Dunston Falls Page 2

  Peck said, “It would be better if you could get the kids to the church or hospital for a few days. Bring food, blankets and whatever water you can manage.”

  Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “We don’t have a portable radio, sheriff. How much longer is the storm expected to last?”

  “The weather service said another week, but power could be down for several weeks to a month,” Peck said in between sips of hot chocolate.

  “Weeks to a month?” Bill said. “We don’t have enough food to last that long.”

  “Nobody does, but the hospital has a freezer and so does the diner,” Peck said. “We’ll manage.”

  “I’ll start packing,” Mrs. Johnson said.

  Bill turned to his wife. “Don’t forget that case of Coca Cola in the basement. At seven cents a bottle, we might as well drink it.”

  Peck handed Bill his cup. “Thanks for the coco. I’ll see you in town.”

  Peck drove the snowmobile down a long, ice-covered dirt road on his way to his tenth stop of the morning. By the time he reached the driveway of Deb Robertson’s home, his slicker was encased in a frozen layer of ice. He shook it off, feeling like a wet dog as he walked up the two flights of steps to the front door.

  Deb Robertson opened the door before Peck knocked. “I heard the snowmobile,” she said. She was a slim and very attractive woman of forty-five, with shoulder length, dark hair and gray eyes that were positively haunting.

  Peck pulled the hood of the slicker off his face and stomped his feet to get some feeling going.

  “What are you doing out in weather like this, sheriff?” Deb said.

  “This storm. We have a statewide emergency. People need to be notified.”

  Deb held the door open for Peck and stepped out of the way. “For God’s sake, come inside before you freeze to death.”

  Logs crackled in the stone fireplace as Deb poured Peck a cup of coffee in the living room, where he sat on the sofa. Although rustic in design, the home contained every modern appliance and convenience of the day. Somehow, Deb managed to bring together the old and the new and make it fit so her home had an engaging and comfortable feel to it, like an old style bed and breakfast.

  “I have a generator.” Deb explained. “I’ve been running it every two hours for fifteen minutes.” She poured a cup for herself and sat down next to Peck on the sofa.

  “I have enough firewood out back to last until spring, so I’m not worried about myself.”

  Peck sipped the hot coffee, felt it warm his stomach. “Can you run the diner by generator?”

  “For as long as the gas holds out, maybe a week.”

  “We’ll need it,” Peck said. “We’re setting up the hospital and church as shelters. We could have as much as two hundred people living in town by tonight. What do you have for food in storage?”

  “I just had a delivery. Several weeks of frozen, a month of canned goods, but there is no way I can make it there in this.”

  “I’ll stop back before dark and give you a lift.”

  “Wait. Don’t go just yet. It’s so… creepy without the radio or TV. Just that ice hitting the roof. Not even a wind.” She nodded her head toward the massive, color television against the wall, which was more a piece of furniture than anything else was in the room. A large screen, color probably, encased in a walnut cabinet with doors that were presently closed and polished to a high shine.

  Peck followed her eyes to the television cabinet, which looked like an RCA, then he looked at Deb and she smiled at him. “I still need to reach a lot of people before dark,” he said.

  Deb reached for the coffeepot, which rested on a coaster on the coffee table. “Five minutes won’t make a bit of difference.” She refilled Peck’s cup and her own.

  “Okay to smoke?”

  “Sure.”

  Peck removed his cigarettes from an inside pocket and lit one.

  “I quit,” Deb said. “Ten years ago, but I could pick one up like it was five minutes ago.”

  “So did I, but I started back up again.”

  “How come?”

  Peck thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

  Deb nodded her head. “What time will you pick me up?”

  Peck glanced at his watch. “Four okay?”

  Deb nodded. “Don’t be late.”

  The sun was low in the dark sky when Peck reached Fire road 99. The barrage of hail made it difficult enough to see in daylight. After dark, it would be impossible. He turned the snowmobile around and headed back to Deb Robertson’s home.

