WELCOME TO TRINITY’S LAND END . . . Chapter 5: Founder’s Day p. 1

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CHAPTER 5: FOUNDER’S DAY: P. 1

(READ Ch5, P. 2 here)

Jewish tradition maintains that the body of the deceased be treated with the utmost dignity and respect. In most cases a typical autopsy is viewed as an unnecessary desecration of the body, and abhorrent to Jewish Law, mainly due to the nature of the incisions that alter the body drastically. As a compromise Jewish law sometimes permits, under special circumstances, what is often referred to as a “light autopsy”, a partial and less invasive medical procedure to determine cause of death.

It would be fair to say that there are some pathologists who consider nothing less than a full-scale postmortem autopsy as a viable means for ensuring the ruling out of other problematic possibilities,[as cause for death] that a limited scope autopsy was susceptible to. Detective Litani hadn’t discussed this matter thoroughly with Dr. Westminster for the simple fact that he wanted to wait until he made contact with someone in Victor’s family.

Now with the sudden disappearance of Victor’s wife, that someone soon became Victor’s sister. Mrs. Peabody, on hearing the recording of Victor’s desperate call to Detective Litani, coupled with the inability of anyone in the medical examiner’s office to safely say without a doubt that Victor’s death wasn’t foul play, was led to agree with the authorities that something should be done. Consequently, after speaking with her rabbi, permission to undertake the procedure was granted provided a number of pre-requisites were met: the procedure must be undertaken as soon as possible and be limited in scope, the pathologist must show sensitivity to Jewish law and any request that a rabbi be present during the autopsy must be permitted, and finally, all parts of the body must be retained for burial.

Detective Litani assured Mrs. Peabody that he would schedule an upcoming meeting to inform Dr. Westminster of these measures surrounding her brother’s postmortem, and to hopefully broker an agreeable deal in which the terms stipulated could be met. Although, as he had observed while working in Baltimore, the medical examiner’s office was under no legal obligation to adhere to any kind of restraint placed on it by families with religious objections.

“Do you really think my brother’s death is linked to the Patty Lowell investigation?” she’d asked him point blank, after he’d already gotten what he wanted from her.

That he’d insinuated as much in letting her hear the playback of Victor’s last call on earth in order to prompt her support of the autopsy, was, in fact, not particularly above board.

“Honestly ma’am,” he took her hand and covered it with his other, “I don’t know yet.”

She nodded and patted him lightly on the shoulder.

“Good answer, Detective. If you’d said otherwise, I would’ve figured you were lying and called the whole thing off. It’s one thing to come to my own conclusion but quite another to be conned into it. Don’t you agree?”

“Now there goes a lady who understands the nature of police work,” he said, after she’d left the Sheriff’s Department.

On the day of the big heritage festival called Founder’s Day, the New Englanders embellished the town with a beguiling mythos that wavered on being not quite true and arguably suspect to being a complete ahistorical interpretation. Flags were draped over every square foot of space and horns and tassels handed out to signal the celebration of the birth of the original colony Trinity’s Land End colony. With all the time and care, and hyperbole that such an event entails, the syrupy sweetness surrounding it made for quite a melodrama, that would have rivaled any Douglas Sirk production.

Within the walls of the Centennial Hall Lizzie French, under the auspices of the Historical Society gathered citizens of the town together for a special town meeting. The pertinent issue this time was to take a vote on a measure that was put forth in honor of founding father Elliot Trinity.

The article Lizzie read proposed a new fundraising auction to gather proceeds in order to have a big mural etched in stone of Elliot Trinity plastered on a concrete slab next to the WELCOME TO TRINITY’S LAND END sign on the entrance to the town. If passed, the auction would occur two weeks from today.

Her proposal drew a mixture of applause and ridicule as citizens squared off about the importance or lack of, in funneling funds into such a highfalutin venture as a slab of concrete with somebody’s name on it.

“We already got a welcome sign with his name on it. We need some kind of giant picture of him too?” asked Bottle Cap Maynard. He had always been of the opinion that Lizzie French was a “shitstarter” and the whole idea seemed stupid to him in the first place.

“He’s our Founder Mr. Maynard, that’s why. It’s a memorial sculpture. I see that Ways to increase your vocabulary book you checked out from the library hasn’t been of much use to you,” she snarled. She had always been of the opinion that Bottlecap Maynard was a sad and pathetic sack of crap who smelled funny.

“We need to continue to show our founding father the proper respect like any good Christians. Our country, indeed our town is built on the fundamental properties of Christianity. It is our way of the land to honor those who came before us and paved the way to moral rectitude among our citizenry and no amount of gratitude is too much!”

