Chocolate Heart Smash
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The sheriff of New Bern was a big man with a square jaw, gray hair, and bushy eyebrows. He sat on the front porch in his wooden rocking chair with his feet propped up on the rail. The afternoon sun shone brightly over the harbor.
He wore a white shirt with a blue vest that looked like it had been ironed but hadn’t. A pistol hung at his hip holster. It was Colt’s revolver in a brown leather case. “That’s a fine-looking revolver,” Sam said as he handed him a small brown box wrapped in wax paper.
“Thanks.” Sheriff James took out the package. “You must be new to town. I can tell by your accent you’re not from around here.”
Sam shrugged. “Just got off the train this morning.”
“So am I,” the sheriff said, putting the box back into the bag. He turned away.
The sheriff’s office wasn’t much larger than a closet in a house; there was no desk or bookshelf to put the items on. Instead, he had a couple filing cabinets along one wall. His desk held nothing but a blotter and three ledgers—two for tax records and one for keeping track of licenses.
One ledger had the names and addresses of all residents listed alphabetically under their last names. Another ledger had a list of all business transactions. There were two other ledgers for special events: weddings, funerals, and bingo games.
Each event was recorded with an entry in each ledger. “I suppose I should have given this to the undertaker,” Sheriff James said as he picked up the first ledger from his desk and thumbed through it.
“You don’t have a funeral parlor?” Sam asked.
“No.”
“Why not? You’re the only person in town who has a license.”
The sheriff frowned as he flipped to the page listing businesses. “There are five morticians in Raleigh and another four in Wilmington,” he said, “and they charge twice what I do.”
“How do you stay in business then?”
“Well, we don’t have any churches. We do have the courthouse, which is where most people go to church these days anyway.” The sheriff paused while he searched for something, his brow creased deep between his eyes. “We have no bars,” he continued. “It used to be a popular place to drink when our city fathers allowed it, but now it’s just the occasional tavern. And there’s no gambling in New Bern.”
“What about bingo?” Sam asked.
“Bingo!” He looked surprised. “That’s a strange game.”
“Strange enough so that it might cause some trouble if I started running it in New Bern.”
“Then why aren’t you in Raleigh or Wilmington or even Charlotte?”
“Because I don’t want to work for anyone else.” Sam grinned. “And I’m not ready to settle down yet either.”
“So what kind of funeral home are you going to open?”
Sam hesitated. For the past few weeks, he’d been trying to figure out what kind of funeral parlor he wanted to start. But he couldn’t decide if he would buy an existing one or build a brand-new one from scratch. So far he hadn’t come up with a solution.
He didn’t know how many funeral directors were already in the area. He didn’t think the county required a license until a year after it was established, which was why he thought he had plenty of time to make a decision. “I haven’t decided yet,” he finally answered.
“But whatever it is, I’ll need space for a viewing room, embalming rooms, caskets, hearses, and limousines.” He glanced toward the sheriff’s office windows that faced onto High Street. “Will you need a license before I open?”
Sheriff James shook his head. “Not if you don’t plan on charging money for anything. I mean, you can run bingo games and raise funds for charities, but you still don’t need a license unless you intend to take money from people for services rendered.”
“If I charge people money—”
“That won’t be necessary. You can give them free services and they won’t mind.”
“I hope not.”
“They don’t mind,” the sheriff assured him. “People like the idea of getting free services. They’ll pay for the entertainment at a carnival, for example, because they enjoy the experience. A lot of women play bingo every week. It doesn’t matter how often they win or lose, as long as they’ve got fun and feel good afterward.”
“Do they ever get angry when they lose?”
“Never,” the sheriff said. “It’s not gambling, it’s a game, and people who play games are rarely upset about losing. People are always happy when they win.”
“I guess,” Sam said, frowning again. He couldn’t see it that way. How could someone not care if they lost something? If you paid for a meal, did you really care if the cook forgot to give you extra food or served you cold fish?
“You don’t agree?” Sheriff James asked.
Sam shrugged as he watched his horse walk across the street to stand in front of a stable. He’d forgotten to ask where he should tie her. “A couple times,” he admitted reluctantly.
“Then you’ve never owned a store?”
“No.”
The sheriff nodded as Sam pulled the reins. “Then you can understand. But you won’t be working for me long enough for it to matter.”
Sam glanced at the sheriff and found him smiling again. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing,” the sheriff said, waving away Sam’s question. “Just that you’ll probably be in here tomorrow night to let me know how many bodies you need to be hauled to the morgue.”
***
Sam’s first funeral director job lasted just six days. After that, he spent a day in the sheriff’s office searching through files and making copies of various death certificates and newspaper articles concerning murders that occurred in New Bern.
