A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,29
back toward the track, glad he'd decided to do what was right. Still, he imagined that a small, nagging devil, as well as a large dog, kept him company.
“WHAT?” ASKED LONGFELLOW, setting down a pen. “What did you say?”
“Dead, sir,” Lem repeated. Suddenly remembering his manners, he grabbed his cocked hat by one of its corners, and stuffed it under an arm.
“Alexander Godwin? And you say you found him in my ice pond?” A ghastly thought had become even worse.
“In some nearby fir trees, sir. You would have seen them when—well, it was where men went to piss yesterday.”
“Yes, a small stand, relatively young.”
“Littered with needles inside, so a darkly clad body didn't show through.”
“An interesting observation. Just how did he die, do you suppose?” The selectman leaned back, hoping for a flow of more useful information.
“His neck was punctured.”
“Punctured? Punctured how?”
“In the back. It was done with—with an ice hatchet.”
“An ice hatchet! Whose?”
“Mine.”
Again, Longfellow waited.
“Or rather, Mrs. Willett's,” said Lem. He gave a sigh that ended in a moan.
“Does she know about this?”
“I didn't ask to borrow it, but I often use tools left in the barn by her father,” said Lem. “I'm sure she won't mind.”
“That part, no.”
“I didn't do it myself! Yesterday morning, I left the hatchet in the canvas bag we use for scattering seeds— along with my scarf—before I went off to skate with Mattie.”
“Where, exactly, did you last see this bag?”
“I set it down when I went to talk to Ned Bigelow, seeing he arrived just after I did. I knew the hatchet would be safe there from children since they wouldn't be allowed to play too near the large fire. Several men were already sitting around it.”
“Mr. Flint and Mr. Tinder I saw myself, only a little later.”
“And Jonah Bigelow between them?”
“John Dudley came over some time later…” Longfellow mused.
“The constable?” Lem hardly knew whether to feel better or worse. “Do you think he saw the hatchet?”
“I doubt he noticed much of anything.”
“But the others—someone must know what happened to the bag.”
“Now I think of it, I do remember the scarf, and seeing some sort of handle. Lem—how long do you think Alex Godwin has been dead?”
“All night, I'm sure. He's stiff with cold. Frozen, in fact.”
“You tried to move him?”
“No, sir. I thought… but I decided to leave him. All I moved was his hat.”
Longfellow sat up with new purpose. “Do you know of anyone who might have felt he had reason to do such a thing? Even someone who might have wished only to frighten him, but went too far?”
Lem considered carefully. “Many of us might have wanted to do a little something to him, sir, from time to time.”
“I see. But could he have had any real enemies here?”
“He must have. He's dead, after all.” This nice bit of logic forced Longfellow to take another tack.
“I'll go and see for myself. No reason to call John Dudley just yet. He'll have a sore head this morning, I'm sure. Go across to the inn. Tell Tim to take his time, but to let the constable know he needs to pay a visit to Reverend Rowe in the next few hours. Then, I want you to tell Mrs. Willett about this. When you've done that, follow her back here. You've told no one else?”
“No, sir!” Lem assured him. At a further sign from Longfellow, he turned and hurried out.
“Young fools,” he heard from behind. Striding through the hall, he asked himself who, besides Alex, the selectman could have in mind.
Chapter 10
AT FIRST, THEY'LL think the worst,” said Charlotte, once she'd made her way to Longfellow's warm kitchen.
“I wouldn't be surprised,” her neighbor agreed.
“Lem will be suspected, unless—”
Lem sat and watched; he had nothing more to say, now that he'd told Mrs. Willett, too, about the body he'd discovered in the trees, but it seemed to him that things had taken a decidedly unpleasant turn.
“—unless we find a witness who saw someone else pick up the seed bag,” Longfellow finished for her. “Or the hatchet alone, though I would guess both were taken together. If not, the bag and scarf would have been found by now.”
“Someone could have found them abandoned at the end of the day, and might have taken them home for safe keeping.”
“Long after the hatchet had been slipped out? Well, perhaps so.”
“Lem told me you saw it where he left it, Richard. Can you swear to that?”
“Only to seeing some kind of wooden handle, some time before noon.”