  During the fifty-minute drive to her home, Peck’s mind began to wander a bit. Deb Robertson was a very attractive woman and the way she smiled at him led him to believe she might be interested in more than just a ride to town. He toyed with the idea and reached the conclusion that his imagination had taken a turn down the wrong way of a one-way street. This was a time of emergency and stress levels were on high, it was only natural she might appear overly responsive and more friendly than normal. As he neared her home, Peck dismissed the idea from his mind and concentrated on the task before him, ensuring the public’s safety.

  When Peck arrived at her home, Deb was dressed and ready to go. She wore a full-length winter raincoat, snowmobile boots and a plastic scarf covering a winter hat. “It isn’t glamorous, but it’s dry,” she said of the scarf.

  Deb hopped on back of the snowmobile and held Peck around the waist. “Hold on,” Peck said as he gunned the engine.

  Driving along the slick, ice covered dirt roads, Peck was aware of Deb’s hands around his waist. Even through his heavy jacket, they had a warming affect. He was uncertain if she knew what he was feeling, but he decided to keep it to himself.

  Forty-five minutes later, Peck slowed the snowmobile to a stop in front of Deb’s Diner. She climbed off and smiled at Peck. “My bones are rattling. Can you do me a favor and go around back and start the generator?”

  Peck spun around to the rear of the diner where a large generator sat inside a wood hut against the building. He parked the snowmobile, used a log to smash through the ice, and opened the door of the hut. He primed the engine, put the generator on start and pulled the cord. It started on the third pull, smoked and sputtered a bit, then roared to life.

  Satisfied the generator would run, Peck mounted the snowmobile and drove to Main Street where he parked in front of the hospital. Dim light from candles were noticeable from the street. Peck shook off ice and entered the hospital through the front entrance. Dozens of town residents were milling about, looking to settle in. Some knew him by name and greeted Peck as he walked through the lobby to the small, hospital lounge. Entering the lounge, Peck found Doctor Tom McCoy at the table. Two candles burned for reading light as McCoy scribbled notes on a pad. He took a sip of coffee from a mug and looked at Peck.

  “It isn’t good, but it’s hot,” McCoy said.

  Peck lifted the metal pot from the burner behind McCoy and filled a mug, then took a seat at the table opposite the doctor. “How many have showed up so far?” Peck said.

  “Maybe thirty, but they’re still rolling in.”

  “What can you squeeze out of your generator?”

  McCoy glanced at his pad. “I was just figuring that. At two hour intervals, I have enough gas for three days.”

  “And no woodstove for backup.”

  McCoy shook his head. “This is a hospital, not a hunting lodge.” At thirty-five, McCoy was slim of build and average in height. His sandy hair was medium in length, his brown eyes soft in nature. His ears were a bit too large for his face, but not unappealing to look at. “It’s going to get cold in here when the gas runs dry.”

  Peck removed his cigarettes and lit one. He mulled the situation around in his mind. “We have some gas cans in the basement garage, but it’s not enough to run the hospital and church for more than a day or so extra.”

  McCoy stood up to refill his mug. “I could use it.”

 
; Peck said, “I’ve been out all day. Is there any news on the storm?”

  The lounge door opened and Father Regan walked in. “I just had my transistor radio on. It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” he said. “And by the way, does anybody have some extra 9 volt batteries?”

  “I might have some,” Peck said. “I’ll check. If not, it might be a good idea to get the drugstore open.”

  “I have an extra key around here someplace,” McCoy said. “I’ll take a look and give it to you, Dave.”

  Peck nodded.

  McCoy filled another mug with coffee and offered it to the priest. Regan took a sip and made a face. “That’s awful, Tom.”

  “But hot,” McCoy said.

  Regan took a chair next to Peck. The priest was a tall man of fifty, with broad shoulders and no fat on his waist. His thinning hair was brown and speckled with gray. A twinkle shown in his blue eyes that had a calming affect on his parishioners, as did his soothing voice.

  “How are you doing, father?” Peck said.