He also copied a list of crimes that took place in Raleigh, Wilmington, and Charlotte over the last two years. He didn’t read the actual news accounts, though; he simply checked off each crime that involved a body being transported to the coroner’s office and then handed it back to the sheriff’s secretary.
He wasn’t sure if this was going to prove useful. His main concern was finding out if there were any murderers in the area or if they came from somewhere else and killed and buried their victims in New Bern.
But he also wanted to see what kind of cases the sheriff investigated in those cities. He hoped to find some similarities or differences in these unsolved crimes. That way he would have a better chance of solving some of them himself.
In the evenings he walked around town and tried to get a sense of who lived there. Most of the people he met were friendly, though he did have one woman throw a cup of coffee in his face. The next morning she apologized in person and told him she was sorry for yelling.
She asked how much money he was planning to charge and then gave him a card for a local restaurant where half-priced lunches were offered.
As soon as he left, Sam turned to the sheriff’s secretary and asked about lunch specials. He picked a seafood salad from the menu and paid cash. When he returned to the office, he had another meeting with the sheriff and was told that his work schedule would change slightly.
For the rest of July, he would work four days and get three days off. During his time off he intended to visit the mortuary school in Baltimore.
When he returned to work the following Monday, the sheriff handed Sam an envelope containing the names of ten men who died in the past year. “I’m giving you this list in case you run across one of their relatives or friends.”
“Thank you.”
Sheriff James smiled again. “I’ve only given it to one other man. No one else is allowed to have a copy.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want anyone else knowing where it’s kept. I’m not going to tell you not to look at the names because you might decide to take your business elsewhere.”
“What if I can help with the investigation?”
“How so?”
“If I can find out which one of these deaths is related to the others—”
“Which ones?”
“There were a couple of suspicious circumstances involving a few of them.”
“We’ll see,” Sheriff James said. “But I doubt you will. Most of the people on the list were old and dying anyway.”
Sam waited until Sheriff James left before opening the letter. He counted seven names written on the outside. There was no address. Just names, dates of birth and death. He opened the letter and read:
Sheriff James asked me to give this list to you. Please keep it confidential. You can make copies of it but return all the originals to my desk by Friday morning. I will be taking this list with me to Baltimore this weekend to meet with a professor at Johns Hopkins University. He is studying the number of murders in this state and hopes to use the information to prevent more deaths. It seems like a good idea to me too.
Sam looked up when he heard footsteps behind him. He expected to see the sheriff’s secretary coming in from a break. Instead, he saw Sam standing alone at the sheriff’s desk.
He turned and was startled to see the sheriff sitting across from him. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought we should talk,” the sheriff answered.
“We already talked,” Sam said. “And I’m not interested in helping you.”
“That’s why I stopped in to offer you an alternative.”
“You mean you’re going to tell the coroner’s office that you gave me a copy of this list?”
“No. I’m telling you now. Then I expect you to keep your word.”
“It’s none of your business who I choose to do business with.”
The sheriff leaned forward and put both elbows on the desk. “I know you have a lot of questions to ask. I hope you find the answers you need to continue your training. If you need anything, let me know.”
“I’m sure you will,” Sam muttered under his breath as the sheriff left the office. Sam stared down at the list in front of him and knew exactly what he was going to do. After he made copies, he placed the original back in the envelope.
He then sat down and began to review the cases listed on the sheet. As he did, he wondered what the sheriff had been hoping to accomplish with his list. Was he hoping to convince Sam to leave New Bern? Maybe he believed that Sam would never find a solution unless he went through someone else’s case first. Either way, the sheriff was wrong.
***
On Sam’s third day of work, he found himself on his own for most of the afternoon. Sheriff James had gone to Washington for a conference. So Sam spent the day visiting the funeral home and talking with staff members, the undertakers who ran each case, and the families who lost loved ones.
At one point during his tour, he passed by two undertakers who were discussing how best to prepare a casket for a funeral service. The conversation didn’t interest him until he overheard them say something about a new embalming technique. He couldn’t believe it took two people to perform such a simple task, so he moved closer and listened carefully.
They spoke of adding a special chemical agent to the embalming solution to remove the odor of decomposition from a body. “The smell is strong and sometimes overwhelming,” one of them explained. “Especially after an extended period of time or if there are multiple bodies.”
Both men agreed that using this solution sounded like a great idea. They also wanted to try it on some of their older and sicklier patients. In the meantime, they would have to use other methods. One of them said, “Maybe the smell would be tolerable if it wasn’t so strong. But once it gets inside the house…”
His voice trailed off while he thought over the implications. Did this mean the undertaker could keep the corpse longer without the family being able to detect a foul odor?
