Page 13 of Fragments of the Past

He moves toward the town vehicle, either tired of standing still or of my lackluster questions. Or maybe Morris has a job to do and the longer he flaps his gums, the longer it’ll take to get it done and go home. I can’t blame him for wanting to multitask.

“When did the city install it?” Again, mundane. I can search the town archives.

“I dunno. Fifteen, twenty years ago. Lost track.” He widens his feet, spraying neon orange on the far edge of a slab that’s raised so that no one trips. The opposite edge of the adjacent one has been ground down.

The tip of my shoe toes the wide vee in the middle of the two concert slabs. “What does this?”

“Makes the sidewalk uneven? Overgrown tree roots mostly.” Morris lifts the hand holding the spray can to the leafy canopy. “Sometimes, the ground shifts when we get too much rain. Flooding and all. All the building they been doing means there’s less place for the water to go, so it moves the earth tryina forge a new runoff trail.” He points the nozzle at the wishing well. “Hurricane season is the only time that’s ever full and it’s to overflowing. Glad they’re taking it out. Parents these days, their noses in their phones instead of watching their littluns. It’s not safe. Not safe. Somebody’s baby is going in headfirst and going to drown and somebody else is going to post that whole tragedy on their instacart for the whole world to see.”

Instagram. But he has a point. Bystanders shooting a video first and calling for help second is becoming a frequent problem that puts lives at risk.

“You get a lot of animals around here?”

“Yep.It’s a park.Squirrels. Possums. Raccoons love the trash cans. Deers. Did you know them and those coyotes are getting moved along by all these new houses?”

“What if something decomposed?” I cut Morris off.

“Yeah. It would have to be a big thing to cause a sinkhole. A stump or something or other.” He drops the hose into the well.

“Do you know offhand how long it would take a stump to decay?”

“In this climate, if I were to guess… Three years?” He shrugs.

“How long has the sidewalk been buckling?”

“Pretty much since we put it in.”

“And that was twenty years ago?”

Morris’s face elongates. His head bobs from shoulder to shoulder. “It coulda been more like fifteen.”

Fuck me, there’s a chance Rae Lee Chatham might be on to something.

His finger hovers over the shop-vac, ready to push the on button. “Anything else?”

“That’s it for now. Thank you.”

I head to the parking lot, jumping as the vacuum loudly begins sucking the water out. Biting the inside of my cheek with a crunch, my eyes tear and I hold back theOw.

“Hey, detective?”

I raise a brow, rubbing my sore face.

“If you’ve gotta camera, I’d be taking some pictures if you need any for your case. The park administrator finally did me a favor. I’m emptying this headache because it’s getting torn out.”

Chapter Seven

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ANSON

Back at the precinct, I place a call to the parks and recreation department. It goes to voicemail. I search the web, finding an article on the ribbon cutting for the well. The pictures show lots of children running on the sidewalks. A toddler tosses a coin into the well. The event was a month after Pearl disappeared. I run my hand through my hair, fisting chunks. Then I pick up the phone again.

This time I get a hold of the parks and rec admin. She’ll pull what they have on the park’s history and maintenance and send it tomorrow.

“Do you have employment records? Or anything about what company installed the wishing well?” I ask.

“We purge anything older than ten years. But you might find it archived through the city clerk’s office.”

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