Pebbles: A Collection of Short Stories

The Roses of Willow Bluffs

Nothing was clean about Willow Bluffs; not even the rain could wash away the sins of the town. Even those without blood on their hands carried the burden of turning a blind eye. But when evil is finally snuffed out, does the sunshine brighter? That was the question the residents of Willow Bluffs pondered as someone mysteriously struck down more and more of the notorious locals.

First came Old Man Conner, known for his string of missing wives. The town knew where they were and knew the next grave was already being dug each time the bruises started showing up on the poor girls' bodies. Still, he controlled the paper mill that provided jobs to most of the town. So, when he set his sights on his next victim, there was little she could do to escape his brutal clutches. Rumor had it he put up quite the fight. His body was found bruised and battered amongst the destruction of his richly appointed den; books were pulled from their shelves and scattered amongst the pools of blood that extended to the home's porch. A maid, unable to make eye contact, only dared hushed words of laughter and petals.

Next came Miss Pennington, known to earn her power from the stolen innocence of young women barely out of school. The local police chief wanted to declare it a suicide after she was found in a bathtub filled with crimson water and slashed wrists, but the town whispers grew. The girls in the house heard laughter, and the rose petals scattered around the floor were as red as the bathwater. Again, the path of the petals led out the front door. 

The rising sun purged another vile soul from the earth. They found the owner of half of downtown with his throat stuffed with bills and rose petals. The local judge was found bludgeoned by his precious gavel, and roses floating in the pool of blood. Chief Tanner was next; his eyes ripped from their sockets and replaced by whole rosebuds as petals tracked to his front walk. 

The mayor's paranoia took over with his comrades struck down, and he called for me.

"Steve, we have a serial killer striking down the pillars of our community. We need your help," Mayor Bennett pleaded from behind his desk.

"I'm not the law around here," I murmured, noting the bead of sweat spilling down his brow.

"You have the skill for this crisis. The Marines prepared you to confront the face of fear," he stammered.

I bowed my head to mask the wince of this crooked rat speaking of Marine values.

"For the town," he begged.

"For the town," I echoed.

The facts were sparse. Even those that caught glimpses of the culprit struggled with specifics. The eyes of the town, so used to being slammed shut from nefarious activities, struggled to recollect, but also couldn't forget the intangible facts of the crimes; a laugh in the background and rose petals, always rose petals.

It was too late for Mayor Bennett; cyanide strangled him before the morning's sun. They found him where I had left him in his office, with a rosebud in his lapel. I knew it would be there before entering the scene as a lone red rose lay wilting on the steps to the town offices. 

"Did you see or hear anything before you left, Betty?" I asked as I looked over his twisted body. Cyanide is quick, but not that quick. He fought for breath for at least fifteen minutes before the darkness took him below.

"No," Betty's voice creaked as though she hadn't spoken freely for years.

"Nothing?" I pressed.

"When I left, he was on the phone." She absently shook her head. "He was laughing. It seems so odd to hear laughter, considering the current situation." She lifted her gaze to me to ensure that I knew the deaths she was referring to with her brevity.

"Are you certain it was his laugh?" I continued, already knowing the answer.

"He was the only one there; it had to be him. Right?" She looked confused for a moment. "Maybe his conscience caught up with him," she added before dropping her gaze again.

"Why don't you go home, Betty? There's nothing for you to do here," I offered with a sympathetic smile.

I left, too; there was no use in pondering the scene anymore; I had it memorized.

"Hey Steve, beautiful day," Tom Clements smiled as I passed him on the street.

"Is it?" I pondered as I looked at the Kodachrome vision that was the town square.

People converged in small groups along Main Street and around the town's gazebo, enjoying the sunny warmth of the June day. I expected hushed tones of gossip with darting eyes of panic at the killer on the loose, but trills of laughter filled the air, and smiles abounded.

"Isn't it? Great day to be alive," Tom nodded as he finished sweeping in front of his market and headed back inside.

"How are the blueberries today, Tom?" Jenny Wilde asked as she gave me a serene smile in passing.

"As sweet as sugar," Tom boasted.

Around me were the same lively conversations of ease and levity. I pondered this shift in the town's atmosphere as I settled on the gazebo's steps.

"Morning, Steve," more than one neighbor greeted as they passed.

My face snapped up each time to return the greeting before settling back to the walk before me, lost in thoughts of distant laughter and roses. In one of those moments, my eyes fell to a bare stem, stripped of its red rose. I lifted a finger to touch the thorned stalk.

"Peter," I called out as Peter Thompson passed.

"Morning, Steve. How goes it?" He greeted with an effortless smile.

"Who tends these rose bushes?" I asked.

Peter smiled at the stem my fingers still pinched. "It's a garden, Steve. The whole town cares for it."

"The whole town?" I murmured to myself.

"Of course, we each play our part. Some of us nourish the plants with water and nutrients. Some of us prune back the overgrowth. And all of us take care to eradicate any pests," he smiled.

"Eradicate the pests," I nodded.

"You have a great day, Steve," Peter added, before heading on his way.

I watched as he departed. The carefree laughter of the town bounced around the square, and the sweet, calming scent of the roses filled my nostrils as I sat back, knowing that the town of Willow Bluffs was cared for without my help.