While Sam continued walking toward the front door, he glanced around to see if anyone noticed him listening in. It seemed as though everyone was busy preparing for a funeral.
When he reached the main entrance, Sam went straight to his room rather than stopping by the kitchen to get a sandwich and soda pop. He needed some quiet time. He lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling.
His thoughts kept returning to the two undertakers. The first one hadn’t mentioned a chemical formula to help kill the smell. Had the second one just made up that part of the story? Or was it true? Sam closed his eyes and focused on breathing in and out, hoping to calm himself down. But nothing helped; not even a drink of water.
Sam’s mind drifted back to his conversation with the sheriff in which he told Sam there weren’t any real murderers in New Bern. That bothered Sam more than he realized, but he tried hard not to think too deeply about it. Now, with the new embalming procedure, maybe he had stumbled upon evidence of a murderer. What he didn’t understand was why the undertaker wanted to conceal it.
Was the undertaker afraid he was about to be discovered? Why would a person want to hide such a discovery? If so, Sam was glad he hadn’t given the list of murder cases to the coroner’s office. No matter how many cases he examined, Sam still suspected the sheriff’s list was incomplete.
The undertaker might have been willing to give up a few names on the list, but would he be ready to reveal all of them?
What Sam did know was that he wouldn’t give up his investigation without a fight. He didn’t care what happened to his training program. All he cared about was finding justice for those who lost their lives unjustly.
***
Two days later, Sam decided to visit the sheriff again since he’d returned from Washington. On the ride downtown, Sam thought about how much had changed in only three months. Three months ago, he’d had no clue what to expect as he boarded a train bound for New Bern. But now, he could clearly visualize his future.
“Do you want to come in?” The sheriff motioned to the open doorway as soon as Sam got near enough.
“Thanks,” Sam said as he stepped into the office and looked around.
Sheriff James pulled out a chair and sat down across from Sam. “How was your trip back east?”
“Long,” Sam replied. “But it seems like I’ve learned a lot.”
The sheriff nodded but said nothing. Then he stood up and paced across the office before saying anything else. “I’m glad you’re finally getting to use your training.”
“You mean I can start helping solve murders?” Sam asked excitedly.
The sheriff shook his head. “It hasn’t exactly worked out like that,” he answered. “In fact, we don’t have any cases right now.”
“Why not?” Sam demanded. “Don’t you think that’s strange?”
Sheriff James paused for a moment. “We’ve received several letters from families of the victims, but none of them want us to do anything further. They think it would bring undue attention to their loved ones’ deaths. In the meantime, our coroner wants us to take some tests on the dead bodies. But the problem is, I haven’t found anyone qualified to do the work yet.”
“Well, what about me?” Sam said. “Am I not qualified enough? You must realize how excited I am to begin.”
The sheriff leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You are certainly capable of performing some basic tests, but we have a problem with you working here full-time.” He hesitated. “That is, unless you’re willing to change your position. We need someone who can fill the role of deputy marshal.”
For a moment, Sam forgot what he was supposed to say. How could he turn down such a job opportunity? And why wasn’t anyone telling him directly that his services were needed?
Then he remembered his promise to Mrs. Smith to stay away from her nephews. Sam’s heart sank. He couldn’t tell the sheriff that was one of his conditions when he took the job.
He also knew he shouldn’t accept a position that would prevent him from pursuing the truth of the murder cases.
“No, thanks,” he finally responded. “I prefer to work alone.”
Sheriff James looked at Sam as though he’d made a horrible mistake. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam said quickly. “I’m sorry, but I just feel like I should keep my distance.”
The sheriff stared at Sam in silence for a moment. He looked so disappointed that Sam wished he could go back in time and undo his decision to quit school.
Finally, Sheriff James sighed and nodded. “I understand. It’s unfortunate, but I can’t force you to accept the position.”
As the sheriff turned and walked toward his desk, Sam wondered if there was another way. Maybe he could get permission to continue his training even after accepting a job here. Was there such a thing as a part-time deputy marshal?
Sheriff James opened the drawer of his desk and took out a letter. He read through it before handing it to Sam. “You’re invited to join the U.S. Marshals Service in Washington,” he said. “They would like to have you on board by May first.”
Sam didn’t know whether to smile or frown. The U.S. Marshals sounded good, except for the part about being sworn into office before a judge, but this was an incredible opportunity to prove himself worthy of working with real federal lawmen.
“Congratulations,” Sheriff James said and slapped Sam on the shoulder as he passed behind him. “But please don’t forget about us.”
Sam smiled as he watched the sheriff leave the office. He was already thinking about what he’d say to his boss in Washington. He didn’t care if he was hired on probation; he just wanted to be accepted into the U.S. Marshal program.
The End