  “I’ve got three dozen families living in the church basement. I need cots, blankets, food and heat, but most of all heat.”

  “How are you on gas?”

  Regan shook his head at Peck. “Not nearly enough. Three days if I conserve.”

  “Conserve,” Peck said.

  McCoy sat down and looked at Peck. “We have to be able to do something other than conserve, Dave? Maybe we can send somebody to the paper company for help?”

  “That’s a forty five mile trip,” Regan said. “Each way. No one will make that in this storm.”

  “Yeah, but they have those trucks which could drive through anything. They could load up on supplies and be here in two days,” McCoy said.

  “I could try to reach them by radio,” Peck said. “In the meantime, we have to do whatever we can to make sure people are safe. That means we do whatever it takes.”

  Father Regan and McCoy looked at Peck. In unison, they nodded their heads.

  A fire crackled in the woodstove in the corner of Peck’s office as he lit a cigarette and looked at Bender and Ed Kranston. Warmth radiated from the stove and spread throughout the room, raising the temperature to a comfortable level.

  Bender sat behind his desk and doodled on a pad with a pencil. Kranston occupied the chair opposite Peck’s desk. Peck looked at the town manager and waited for him to speak.

  “My bones,” Kranston complained. “Something happens to a man when he turns sixty. It seems impossible to get warm.” He removed a fresh stick of gum from his pack and placed it in his mouth.

  Peck reached into the bottom desk drawer for an unopened, bottle of scotch. “Will this help?”

  Kranston looked at the scotch. “That’s the bottle I gave you for Christmas.”

  Peck removed the seal and twisted off the cap. “Got any glasses, Jay?”

  Bender opened a desk drawer and removed a sleeve of plastic cups. “From the Christmas party,” he explained.

  Peck poured two fingers of scotch into three cups, and then gave one cup to each man.

  Kranston tossed his gum into a trashcan, then took a shallow sip of the liquor and grimaced. “Next year, remind me to get you the good stuff.”

  “I wouldn’t know what the good stuff is on a cop’s pension.” Peck lit a cigarette and turned to Bender. “How many candles we have left?”

  “A box of a dozen,” Bender said. “I can probably get more from the church if we need to.”

  “I seem to remember a kerosene lantern around here somewhere,” Kranston said.

  “I think it’s in the tax office. Want me to check?” Bender said.

  Peck nodded and Bender stood up and left the room.

  Kranston took another sip of scotch. “The batteries in my short wave went dead. I can’t contact Augusta or anybody else for an update.”

  “Mine are low, but I got enough for a few more calls. I can always bring it to the hospital and run it off the generator.”

  “Good idea. Speaking of the hospital, what’s the situation look like?” Kranston asked.

  “By tomorrow, a hundred people in the hospital and church. It’s going to get crowded, but at least it will be warm and the food will be hot for a while.”

  “Hot?”

  “Deb’s running the diner off a generator for as long as she can.”

  Bender returned with a kerosene lantern. “Got it.” He struck a match and ignited the lantern, then blew out the burning candles.

  Kranston shook his head. “Hygiene is going to be a mess. With just a few bathrooms and no running water, it’s going to get ugly quick.”

  Bender sat behind his desk, opened a drawer and removed a Hershey Bar. “Remember the state fair we had for the Fourth?”

  Kranston turned to look at Bender.

  “Those six portable toilets we rented,” Bender said. “Remember?”

  “We can’t exactly rent them in…...”

  “No,” Bender said. “We never returned them. They’re still sitting in the garage over at the landfill. Nobody ever came to pick them up after they were emptied and cleaned.”

  Peck leaned forward in his seat. “That’s right.”

  “I’ll see which good ole boys got their trucks next door and go pick a few up,” Bender said. “We could set two in back of the church and hospital. Maybe another out back of Deb’s.”

  “Excellent,” Kranston said.

  “Might as well get started,” Bender said.

  “Bring your walkie-talkie,” Peck said. “I don’t need you getting lost out there in this.”