No sooner than she’d gotten the words from her mouth, young Howard Peachtree sprung up from his chair as quick as lightening. He was a freshman at Infinity City University majoring in history and psychology and it just so happened that he’d chosen Trinity’s Land End’s Founder’s Day celebration as a topic for his next term paper. He swallowed and began tentatively.

“I don’t mean to offend anybody but the myth of a Christian United States was propagated by some of the early settlers, not the framers of the Constitution. The Constitution, contrary to popular belief, is not an inherently religious document. It doesn’t actually refer to any powerful authority from God in order to be a good ruler or representative of government. Actually.”

“Tell her about the Treaty of Tripoli!” yelled someone in the crowd. “Tell her to stop misquoting John Adams!”

He cleared his throat again and continued with the blasphemy he knew he was surely to be accused of.

“I was saying. Actually, not many people understand, I mean, realize that there’s no actual or official religious test or principles for national office.”

When he was nervous like today he tended to overuse terms; actually was one of his favorites.

It wasn’t before he’d finished his nervous chatter that the veins in Lizzie’s forehead took on a distinction all of their own as she contemplated the relevance of young Howard Peachtree’s speech and how she would like nothing better than to be the one to wash his mouth out with soap.

One of her favorite topics had long been the case of the infamous Anne Hutchinson’s interpretation of religious covenants and how it inexorably, led to her excommunication.

“Mr. Peachtree. Young Mr. Howard Peachtree whose parents were known hippies and sexual deviants in the sixties, is that the supreme education Infinity City University is coloring your mind with?”

“Actually ma’am, there are several books that present the case against Religious Correctness——“

“–Several atheist books no doubt——“

“——by Isaac Krammick and R. Lawrence Moore——“

“–that are nothing but trash, the whole lot.”

Young Howard Peachtree became aware of escalating grumbling within the audience. Nothing was said to him directly but several group discussions had emerged on the issue. Some were whispers and some were of a more forceful tempo but still hushed pitch, the way people sometimes shout in a somewhat low-key manner.

“Ma’am. I’m just saying that in my opinion Founder’s day seems to have this religious pretense around it. I mean, why can’t we just get together and drink a few beers and have a good time without all this other stuff?”

Lizzie French, a known teetotaler, laughed harder than anyone had every seen her laugh in the past. No one in their right mind would say it was a nice laugh, if there is such a thing. This laugh had venom all over it.

“Founder’s day is not about having a good time Howard Peachtree. How silly of you child,” Lizzie rebuked.

The irony was not lost on the youngster.

“Trinity’s Land End is not a commune, dear boy. Elliot Trinity founded this place as a community where God’s law could be rightfully protected. I don’t need any so-called made up history sanctioned by the ACLU, no doubt, to tell me differently.”

Howard Peachtree didn’t say another word. One of his teachers at the university had said there was a psychological phrase for what was happening now. She’d called it Cognitive Dissonance. He didn’t fully comprehend what it meant but he promised himself he’d look up the definition immediately after returning to the dorms. He was sure the phrase would come in handy when he started writing his term paper for next quarter. All things considered, he calmly retreated to his seat, took out a notepad from his jacket pocket and scribbled FOUNDER’S DAY: THE BIRTH OF A BLIND NATION. It was a perfect title for his upcoming writing assignment

“Lizzie’s right,” said Buddy Erwin’s aunt Julia. She had been in one of the impromptu group discussions arguing in defense of religion and its relevance to the concrete slab mural.

Buddy was asleep in her arms. He always slept during all the boring stuff and would wake up just in time for the parade and the eats. However, since discovery of Patty Lowell’s mutilated body, he hadn’t been able to sleep at night.

“What the boy means is that even though some of the men who ratified the Constitution were men of faith,it doesn’t make the document a religious litmus test to govern a nation,” said a man in the third row, with a peace sign drawn on the back of his hand. His name was Julian Miller and he worked at the local hospital as a male nurse. Suffice it to say he’d suffered many snide remarks about his vocation from the likes of one Lizzie French.

An old codger with a scraggly beard raised his hand and let out a big belch that quickly gained Lizzie’s attention. He apologized but she was not in the mood to forgive him.

“Yes, Mr. O’Leary what is it? And could you please show some manners from now on?”

The old timer Buford O’Leary was given to severely smacking his lips now that he was without dentures, due to the fact that they were stolen from his mouth one day while he slept in the park. He had his suspicions that led invariably to one of the Bobby twins who despite being in their mid twenties remained prone to exhibiting bouts of random childishness from their past.

