The Wall Lake Mystery

Chapter 19: The Post Office Woman

It was half-past noon when Holmes found me in the dining room. I had already eaten and was halfheartedly perusing The Des Moines Register.

"Ah, Watson," said Holmes, sitting down across from me. "Catching up on local news, are we?"

"As much as possible, though I don't think it will be of much help. There is little detail here about that which we know, and even less about that which we don't." I flipped open the Wall Lake Journal of a month earlier. "Even the details of Hugh's death are glossed over in favour of a lengthy obituary, informing us that the services 'were attended by a large concourse of relatives and friends, who thus testified to his worth' and that 'the deceased has always endeavoured to so live as to give no just cause for offense, taking for his guide the golden rule.'"

"Helpful for the morale of a small community in shock, but not so helpful for our purposes," Holmes replied. "We shall have to consult other sources if we are to have any hope of useful news."

I chuckled at his words, then recounted the conversation I'd had with the woman Maggie Wilcox. Holmes' response was not what I expected.

"Certainly learning what you may from the town busybody cannot hurt," said he.

I stared at him. "You think I should speak with this Pattison woman?"

"It isn't as though you have anything more useful to do at the moment."

That stung more than it ought to have. I opened my mouth to retort, but thought better of it, and instead departed for the local postal office.

I was frustrated greatly by the time I arrived and was overtired enough—not to mention my lunch had not settled properly—that I had a rather difficult time hiding my sour mood.

The woman behind the counter looked up from the papers before her as I entered. She appeared to be close to my age, but her hair and dress were the style of an older woman. "Penny for your thoughts, Doc," said Pattison, resting her elbows on the counter.

I gave a dry laugh and made to reply when it dawned on me that she did not know me, nor could my doctor's bag have given me away, as it was back at the inn, or my accent, as I had not yet spoken.

"How do you know who I am?" I asked.

She chuckled. "English coat, mostly, and I read Sherlock Holmes described as 'over six feet' and 'excessively lean'. While there's no denying you've got an inch or two on most of the boys around here, you've got a ways to reach six feet, and I don't think anyone would term ya 'excessively lean'. So I figured you'd be Dr. Watson."

"That is correct," I said. I was surprised and could not keep it out of my tone.

"What brings you here, anyway?" Pattison asked.

I shrugged, trying to decide where to begin. "I'm here at the recommendation of a Ms. Wilcox. I wondered if I could have a moment or two of your time."

She cocked an eyebrow and gave a smirk of a smile. "Hate to let you down, but I am a married woman."

I coloured as I understood her meaning. "Not in that capacity!"

Pattison burst out laughing. "I'm only teasing."

I glanced around. "Your husband is the postmaster, is he not?"

She nodded. "He's passed out drunk in the basement."

I could not tell if she was joking and decided not to ask.

"Anyway," said she. "You don't seem interested in mailing anything, so I suppose you're here for gossip. What is it you're looking to know?"

"Do you have a price for your information?" I inquired.