  Bender picked up his walkie-talkie, stuck it in his jacket pocket, grinned at Peck and left the room.

  “He’s turning out to be a fine deputy,” Kranston said. “I had my doubts at first, but not anymore.”

  Peck nodded his agreement. “I hesitated to hire a man without experience, but Jay has proven to be a fast learner with a good feel for the job. We might want to consider a raise for him.”

  “When this is over, maybe we’ll talk about that. First, and as soon as we’re able, I want to call a town meeting to talk about a revision to the budget,” Kranston said. “We need to be more proactive in our emergency planning, even if it means higher taxes.”

  “Higher taxes?” Peck said. “Come on, Ed, gas is up to thirty cents a gallon as it is. Cigarettes are what, forty cents a pack?”

  “I know it, but there is no other way to generate the income we…”

  Peck held up his right hand. “Hold on, Ed. I just thought of something. We don’t need the generator at the church to run during the day, do we?”

  “I suppose not. Why?”

  “I can have it moved to the gas station to run the pumps and fill the gas cans. We can power the hospital, church and diner for weeks.”

  “He just got a delivery the other day, didn’t he? Those tanks should be close to full. Good idea, Dave.”

  “I have another good idea, Ed. Let’s find out what Deb has on the grill. You can finish telling me about higher taxes over Deb’s meatloaf.”

  It was a full house at the diner. All twenty tables and the dozen counter stools sat occupied. The dishwasher, a Mexican named Paco Ramirez acted as a messenger to the church and hospital, informing town residents of empty tables. Father Regan and Doctor McCoy assigned seating arrangements to keep things orderly. Everybody, it seemed, did their part to make things as comfortable as possible while they rode out the storm.

  Peck and Kranston shared a table near the window. There was nothing fancy about the diner. It could have been one of thousands anywhere in the country. Tabletops were green, the counter held a dozen backless stools. The order of the day was Deb’s prized meatloaf special with gravy and mashed potatoes. Peck resisted the temptation to ask her for seconds, opting to fill his stomach with bread and a slice of apple pie for dessert.

  As Kranston sipped coffee, he studied Peck. “I knew it was the right move bringing you in, Dave. Remember our first meeting?” />
  Peck looked up from his apple pie. “Yes, I do.”

  Eighteen months ago, Peck met Kranston in Cole Farms restaurant in the small town of Gray, some six hours south of Dunston Falls. Peck made the trip from Baltimore the previous day, stayed over in a small motel in the nearby town of Windham and then met Kranston for their planned, luncheon meeting. For a small restaurant in the middle of nowhere, the pot roast was excellent and Peck had seconds.

  Kranston had a copy of Peck’s resume and cover letter. “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Peck. I was surprised and pleased when thirty-five police captains and detectives like yourself answered my ad for sheriff. However, not a one of them was as honest and forthright as you were in your letter.”

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Kranston,” Peck said.

  “No, I do. It makes my choice rather easy.” Kranston picked up Peck’s resume and studied it briefly. “You spent fourteen years as a patrolman, thirteen years as a detective in vice and homicide. You retired as a lieutenant. Dozens of citations and awards, it is all very impressive. However, what struck me is what you said in your letter. That you were applying for the position simply because after two years in retirement you were bored.”

  “That’s true and I am,” Peck said.

  A waitress stopped by to refill their coffee cups.

  “Where else can you get coffee for a nickel with unlimited refills?” Kranston said.

  “Your ad said this is a new position, Mr. Kranston. Is that correct?’

  “Yes. Dunston Falls is a very small town, Mr. Peck,” Kranston said. “However, it sits on a vast amount of land owned by the Great Northern Paper Company. Do you know anything about paper?”

  “It’s good for writing,” Peck said.

  Kranston smiled. “True, but in today’s modern era, it is used more and more for things like paper plates and party goods, frozen dinners and so on. That means expansion. That means Dunston Falls will grow and we need to grow along with it.”