“There gonna be a free Seniors Appreciation Day at the high school football game next week?” asked the old man, “They cut my social security benefits and every little bit helps. Lord knows I can’t afford them prices they charge at the game nowadays. ”

“That’s not the topic of discussion now is it? People, please, we have to get a vote on this and move on,” charged Lizzie, “As the town committee chair I stress urgency.”

Neil Arnold stood up front and center. He was the high school Principal whom Lizzie had butted heads with many times before. He was a Buddhist and she considered him a useless multi-culturalist who wanted to redo the entire curriculum by stamping out all that was traditional and proper.

“Mr. Arnold, I wonder what funny little thoughts are running through your mind? Are you still on that diversity in education bandwagon? Want to tell kids Christopher Columbus didn’t discover America? Or perhaps you want to start a transgendered activity club after school?”

Lizzie was pleased with herself. The remark drew a bustle of snickers from the crowd.

“No. Ms. French.”

“It’s Miss. Please don’t lump me in with the feminazis.”

“No chance of that ma’am, I don’t know what feminazis are. Anyway, Miss French, as you know the auction that the high school has is the sole fund raising program for the summer vacation fund every year. Are you aware that our auction also starts in two weeks and we could find ourselves in conflict if your project goes through.”

“Do enlighten me Mr. Arnold, please?”

“Well, I’m worried that your fund raising for this mural coincides with something we have going on at the high school. I feel it will be a general detraction from the high school’s field trip. May I remind you that we’re saving up for our trip to Canada.”

“Canada? What the devil for? Why would anybody go to Canada?”

She continued to sneer long after the words had left her mouth.

“We’re trying to establish a high school internship and exchange program in Toronto,” he said.

“Really?” she balked, “Those Canadians. They’re a little too socialist for my blood. What could our kids possibly learn from Canadians? What have they ever done for us anyway?”

Ideally Neil Arnold wasn’t the kind of person to get caught up in a public political debate, even though he was a history teacher and she was a librarian. However, he knew Lizzie French was the kind of woman who liked to use her hard-line sense of ethics to undermine all opposing thought. He was after all an academic and there was no way he was going to let her get away with this one.

“If you think back Miss. French I believe there was a little matter of a hostage crisis in Iran and a group of six Americans who were given shelter by the Canadian Embassy. Does the Canadian Caper, ring a bell? The man behind it was even awarded a US Congressional medal. That, my lady, is what Canada has done for us. And you call yourself a librarian?”

She grunted and banged her gavel.

“Hmmpf. As moderator, I say we really must get on with these proceedings. Now, about the mural . . .?”

“Shouldn’t this meeting be held after the Founder’s Day celebration when there’s more time?” asked Mrs. Peabody.

She had a deep look of sorrow on her face.

“We’re sorry to hear about your brother’s accident Anne. Too bad he wasn’t living a righteous life. Unfortunately, that is what happens when we take these things for granted,” said Lizzie.

Now it wasn’t that she had no way of knowing how much sting her remarks carried but rather she always seem to count on the fact that she could bring people to their knees without so much as a single expletive.

Mrs. Peabody, on the other hand was used to Lizzie’s way for the most part. That is to say she never really bothered to challenge her on any level for fear of the grief that strenuous exercise would engender but this time it was different. Lizzie wasn’t just degrading anyone, it was her brother and although they hadn’t been particularly close the last two years, she never stopped loving him.

“You got no right Lizzie French. Is that your Christian way? Let my brother Victor have some peace in death.”

“Christian? Anne, you’re Jewish, right? I didn’t think you people believed in Christ?”

Mrs. Peabody might as well have been talking to the wall. Lizzie only knew one way. To say that Lizzie French was antisemitic was to say that George Lincoln Rockwell was antisemitic, with both personalities having held personal beliefs that went so far beyond the assertion it defeated the purpose.

Another member of the captive audience attempted to chime in but Lizzie muttered something vile but Christian-like under her breath, swung the gavel three times and then started over.

“Now, about the mural,” she said, finishing where she’d started.

Undoubtedly making up a tradition took a certain kind of meticulousness and fortitude and the festival’s organizers went to complex lengths to give the crowd a nice full-size healthy dose of make-believe.

Originally, Founder’s Day was supposed to be a homage to the day back in 1622 that Elliot Trinity after being washed ashore from previously escaping a band of pirates, a school of sharks, a typhoon and an Chief Indian with a grudge, happened upon a section of uncharted territory somewhere outside of Massachusetts Bay and staked his claim.

