Monroe was a small town that lay in the past. The wooden shacks and houses found no pattern to where they stood and how they looked. Their designs reflected the characters of the families that built them. Mostly, they were the families that still lived in them. Along the dusty road, that drifted out of the heart of the town, sat a brightly painted house. The road and the property had encroached into the forest and so this house was mainly hidden by tall pines and the sweeping hillside that rolled around the back. This was the only brightly coloured house outside of Main Street and was a lure to anyone who passed by. Through one of the front windows, a kind-faced lady peered out and watched as the sheriff’s sedan pulled up at the main gate. The dust was whipped up into the air by the vehicle and the plume drifted past on a gentle breeze. A breeze not strong enough to add any comfort to anyone under the baking sun. The lady placed a washed glass down to drain by the sink and dried her hands with a cloth. The sheriff often dropped by on all the town’s residents, and it wasn’t uncommon for the sheriff to make informal visits to this particular house, but on this occasion is was different. The lady noticed his manner of driving and the expression that creased his usually charming looks and knew instantly that something was wrong. All of her immediate family were in the back yard and so she didn’t fear for their safety, but she knew everyone in town and considered them all dear. Sheriff Glick had only managed to get as far as the front yard when the lady emerged onto the porch. She clenched the cloth in her hand and squeezed it in anticipation of bad news.
“Sheriff?” said the Lady.
“Mrs Van de Veld?” replied the sheriff, in a respectful tone. “May I have a brief word with you? It is important.”
“Please Sheriff, how many times?”
“Sorry, Ida. May I have a word?”
Ida Van de Veld and Sheriff Glick were childhood friends. She could never understand why he spoke to her in such a formal way. For all his respectability as an officer of the law, it was not forgotten that he was once a rude young man who used to call Ida names and pull her pigtails.
“What is it, Sheriff? What has happened?”
“There has been another killing. I’m afraid that this time it is far worse than the others?”
“My goodness James, how can it be any worse? Surely nothing worse could come after the last…murder.”
“The Birch’s,” said the sheriff, solemnly.
“Which one?”
“All of them!”
Ida dropped to the ground in shock. She was close to the Birch’s. She had been a close friend of Dale. She broke down and wept at the thought of the loss of a whole family. A family that meant so much to her. The sheriff stood quietly at her side. He was hurting too, but tried hard to show a stronger side. One that everyone knew he didn’t possess, yet still he tried to portray it. He placed a comforting hand on Ida’s shoulder and waited for her to regain herself.
“I need you to talk to your family. They need to keep an eye out for any strangers wandering around. Anything unusual, then call us. We need every eye in town watching and paying close attention. This is important Mrs Van…I mean Ida. Do you have any weapons?”
Ida nodded. “Two shotguns.”
“You need to have them loaded and ready. One by each door to the house. Loaded and ready to go. You’re gonna have to teach your boys to not touch them of course, but this is serious now. I suggest you prepare yourself. Hopefully it’s all ended, but we can’t take that chance.”
“Sheriff,” exclaimed Ida. “Your shirt is stained. Red sauce?”
“That’s not possible, I haven’t had any….oh my, I do apologise Ida. Now how has that got on my shirt?”
Ida wiped the stain with her cloth.
“I don’t often find myself in a scruffy way like this. Well that is a mystery aint it. I guess the boys down at the courthouse got carried away with their breakfast this morning. Thank you, Ida.”
The two talked together for a while before the gentle sheriff made his excuses and left, in order to visit the next property. As he drove off down the dirt road, Ida watched him disappear into a cloud of dust and haze and then looked out into the dense patches of pines that protected her home. As ever, all was normal and still. The birds chirped happily and the family’s horses grazed around the small clumps of grass that interspersed the trees.
The town was small and had suffered two previous events that had rocked the community. There was no secret to what had happened. News travelled fast around the town and gossip and speculation were all some had to pass their days. The first murder had occurred nearly three weeks prior. An old woodcutter, named Chuck, had been butchered in the tub. He had been intimately assaulted and then sliced into four large pieces. He was found in his bath. The scene was clean. Not a trace of blood. This was unbelievable in such a small and close community. However, the situation only got worse. Just over a week later, an elderly spinster, named Miss Jolie, was also found in her house, dead. There were no signs of a break-in, only this time, her body had been dragged around the house. There seemed to be enough blood for both murders at this one scene. Wild speculation by some had concluded, unofficially, that Chuck’s blood was found in Miss Jolie’s house. Apparently, the killer had saved it for a special occasion. Of course, there was no way that this could ever be determined for sure, but it made for a good story around the town. This recent mass killing was an escalation that was becoming too hard for most to bear. Ida Van de Veld, like everyone else, was now living in fear. The sheriff’s theory had placed responsibility for the killings squarely at a stranger. It wasn’t for the town’s people to second guess his theory. After all, he was the expert when it came to crime and investigations. Fear had built and built over those last few weeks and this new incident only sought to heighten tensions.
Ida paused and tried to concentrate hard on her surroundings. Leaves swayed on occasion and small critters darted from place to place. The pines that encircled the house broke up the view and made it hard to see anything with any clarity. Everything seemed normal. She returned to the porch, stopping to look about once again. We could be next, she thought, as she entered into the cool of the house. We could be next and no-one was near enough to help them.
Her paranoia was suddenly broken by her memory of the lemonade. It was her son’s birthday and she had been looking to fix a pitcher of lemonade when she had seen the sheriff arrive. She hurried back into the kitchen and picked out a number of glasses and arranged them around the edge of a tray, with the freshly made lemonade gracing the centre. She balanced the tray and then strode out down the central passage and out through the back door. Her concern dissipated as she saw her two children running around the back yard, joking and laughing. The terror of what had happened over at the Birch’s place could wait. This was a happy time and Ida was keen to keep it that way.
“Jake,” she said. “A glass of lemonade for the birthday boy? Joel, do you want a glass too? It’s a hot day, so you both need plenty to keep you going.”
The two boys darted around. Their mop hair swishing around as they went. They sure did look like their daddy. Ida was now a single mother. Her husband had died in a tree felling accident when the two boys were still very young. She saw him every day in her two boys. They were turning out like him, which was a good thing as he was a fine man. Her brother, Dylan, was always on hand to help out and be a stand-in father figure. Dylan lay in a hammock, completely oblivious to what was going on around him. The heat had sent him to sleep some hours ago. Ida watched the fun from her seat in the shade. She smiled and laughed at the boy’s antics, but couldn’t stop her mind drifting to thoughts of the Birch’s.