Dempster Road

Chapter 2

The uncertainty plaguing Edgar worried him. He was almost too afraid to turn on his spotlight, but he was also too afraid to just sit there. He couldn't just sit there; Barney would have his hide. More damp air drifted in his open window and across his face. Everything was pressing in on him. The noise of the river seemed to get louder, scolding him for his indecision.

Edgar was uncertain as to what he should do. It was silly he knew to be afraid, but there was something just slightly off about the night . . . the sounds, and the shadows.

Barney was right. Either he was a policeman or he wasn't. Get on with the job.

He snorted, berating himself for being foolish, and slipping the car into drive, he moved forward to the bridge entrance, the car lights probing deeper into the interior and the shadows melting and reforming as he drew closer.

On the far side, close to the entrance, he could see the shape of a car pulled off to one side and he relaxed, feeling foolish, and smiling at his silly reactions to night and shadow. Likely nothing more than some kids from town getting it on, and he drove onto the bridge believing he was about to spoil a lover's romantic interlude.

****

The report of an abandoned vehicle had come in from a local farmer on his way home from visiting a neighbour. He had described the vehicle and its condition but nothing else. It was locked tight, and he was in a hurry to tend his own business.

It felt good to get out of the office . . . alone and free to yell or sing or even speed, without accounting to someone else, which he seemed to be doing every moment of every day. Being the Sheriff wasn't the laid back, all powerful position sometimes depicted in films, but then Barney didn't treat the job that way anyhow.

He let the car out and leaned back, feeling the newly paved road to the Hwy. 6 junction pass like a ribbon of silk beneath its humming wheels. It had taken years for the county to come up with the money to build the new road and even then it didn't go where most of the locals wanted it. Instead of taking a more direct route overland to Hwy. 6 it went way south making the drive almost as long as it was on the old road.

There was little traffic this late at night, and oncoming vehicles could be seen a long way off, their lights rising in a soft halo out of the darkness, blending into the sky and filling the night with a curtain of opaque light, that left motorists trapped for a second or two without vision. As they passed there was a rush of wind and a slight ripple in the steering wheel.

He increased the speed and smiled at the confident surge of power delivered by the car's engine. Barney Blackwell didn't share that confidence. He thought about his last six years spent winding down his term and grooming one of his deputies as a successor.

Edgar, afraid of his own shadow and a by-the-book enforcement officer, still sopping wet behind the ears, and Stan, the humorous ladies man with a carefree approach and a tendency to let small transgressions slide. Wouldn't the folks in Dempster love one of them lookin' out for the town. Ah well, he had a few years yet, maybe there'd be new blood before then . . . and people did change.

The car rattled across the rail line tracks leading north, and then cruised down the winding descent into the shallow valley opposite where the Crow River widened before twisting its way to the sea, past the River Road cut-off, then back up again to the sprawling stretches of farmland and the site of the abandoned car.

Barney drove past the vehicle at the side of the road and made a U-turn, slowing down as he followed the fresh looking skid marks on the new pavement, then pulled in behind the vehicle on the shoulder. He took out his notes and compared it to the farmer's description, noting the licence was not local, then shut off the engine and got out walking up the passenger side, shining his flashlight through the windows.

Seeing nothing unusual he repeated his investigation on the driver's side with the same results except for the fact that the keys were in the ignition. He shone his light in the corner of the windshield and copied down the VIN number, then he walked around testing each door and the trunk. All locked. Curious.

Barring a scrabble of shoe prints in the dirt on the shoulder, the ground around the vehicle didn't look disturbed in any unusual way that he could see, and a little further off the road, where the earth was softer, he couldn't find anything either; it was just too dark.

A car roared past as he was climbing back up to the shoulder, and he muttered an obscenity about stupid drivers, watching it disappear. Barney pulled a weary face and went back to retrieve a pry bar from his trunk to pop the trunk lid on the abandoned car.

****

Stan Withers slammed the cell door and locked it, nodding with weary patience at the following salvo of threatening profanity from his prisoner. He closed the inner door effectively muting the noise and tossed the keys on the Sheriff's desk.

"Mrs. Steiger okay?" Stella asked as Stan hung up his hat and grabbed a coffee from the ever-brewing pot on the portable burner. "I hear she nearly learned to fly."

"She'll live . . . again. It's a toss-up who to bring in each time. Henry's lip is all cut and swollen, and Louella has a knot on the side of her head the size of a golf ball. Henry won 'cause he took a swipe at me when I hauled her back into the barn. She said she'd take herself to the Doc's. He'll love that."

"What in heaven do they fight about continually?"

"Who knows. Must be love." Stan winked and smiled at her disgusted look. "Where is everybody?" He set down his mug and checked his appearance in the wooden framed mirror behind Stella.

"Edgar is investigating shadows at Stroud's Bridge and Barney went to take a look at an abandoned vehicle out on Hwy. 6."

"Investigating what?" He ran his comb through his hair, checked his look again and picked up his coffee.

"He said he thought there was something funny inside the bridge. Barney went purple." She shrugged.

"There's somethin' funny inside Edgar if you ask me. He leave any instructions?"

"You are to mind the store, Deputy."

Stan set his cup down again and hitched his pants up with an exaggerated swagger. "Well now, that requires a little hands on effort I would think. Probably should begin with an inventory." He walked around Stella's desk and made curious noises as he considered her, his lean frame tilting this way and that.

"Don't bother counting on me, Stanley Withers, at work I work-- no play."

"Hmmm, dull girl syndrome eh, Stella?" He leaned on her chair and bent his lips to her ear. "Doctor Withers has a magic cure."

"So does dull girl, Stella," she smiled, handing him a bundle of folders. "These need to be re-filed; an excellent lesson in store minding. When that's done we can find you something else to mind."

The banter with Stella was routine. It wouldn't be a day without Stan acting out his Romeo side and they both knew it. He leaned on her desk and gave her his heartbroken smile enjoying the mock scolding she gave.

"You are a wicked tease, Stella." He took the folders and went to the old wooden cabinet in the corner of the office. The sudden crackle of static followed by a strange, strangled sound made Stella jump, and Stan dropped the files in a shower of loose papers across the floor.