There was another version to the story that didn’t get around much except when Mama Loas told it from a comfortable seat on her front porch.

According to the one hundred and ten year old former slave, Elliot Trinity was a spastic accident prone legally blind deckhand on that pirate ship and fell off one night when he went to look for the mop and mistook the ship’s bow for a closet. After he’d tumbled overboard, he was saved by an Algonquian-speaking Native from the Abenaki First Nations and brought to live alongside his tribal farmland.

When the Pilgrims who’d came before began killing off some of the Indian populations, Elliot Trinity, rather than risk persecution himself for being an Indian lover, cowardly led a group of Christian bandits to his Native friend’s hiding place.

“I know what I talk about and that Elliot Trinity won’t nothin’ but a miserable ole fool scared of his own shadow.” Mama Loas would repeat her mantra every time the occasion presented itself.

Mama Loas was a descendant of Crispus Attucks who was killed in the Boston Massacre. Attucks was thought to be a runaway slave who’d came to Boston to protest against the infamous Townshend Acts, originated by the British Viscount Charles Townsend and enforced by the British Parliament to levy taxes on imports to the colonies.

Attucks was the son of a Black man and a Massachuset (original one ‘T’ spelling)Indian woman. Mama Loas was proud of having a celebrity in the family from both her African and Massachuset Indian heritage. She wasn’t going to let something like Founder’s day shroud the truth.

Consequently, every Founder’s Day she held an alternate and alternative celebration at the Community Pavilion to speak about the other history of Trinity’s Land End and to challenge the town’s collective unconscious.

Detective Litani made his way through the crowd at Town Hall Centre. The parade was scheduled to travel the full spectator route. It would start and continue down the center of Main Street through Town Hall Square, passing alongside Centennial Hall onward to Eagle House, where it would carry over onto the walking tour of Historic Ambearse Avenue. Ambearse Avenue was the location of Elliot Trinity’s first colonial home Trinity Manor. It was there that he and the famous minister devised methods to restrict the efforts of non-Puritans into the colony and methods to convert the unconverted. Their document was called the Covenant of Fellowship and Good Workings.

Down the road a bit from where Trinity Manor stood was Josiah Samuels Esq. House where Trinity’s Land End’s town charter had been signed.

To cap it off the festival route would end just short of old man Naylor’s estate at the Navy War Museum, where a house reception was to be presided over by one of the ancestors from the original pilgrimage to the new country.

The prospect of two deaths all within a week hadn’t managed to dampen the attitudes or curtail the current luminous festival activities. Crowd participation of the town’s history celebration remained plentiful.

One of the locations, Town Hall Centre, full to the brim with eager citizens just itching to get a look at all the extravagant floats and costumes designed for this year’s festivities, boasted the amusing entertainment of a barbershop quartet and a skiffle band.

“Here it comes, here it comes!” said an overjoyed Buddy Erwin, waving a miniature liberty bell. He pointed dramatically in the direction of one of the most flamboyant and excessive floats — not to mention the biggest crowd pleaser — sponsored by the Historical Society. It was a reenactment of Elliot Trinity’s voyage on the high seas to his landing on the new colonial settlement.

“Look at the Injun chase him,” said little Buddy Erwin, to his aunt’s delight.

In years past the Historical Society had received several letters of protest from various Native American communities in response to the portrayal of said events, and being referred to as “Injun”. Buddy Erwin was referring to Eustace Duke, the high school gym teacher. That a man with reputed links to the Ku Klux Klan in nearby Ketchum Falls also held responsibility for shaping young minds, or at least their bodies, was a subject the Historical Society did everything in their power to shy away from.

So every Founder’s Day Eustace Duke would don Indian garb and make-up, grab a makeshift tomahawk and run around like an idiot on a two hundred square foot float. And each year he would choose one of his students to play the young town’s originator Elliot Trinity, the target of his lunacy.

The nefarious position on this occasion went to Tommy Studebaker, the quarterback of the varsity league football team. He played his Elliot Trinity for laughs, comically tripping about the float while trying to out maneuver Eustace’s crazed Indian in what can best be described as a rendition of an early settler minstrel show. As the float continued along the parade route it was met with a small contingency of Native Americans protesting its vile representation.

To a casual observer, as Detective Litani made his way through the ecstasy of the crowd he seemed rather out of place. It would be intuitive for one to presume his current state of melancholy as being directly linked to the two bodies that currently resided at the Trinity’s Land End medical examiner’s office. To be sure, the impending criminal investigation provided its own burden but if one really looked deep enough, it might be also be revealed that Detective Litani was simply, and most incontestably, lonely.

