Aspen Allegations - A Sutton Massachusetts Mystery

Chapter 5

"Then how ..." His voice trailed off as he looked between us. At last he spoke again. "You must be Morgan," he started afresh, his voice holding a hint of wonder.

"I am," I agreed, curious.

He put out his hand. "I am Jeff Dixon," he introduced. "I'm John's son."

I took his hand, trying to hide the surprise that swept over me, but his mouth creased into a smile and he gave a soft shake of his head. "Everyone has that reaction," he assured me. "My father met my mother in Cambodia. She was a civil engineer working on a water project. She was already pregnant with me, but my birth father had been killed in the conflict. John was the only father I have ever known, and he was the best I could have hoped for." His eyes glistened with emotion for a moment. "I will miss him dearly."

He drew in a breath and turned to Jason. "And you must be the ranger, then. Jason, was it?"

Jason nodded, shaking his hand. "I'm sorry for your loss," he offered. "If there is anything we can do for you, please just ask."

Jeff looked between us. "You have already done so much," he insisted with feeling. "If it were not for you, he could have lain out there for weeks while I went crazy with worry. By the time we found him, he could have been –" His voice caught. "There are coyotes and raccoons in those woods," he finished after a moment. "You were a blessing, to find him so quickly."

"Your father did not suffer," consoled Jason in a low voice. "The M.E. said death was immediate."

"Another blessing," agreed Jeff. "One I am quite grateful for. I told Popovich that he should not feel any guilt at all. Anyone could have made that kind of mistake. My father loved to hunt, and their positions could easily have been reversed." He looked down at the coffin for a moment. "A tragic accident. And he had his health problems. He was nearing the end."

He pursed his lips in a line. "Still, he was so set on putting down his memoirs before he went. It had become an obsession for him, this past month, after his last trip to the doctor's. When Matthew brought that old PC for him to work on, I almost thought to myself, 'well, this is it.' I had a sense that my father would work furiously to get out the words, and then I would find him one morning, lying in bed, a glowing smile on his lips, his writing complete and his soul departed." He dropped his eyes. "I guess fate didn't offer him those last few weeks."

A tremor ran through me at my impudence, but I put voice to my thoughts. "I would like to offer to write your father's biography for you, as a gift to his memory."

He looked up at that in surprise, his gaze searching my face. "You are a writer?"

I nodded. "I write content for websites, and have always been interested in doing biographies of local Sutton residents. It would be an honor to write about your father's life."

His eyes held bright hope, but after a moment he shook his head. "I'm sure you're quite busy with your other projects," he demurred. "I appreciate your offer immensely, but I would not want to take your time with this."

I tilted my head to one side, trying to read his mood. "If you do not want me intruding, of course I understand." I looked down at the coffin for a moment. "But this is something that I feel strongly. Your father's story should be told. It would bring me contentment to be able to work on it."

There was a lightening to his features with that, and he looked at me fully. "Are you sure? This is something you want to do?"

At my nod he stepped forward, offering me a warm embrace. "Then, absolutely, I would be thrilled," he agreed with a wide smile. "I'm sure I will be busy for a week or two, with all the issues and paperwork that have only begun. But once that's handled, it would be my pleasure to sit with you and tell you what I know of him."

He put a finger to his lips in thought. "Maybe some of his friends would be willing to talk with you in the meantime," he considered. "They sometimes seemed hesitant to talk with me about his youth, as if a son should not hear such things. But with you being an outsider, they might be more open to frank discussion."

His eyes became serious. "I want his full story to be told, Morgan," he added. "He was not a man to polish horse dung. He loved to tell about life as it was, warts and all. He would want the entire saga told, whatever it held."

I nodded in understanding. "I will bring you whatever I find, and you can do with it as you wish," I promised.

Jeff turned to Jason. "And you will keep a close eye on her, as she does her research?" he asked with a smile.

Jason looked to me, a brightness coming to his eyes. "It would be an honor."

* * *

There wasn't really a coffee shop in Sutton – the Honey Dew Donuts on Route 146 South had shut down once they sealed off the cross-over with jersey barriers. That left only the Bagels and Kebobs place in the small strip-mall by the post office. Jason and I sat across from each other, him with a black coffee, me with my orange juice and freshly baked blueberry muffin.

The place was an odd juxtaposition of aromas and sights. The décor was casual New England, with formica tables, a tile floor, and a long counter stretching across the back. One corner held a bookshelf with assorted titles, and the lone female employee stared at the TV in an otherwise empty room.

Jason looked at me across our small table. "So, where do we begin?"

My cheeks warmed at the "we" statement and I dropped my gaze to my muffin. "You do not need to be dragged into my project," I demurred. "I admit this has become important to me, but I'm sure you have better things to do with your time than to squire me around."

"I would be happy to do it," he insisted gently. "Despite what you might believe, rangers don't discover dead bodies every day. Mostly we move dead trees and occasionally help with a skinned knee or a lost hiker. It's rare that we have any trouble with hunters in this part of Massachusetts. In fact, I don't know the last time we had an acc ... a situation like this."

I looked up at him. "So you are not so sure one of Popovich's shots had a wild ricochet?"

He hesitated for a long moment, then shook his head. "I've started wondering about it myself," he admitted. "That makes it even more important that I accompany you as you look into it. If there really is a person out there capable of shooting someone in cold blood, right now he or she thinks they've gotten away with it."

"It could still be an accident," I pointed out. "Maybe it was another hunter, he shot John by accident, then fled. Maybe some strange coincidence caused Popovich not to hear it."

His brows creased, but he nodded. "We should consider every angle. You never know when an unlikely situation could be the truth."

I took a bite of the muffin. "When I read a memoir or biography, it always starts at the beginning. I think we should find those three friends of his from his youth and see what John was like then. That might help us understand why he volunteered to serve in Vietnam; how he endured the 'smell of napalm in the morning' and came out the other end."

Jason nodded in agreement. "Beginning with his childhood makes sense. Do you know how to find these people?"

"Matthew had said that one of his friends, Sam Sares, went to work for his father's dairy farm. I would have to guess that was Sares Dairy over on Nipmuc Road. They have a store area which is open daily even this time of year. I was thinking of taking a run over there tomorrow. Maybe we can lure him out for lunch or dinner and see what he has to say."

"What time would you like me to pick you up?"

I glanced up at that. He gave a soft shrug, spreading his hands. "It doesn't make sense for two of us to be driving all over Sutton," he pointed out easily, "and my work hours are flexible. I do most of my ranger work around dawn, in hunting season, to make sure the hunters are following state laws."

I nodded. "I tend to be a night owl, with the work I do on my websites," I admitted. "That way my changes are done when most people are asleep. Shall we say seven p.m.?"

"I will be there," he agreed. "We will see what Sam has to tell us about John, back before he had experienced Vietnam's thunder."