently there’s a market for it.”

  “I like pickled eggs, but pickled paint furniture? No thanks. If I’m going to buy a desk or a kitchen chair, I want it to look brand spanking new! No offense Matt,” Crystal said as she picked up an envelope.

  “None taken.”

  “What in the world is A Bit Of Advice From Betty? All these envelopes are addressed this way care of the Harrogate News,” Crystal asked.

  Joanne frowned. “You haven’t read the advice column in the newspaper?”

  “Nope. Didn’t even know it was there.” Crystal turned to Matt. “So how come Betty doesn’t have her mail?”

  “That my friend, is the latest fire I need to put out when I go back to work. Apparently Betty just up and quit. Like, yesterday. So I’m stuck with a column and no one to write it. All these letters are from readers wanting advice. Go ahead, open them.” Matt gestured toward the mail, “Some will be pretty funny, but others are…well you’ll see.”

  Matt helped himself to a cup of coffee and sat down beside Joanne. Soon the couple was busy talking about ways to raise money for the charity event.

  The first letter Crystal opened was from someone who called themselves, ‘Stuck in the Middle.’ It read:

  May 19, 1988

  Dear Betty,

  My new friends think I should move out of my parents’ home and get my own place. They say I’m too old to still be living at home and they say that my parents are treating me like a child. Please understand this, Betty, my parents are really good people and have taken care of me my entire life. I suffer from many chronic illnesses and my parents have always been there for me.