He was about to head back to the sheriff’s department when he felt a hand positioned on his shoulder, pulling him from behind. He looked back to see Tina Sycamore flashing her best Colgate smile.

“Leaving so soon?”

He turned around.

“Are you following me, Tina?”

She nudged him and frowned.

“Ray, you’re always so mean to me? Why? I do anything to offend you? I mean, when you blacked out in the car and ran off the road into the cornfields and scared me half to death, did I get mad or threaten to bring you up on charges of reckless driving?”

He didn’t like where this was going. The last thing he needed was to be threatened by a manipulative teenager desperately in need of attention.

“Tina, I told you I was sorry about that. I get these migraines, sometimes. But, if you want to press charges?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Just trying to make a point,” she said, putting her hand in his.

“Okay then,” he said, removing it.

Little did he know he was trapped, treed and cornered. He looked out into the crowd, hoping to see Rebecca Jamison and her brood from the orphanage somewhere around.

“She’s not here,” said Tina decisively, with a big grin.

“Girl, what the hell are you babbling about now?” He tried to play it off.

“Ray, when are you gonna learn that I can read your thoughts. There’s this thing between us, this bond, but you’re hell bent on denying the truth.”

“Believe me Tina when I say there is no thing between us.”

“Come on, let’s go. Unless you don’t mind chatting up Lizzie French because she’s heading this way at two o’clock.”

He looked in the direction Tina pointed to see the librarian barreling toward him with the visage of a stubborn boar.

“That woman needs an enema,” he said, under his breath rather than shouting it aloud like he preferred.

That’s when Tina grabbed him hurriedly by the arm and steered him down the street until they came to the luncheon diner over on Main where the parade route originated every Founder’s Day. Charlene’s Smack’N Mack boasted an exclusive Founder’s Day special for a meager $2.99. It was no wonder the establishment made some of its finest tills during this time of the year.

“Come on in and pick a spot,” insisted Charlene as she swiftly ushered the two inside.

“Any room left?” he asked.

The place was covered from head to toe with hungry festival goers. Charlene’s Smack’N Mack was the beloved pit stop from all the other Founder’s Day activities and celebrations. Alternately, under the auspices of the Historical Society Lizzie French held a post festival dinner at Colonial House but it was a very exclusive affair and most of the regular townspeople had a hard time making the list. It was a welcome appreciation to know that Charlene catered to everybody.

Together Detective Litani and Tina Sycamore squeezed in next to a lumberjack and his dog at the far end of the counter.

“See, we don’t need a table, this’ll do just fine,” said Tina, pleased.

She unwound the two rubber bands that held her pigtails together and a mass of strawberry blonde tresses cascaded down her shoulders.

“Do you think I’m pretty Ray?”

“You know you are Tina. You could go a little light on the makeup though.”

She smiled mischievously, “Boys my age are silly. I like intelligent men.”

“Did Patty Lowell like men too? I mean, when she was your age? Is that why she got in trouble?”

“Patty Lowell was a born victim. Don’t get me wrong, I liked her all right. She was probably the only real person in this town with nothing to lose, except for Mama Loas maybe. The difference between us is she let men treat her any kind of way. I would never do that. I think too highly of myself.”

“I see. So men follow your lead, is that what you mean? I take it you’re looking for some sap you can order around.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

She was quick to let him know she was no apologist for her behavior.

Charlene shoved two Founder’s Day specials in front of them. The meal consisted of five golf ball sized meatballs smothered in gravy with mash potatoes, string beans and two homemade biscuits.

“Happy Founders Day. I’ll get a couple of pecan pies for you in a minute,” she said, “Oh, and you mind taking a piece to Sheriff Daniel at the hospital? That man loves my pecan pie and I want to let him know we’re all thinking about him.”

“No problem,” said Detective Litani, “I’ll swing by later to check up on him anyway.”

“That’ll be great. Funny thing, you always take for granted people you care about until something comes along and puts them in harms way. I can’t even remember Sheriff Daniel ever having a sick day.”

She smiled and rushed away to the next customer.

For a moment Detective Litani felt a little uneasy, having spent his moments with Sheriff Daniel prior to his emergency, in an uncomfortable disagreement. He was the new guy in town and on one hand, should have been grateful that for the most part the townsfolk had welcomed him into their little community, alongside their beloved Sheriff. Yet on the other, his lingering internal dissatisfaction for being, what he could only describe as politically hustled into the current occupation and change of location, seemed to always supersede any latent enthusiasm or appreciation.

