The Coffin Maker

Chapter 4

The late model Toyota Camry came to a stop at the bottom of a country laneway overgrown with dust-covered milkweed and Queen Anne's lace. A rusty, battered mailbox stingily shared the few enduring letters of a surname known only to the rural mail carrier and locals. Ailsa Craig briefly consulted the navigation system before she thrust the six-speed manual transmission into first gear and drove up the lane. She pulled between the house and a shed where a man was getting ready to open the tailgate of a pickup. She got out of the car and could feel him sizing her up.

"Excuse me. I'm looking for James Blackwood. Is this the right place?" He looked beyond her at the car. The steel of his work boots showed through at the toes and his well-worn jeans had sheen to them but the belt was newer, of quality leather and stamped ram's horns sparkled from the buckle. An open neck purple shirt and rolled up sleeves made his face and arms appear much tanned, and she saw white flecks at the temples of his dark brown hair when he adjusted his Nike ball cap that was all greasy where his hand touched the peak.

"Minnesota tags." he stated flatly. He opened the tailgate, pulled on the legs of a half-devoured sheep carcass and it flopped to the ground. "Don't tell me, you're from the U of M conducting a feasibility study of raising sheep in the north." He made a mental note that she was unfazed by the carnage and he liked her choice of practical shoes to go with the crisp, business-like appearance of her clothes. He hinted at the dead animal and mumbled... "I need to show the evaluator for the loss claim." He wiped his palm down the thigh of his grimy jeans, walked up to her and extended his hand.

"I'm Blackwood."

"James Blackwood, how do you do? It's a pleasure to meet you," said Ailsa with a gleam in her eye that matched the enthusiasm of her smile. "I'm Ailsa Craig, a private investigator ..." Blackwood slammed shut the tailgate cutting short her words.

"You share a name with an ancient rock in the Firth of Clyde?" he said cheekily. "Aren't you a little young to be a PI? The field is generally reserved for retired cops. Where'd you log your 6,000 hours?"

"Oh, very astute," she applauded with an accompanying nod. An awkward silence followed, the moment when a man and a woman simultaneously sense mutual attraction. Ailsa raised an eyebrow in approval and added, "I'm impressed with your familiarity of Minnesota licensing eligibility... I worked for a PI firm in St. Paul... and I spent a year with the Sheriff's office in Polk County." His eyes were the color of steel with a hint of blue and his high cheekbones and strong jaw lent a distractingly pleasing symmetry to his face. "I might add that not fitting the stereotype can have certain benefits in investigative work," she said.

"So what are you investigating? I thought that Nancy Drew had solved all her cases?" He was ready to gauge her reaction, but the ribbing slid like water off a duck's back. He started to think she might be different from some of his preconceptions. He liked the way her hair swept away from a widow's peak and feathered her temples. "Did you know they almost called her Diana?"

"I am investigating a kidnapping." She decided she could match him at this own game. "Did you know that she was originally Nan Drew but the editors preferred Nancy?" Showing no frustration at his divergences, she confidently continued. "I represent private clients, philanthropists if you will, who want a young girl found. My client knows you are one of the..." He interrupted again.

"I don't do that kind of work anymore," said Blackwood.

"Yes, my client knows this...but you are the best..."

"The best at what? ...Finding missing women and girls after they are already dead? Look, I have told you, I no longer do investigative work. Tell your clients to talk to the police." A dark cloud issued a grumble of thunder and the first chilling winds of a cold front nipped at their ankles. The sun dipped behind the oncoming cloudbank and a small dust devil danced across the yard. Ailsa Craig thought about some of the kidnapping cases that James Blackwood had solved. She was sorely disappointed at his response.