The Vanishing Corn Mystery

The Vanishing Corn Mystery (02) Chapter Two

THE VANISHING CORN MYSTERY

Chapter Two

Clarence Holman, the towns long-time Postmaster, sat with his bare elbow propped on the open roll-top desk, chair turned sideways. His knuckles pushed facial skin up under the ear, jaw resting in his palm. He waited patiently, peering through his office door.

From this vantage point, he could glance out the tall, narrow slit windows, affixed in the rear double-doors. He hated the chicken wire embedded security glass, designed to prevent someone from breaking into the post office.

This style window pane, made it hard to view the morning mail truck make its turn at the street corner. The day's mail arrives by train, via the perpetually late 6:45 Black Bullet.

To save time and fuel, Seth Collins parks the old side-opening postal van at the railway station each night. Then walks the five short blocks north to his third floor apartment.

His kitchen window faces east, toward a bridge where the train crosses over the river every morning. The whistle at the crossing is his cue to fill the thermos with coffee and fix his sack lunch. He walks down the hall and waits on an outdoor landing, at the head of the stairs. Watching for the last rail car to clear the McDowell Pass trestle.

Seth will hear the train's whistle blow at three more crossings, as he walks to the depot. When he pulls beside the dock; baggage handlers move a wooden chute in place, so the mail bags can slide into the side of the van.

Clarence spotted the mailman make the turn, and rose from his chair to unlock the back French doors. The circulation in his left hand had not fully returned since his heart attack. This caused him to fumble with the top lever of the second panel.

He lifted the lower latch with the toe of his boot, until it clicked over the safety catch. He turned around and kicked the sticking right door with his heel.

The morning air, although hot, had cooled over the last two days. A breeze across the dock pushed against the door, causing a squeak. Clarence pulled it back open. Seth clenches the shipping documents between his teeth and grabbed the mail bags.

“Good morning Seth, about time this heat finally broke.”

Seth grunted an acknowledgment as he walked past the feeble old postmaster. He set the heavy pouches on the sorting table and turned as Mr. Holman returned from the van and handed off the last two bags. He pulled the paperwork from his teeth to speak.

“Too early yet, means a cold winter this year.”

Seth emptied a mail pouch on the sorting table, and began pigeonholing the envelopes.

“Oh Mr. Collins, before I forget, we have a four week hold request on Mackenzie's mail.”

“Finally taking that vacation he's talked about all year, eh Mr. Holman.”

Clarence went outside and closed the truck doors before returning to his desk.

“Looks like my luck ran out, a pleasant morning ruined.”

“What's up Mr. Collins?”

“Letter here for Mr. Swazi.”

“Well, don't let Hank keep you too long, you have a busy day ahead of you.”

“Remember year before last? He bought all the traps and bait in town, claiming he was overrun with rats.”

“I think the vermin are too smart to go hanging around his place.”

“Would you mind doing the boxes for me this morning Mr. Holman? I'm already up to 235 stops, and still have a full pouch to sort.”

“Glad to help. It might even loosen up this old arm of mine.”

“Crazy Swazi must sit at night and count every tiny item he owns.”

"Mr. Swazi when you are around me Mr. Collins."

"Yes sir."

"Last week Mr. Swazi was missing eggs, the week before he swore someone stole apples from his orchard.”

Seth stacked the mail from the sorting cases in his run boxes.

“I think I'll deliver the south route first thing this morning, before Mr. Hank Swazi has more tales of woe to add.”

* * *

To Be Continued with (03)