He could feel Tina’s eyes on him, unashamed and unabashed.

“That Charlene — she looks damn okay for a woman her age wouldn’t you say?”

“You shouldn’t be so concerned about looks Tina. They fade.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re a man,” she quipped, and slapped his knee.

“Meaning?”

“You’re allowed to age. Everybody always says my uncle Damien looks distinguished the older he gets, but with aunt Coraline they just say she must’ve had a hard life ’cause of all the bags around her eyes. Not fair and you know it.”

He couldn’t argue with her there. It was certainly much easier when she wasn’t making so much sense.

“Hey, how about some town trivia on Founder’s Day?”

She moved closer and pushed him further towards the lumberjack with his dog.

“When was the first Founders Day celebrated? Give up?”

“I don’t know any town trivia, Tina.”

“Take a guess.”

“Okay, 1622?”

“Wrong. 1623. Oh and we are also the oldest town in New England. You know that?”

“Nope,” he said and proceeded to divide the meatballs on his plate in half with his fork.

“What is the oldest freestanding statute in New England from colonial times?”

“Tina, I’m trying to enjoy my meal. Will you please, give it a rest?”

He stuffed a meatball in his mouth and savored it.

“It’s the Eliza Trinity fountain statute in Great Awakening Park, hel-lo? Don’t you know any of this stuff?”

There was hardly any space to spare between them but he made sure he was as far away from Tina Sycamore as a man sitting on a stool right next to her could be. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust himself in that regard but stupid misunderstandings are sometimes made and he had no doubt a girl like Tina would make you pay for it.

“You seem nervous Ray.”

She massaged his knee.

“I am nervous Tina.”

He removed her hand from his leg.

“Shoot, all business. You’re no fun. I guess the only thing you want to talk these days is Patty Lowell. Well, she was my baby sitter when I was little like I said before. She kept this diary. I bet it’s the missing key if you find it.”

“You’ve been hanging around that film forum place too much.”

“It’s called Filmspace”, she corrected.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? About the diary? How do I know this isn’t a figment of your fanciful imagination?”

“And why would I lie?

“Oh I don’t know Tina, that’s a good question. I’m still trying to work out all your angles. Am I supposed to trust your past memory as a seven year old?”

“Jeez, you’re so cynical. Is that any way to talk to the person that just saved you from the wrath of Dizzy Lizzie?”

He looked deeply into her eyes when she said it.

“You’re wondering where I get that from I bet. Your mother used to call her that didn’t she? I heard it through the grapevine. I’m telling you Ray, I remember a lot of things. I’ve got a very good memory. She had a lot of initials in that diary like B.T., D.R., and I think it was L. R.or L.K. Something like that and N.C. And she wrote that one of these days she was going to have to play the right cards for her ticket out. Something like that anyway.”

“So you’ve sized up the whole case, huh? Got a fresh angle straight form the memory banks – a child’s memory of long ago. That kind of information is beyond circumstantial. No more than speculation, Tina.”

“Hey, it was her hustle. Don’t chew me out. Would you believe one night she was over and fell asleep on the couch and–”

“Now that I believe. That is quite possible that one night Patty Lowell fell asleep on the couch while over at your house babysitting. Yeah, I can see that.”

“Hey, stop your joking around, I’m serious. Listen now, I trying to tell you that I picked up the diary and the entry for that day said she was pregnant. That’s all. Just “I’m pregnant written in all caps.” Now that’s something, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s something Tina”

“NO Ray, listen, I’m serious. Look, don’t blab it around but there’s a big story in this Patty Lowell thing. It’s got everything – sex, murder, and violence. How big is that, huh? Really big. And I started talking with some of the group at Filmspace and all I can say is don’t be surprised if Patty’s story comes to the big screen one day. One of my director friends is interested and I get a producer’s credit. It’s all on the hush-hush, okay?”

He didn’t bother to respond. Unfortunately for Tina, Detective Litani had long ago zoned out to her banter. He swallowed another meatball and looked up to see Childress enter the diner with an entourage that included two two-hundred plus hefty bodyguards, a middle-aged woman clutching a steno pad and a young model he’d seen on on the cover of magazines before, on the industrialist’s arm.

Childress motioned for one of his men to go to one of the tables where a group of townies were sitting having a couple of beers. The entire thing went down in a matter of minutes, as the two hundred plus bodyguard convinced the townies that their time was up. Subsequently, they took their beers and left, carefully not to make eye contact with Childress on the way out.

“Ray? Ray, are you listening? I don’t like to be ignored.”

