Page 119 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

I read the brief message and gave him my best mayoral nod of approval.

“What an incredible coincidence, Chief Vanderbergen,” I said, borrowing one of Alex’s favorite bits. “I love me too.”

SEVENTY-FOUR

four days after the funeral

Monday, September 11, arrived blistering hot and summery, defiantly refusing to offer up even a hint of the fact that autumn was waiting in the wings.

It was, of course, a hallowed day in America, a time for reflection and resolve, prayer and tribute.

Coincidentally it was a significant day in the history of our little town, albeit not nearly as solemn. Magic Pond, the mystical elixir vitae in the heart of Heartstone, was about to be dredged. According to our official records, the last time it had its toxins treated, its sediments suctioned, and its eco balance restored was in 1952. And while some local residents applauded the fact that the water quality would be vastly improved, most of my constituency was curious about how many thousands of dollars in coins had accumulated on the bottom, and what would the town do with the loot.

September 11 was also what Alex called his other birthday. The forty-fifth anniversary of the day he was left in a Dillon’s grocery store shopping basket at fire station 6 in Hutchinson, Kansas.

One day. An auspicious trinity of reasons to embrace it.

I arrived at Town Hall at 7:30 a.m. At 8:46 a.m., the exact time that American Airlines Flight 11 hit the North Tower, twenty people from my office, along with about a hundred locals, stood outside in silence as a group of men from the American Legion raised the flag, then lowered it to half-staff.

I spoke to the crowd briefly, then a man wearing a Vietnam Veteran’s cap read the names of the seven Heartstone citizens who had been killed in the attack, the final name being his daughter. A bugler played Taps, and the ceremony was over.

I went back to the office and the growing pile of work that had taken a back seat to Alex’s disappearance and his subsequent funeral. At 1:15 p.m., my landline rang, and Wanda, my secretary, picked it up.

“It’s Chief Vanderbergen,” she called out from her desk. “He says it’s urgent.”

I grabbed the phone. “Chief, what’s going on?” I said.

“I tried to reach your father, but he didn’t pick up, so I’m calling you.”

“Is he all right?”

“Oh, I’m sure he is. It’s lunchtime, so he’s probably too busy at the restaurant to answer the phone. It’s not an emergency, but it’s so damn weird that I had to call you.”

“You’ve got my undivided attention.”

“On December 2, 1997, your father reported a car stolen. It was a 1996 red Mustang GT convertible that was registered to your mother, Katherine McCormick.”

“It was a great car, Chief. But it wound up in the hands of a horrible woman.”

“It might just still be in her hands,” he said.

“I don’t understand.”

“A few hours ago I got a call from the engineers over at the hospital construction site. Your mom’s car was just dredged up from the bottom of Magic Pond.”

“My mom’s car? The Mustang? Are you sure?”

“Positive. The VIN checks out. It’s been underwater for a long time, so it’s covered with silt, but the air hasn’t touched it, so it’s still in good shape.”

“That’s crazy... but wait—how did it wind up in the pond?”

“That may take a while to figure out, but there are human remains in the driver’s seat. Female. I’m betting it’s the same woman who stole it. There’s a waterlogged purse on the front seat. We’re going through it now. How soon can you get here?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

I got through to my father, conferenced in my sister, and told them both the news. Finn was out the door of the restaurant and on his Harley before I hung up.

By the time I got there, Magic Pond looked like a war zone. The landscape was dotted with heavy equipment. A dam had been built in the middle of the pond so that water from one end could be temporarily stored on the opposite side while the excavators cleaned away a hundred years of sediment and debris, using a massive pump that sat atop a barge. They were only in the early stages of the operation, but they had already dredged the serenity, the tranquility, and the magic right out of it.

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