“N.C.?”, he thought to himself. “Tina, the only N.C. on my mind is that one over there.”

“Norman Childress III?. The big shot, yeah, that’s what I thought too. I mean it is the most logical, right? Hey Ray, we think alike!”

“All right. Be cool.”

He might as well of been speaking Latin because before he could get the next syllable out she was on her feet and heading across the room.

“Just wait right here,” she said, with the toss of her golden locks.

She marched over to the table where Childress and his men were sitting and began a conversation that included several looks by the entrepreneur over in Detective Litani’s direction. When she was finished and as she was walking away Childress couldn’t keep his eyes off her, leaving the model who was fawning all over him, to wonder.

“Are you crazy? What was that about?” He pulled Tina close to him.

“Call it a social experiment Ray, just a little old experiment.”

“I call it a stupid thing to do Tina. You’ve got to stop listening to the voices in your head. You can’t just parade around like that and expect men not to notice.”

“I can do what I want Ray. Haven’t you noticed that about me yet? So, did he stare at my ass when I was walking back here?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because Patty Lowell always talked about one of her fellas having an ass fetish in her diary. He was always looking at her behind and feeling it in public places and so forth. So my conclusion is that he must be the N.C. she was talking about. I mean, the only other N.C. I can think of is Noah Crabapple the mailman and rumor has it he bats for the other team.”

“Plenty of guys like to look at women’s behinds. That’s no proof,” he said.

“Oh so now you do consider me a woman? Finally.”

He shook his head repeatedly, “That was just a figure of speech Tina.”

“Well, anyway, you are going to question him, right? Unless . . . you already did when you stayed over in Infinity City?”

He stuffed another meatball in his mouth and chewed rigorously.

They were interrupted by Charlene’s return with two glasses of homemade lemonade and two slices of pie.

He thanked Charlene for the both of them and hoped to put an end to the questions emanating from the Tina Sycamore locomotive.

“Hey Charlene, what kind of seasoning did you use on these meatballs? They’re magnificent.”

“Ancient New England secret, Detective.”

Just then the door opened and Rebecca Jamison entered the diner. She wore an off the shoulders white cotton dress and a big white summer hat. As she approached the counter Childress intercepted her and pulled her to the side. Detective Litani stopped eating immediately and watched carefully as they exchanged words. He exhaled right at the moment Rebecca’s right hand caught Childress across the face.

The diner went silent. The two body guards jumped up and so did Detective Litani. When Childress waived his two protectors off Detective Litani sat as well but his eyes remained fixed on the situation should there be a need to step in.

Besides being a wealthy industrialist and town benefactor, Childress was the kind of person that demanded the public keep its distance.

Whenever he was in town it was widely encouraged that he never be engaged on any level of communication. It was a unwritten rule that stipulated he must make the first contact. And under no circumstances was anyone ever to do anything remotely considered as threatening to the man. With the bold slap across the face Rebecca Jamison had broken years of town etiquette in just one afternoon.

“Hey now, you good folks needn’t worry about what’s going on over here. Miss. Jamison and I just had a minor disagreement. Everything is fine I assure you,” announced Childress.

“Yeah, what he said,” replied Rebecca, in jest.

She then beckoned for Charlene, who had been left a little shaken up following the proceedings.

Childress shot Detective Litani a quick look, who in turn raised his glass of lemonade in acknowledgment.

“So anyway,” Tina continued, “About the investigation–”

To Tina’s dismay, Detective Litani’s newly found concentration was on Rebecca Jamison.

He tried to imagine what Childress must have said to her to cause that kind of reaction and he didn’t like it one bit.

It was about five minutes before Charlene returned with a large ziplock bag full of at least a dozen slices of the Smack’N Mack’s famous pecan pie. Rebecca graciously accepted the bag and handed Charlene a bill from her purse.

“Thanks Char, keep the change”, she said, and turned to leave.

She’d gotten nearly halfway to the door when Detective Litani found himself leaping from his seat and positioning himself between her and the exit.

“Uh Miss. Jamison, I mean, Rebecca, a minute of your time, please?”

His was a nervous voice of excitement.

She turned with a half smile. “Yes, Detective?”

He got closer. He wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do but he felt it was exactly what was needed.

“Are you alright? Did Childress threaten you, because if that’s the case you have every right to file formal charges?”

“No”, she said glumly, “I thought you knew, Childress never threatens directly. It’s more like a polite nudge.”

“Well, I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure yet but my time with the man is coming.”

“Yeah. I don’t know who tries my patience more, Childress or that Lizzie French. You know I ran into her a little while ago. She was talking to some of the other members from the Historical Society about drafting some kind of proclamation on morality or some such nonsense and bringing it before the townspeople. Says she’s tired of so much “loose morality and heathenism” in the country and that Trinity’s Land End should try to set an example to the world. The heathenism part I think she said explicitly for my effect. Anyway, we just looked at each other like she was from Venus and I was from Mars and that was that. I swear that woman will not be satisfied until the “Republic of Gilead” is finally established, and we can do away with the Constitution and be ruled by Old Testament religious dogma.”

He chuckled.

“There’s a reference in there to something literary and profound but I’m afraid I have no idea.”

“It’s out of a wonderful but frightening little book, The Handmaid’s Tale. It was one of the books Lizzie tried to have banned from the library last year and it happens to be my oldest girl’s favorite.”

“Banning books, now there’s a past time. I wonder what kind of far-reaching benefit does she imagine the adoption of her pointless proclamation would have? She can’t seriously believe the state legislature would give it any credence. Does she really believe the American government should be run in the fear of God, like a theocracy?”

“Detective Litani, surely you’re not asking for me to explain logic when it comes to Lizzie French, are you?”

They both laughed. She touched his face lightly.

“You know I haven’t had a real friend in town since Patty.”

He got the impression that she was reaching out to him and it made him feel good, even confident.

“Listen, what are you doing later on this evening?”

She thought for a moment.

“Well, after the Founder’s Day festivities, I suppose I’ll pick up the kids and head back home.”

“I have a better plan. I think you should drop by my place for a little conversation and commiseration,” he said soothingly, “Think about it.”

She kissed him on the cheek and left.

Across the room Tina Sycamore fumed.

At the hospital Detective Litani found Sheriff Daniel in good spirits surrounded by a plethora of flowers and get-well cards. Looming over the bunch was a humongous inflatable Sheriff’s badge balloon with a large greeting card trimmed in gold lace, and held in place by a bountiful red ribbon tied garrulously in a bow. On the front of the card at the very bottom was the Childress insignia.

Turns out Sheriff Daniel had been diagnosed with a mild case of angina but that didn’t stop him from devouring the mammoth slice of pecan pie Charlene had sent over from the diner. He thanked Detective Litani for dropping by and bringing the treat but there was more than a sliver of disappointment and feeling of helplessness in his voice.

“Sorry to hear about the transfer of the Lowell girl’s body to that private medical lab in Boston.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“So, then, what’s the official word?”

“Well, the chief forensic guy at the lab indicated there was, unbeknownst to him at the time, some kind of conflict in the pick-up schedule. Gave me his deepest apologies and said a team would be in town by Monday.”

“Really? Kind of makes our little medical examiner’s office look like a FBI lab in comparison, don’t you think? I mean, sonofabitches can’t even get their appointments straight.”

He knew where the Sheriff was going with this and he didn’t like it.

“It’s not like they botched the autopsy, Sheriff.”

“No, no, no, they botched the transport, Detective.”

“I never said they were the best in the world.”

“No, no, no, you just let it be known our little outfit here in town wasn’t good enough. This town’s been my bread and butter for over fifty years and I don’t like it when outsiders come in and suggest we don’t know our business. Now I didn’t say it on the record before, but having that girl’s body sent away is an insult to Doc Westminster, pure and simple. Anyway, tell Charlene I said thank you for the pie. I think I”ll be needing my rest now. Thanks for coming by, Detective.”

In simpler terms Sheriff Daniel was an unchanged man living in rapidly changing times; a relic of a bygone era. By all accounts he was generally viewed by everyone in town as respectable, fair and honorable. It was clear the Sheriff wanted to stay away from all the political stuff that sometimes accompanied high profile criminal investigations. And of course, the prospect of Childress’ possible entanglement with the Patty Lowell case, screamed political with a capital “P”. It was also clear that Detective Litani’s philosophy of jumping into the deep end rubbed his more conservative colleague in all the wrong ways.

And there they were, the old versus the new, two men vying for leadership in a community on the verge of an explosion. Both trying desperately to figure out how to coexist as police authority figures without feeling slighted by the others actions, wanting to say all the right things but invariably saying the wrong ones.

. . .THIS CONCLUDES CHAPTER 5, P. 1  OF WELCOME TO TRINITY’S LAND END: TOWN OF MURDER & DECEIT. STAY TUNED FOR MORE CHAPTERS COMING YOUR WAY . . .

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WELCOME TO TRINITY’S LAND END . . . Chapter 5: Founder’s Day p. 1