Gray Mountain: A Novel(87)

The owner, Krull Mining, made the usual harsh and threatening statements to the press. It offered an impressive reward. The county sheriff promised a thorough investigation and swift arrests, some rather blustery and shortsighted comments in light of the fact that “these ecoterrorists” had been marauding through southern Appalachia with impunity for the better part of two years now.

The news story went on to recap recent attacks and speculated that the snipers had used the same weaponry as before—the 51-millimeter cartridge that’s normally fired from the M24E long-range rifle, the same one army snipers were using in Iraq and routinely scoring kills at over one thousand yards. An expert was quoted as saying that using such a rifle from such a distance, and in the dead of night with easily available optic technology, would make it virtually impossible to track down the snipers.

Krull Mining said there was a tight market for tires, a shortage in some places, and the mine could be closed for several days.

Samantha read the story on her laptop as she sipped coffee Friday morning at the office. She had a sick feeling that Jeff was involved with the gang, if not its leader. Almost two weeks after the death of his brother, he needed to make a statement, to lash out in his own brand of retribution, and strike a blow at Krull Mining. If her hunch was accurate, it was just another reason to pack her bags. She e-mailed the story to Mattie down the hall, then walked into her office and said, “To be perfectly honest, I think Jeff is involved in this.”

Mattie responded with a fake laugh at such foolishness. She said, “Samantha, this is the first Friday in December, the day we decorate the office, along with everybody else in Brady. It’s the first day I’ve managed to feel good and actually smile since Donovan died. I don’t want to ruin the day by worrying about what Jeff is up to. Have you talked to him?”

“No, why should I? We’re not involved, as you like to say. He doesn’t check in with me.”

“Good, let’s forget about Jeff for a little while and try to muster up some Christmas cheer.”

Barb cranked up the radio and soon carols were ringing throughout the offices. She was in charge of the tree, a sad little plastic reproduction they kept in a broom closet the rest of the year, but by the time they strung up lights and hung ornaments it was showing signs of life. Annette placed ivy and mistletoe all over the front porch and tacked a wreath to the door. They hauled in food, and lunch was a leisurely affair in the conference room, with Chester supplying a beef stew from a Crock-Pot. All work was forgotten; all clients ignored. The phone seldom rang, as if the rest of the county was also busy getting in the spirit. After lunch, Samantha went to the courthouse, and along the way noticed that every shop and office was being decorated. A city crew was busy hanging silver bells on light posts above the streets. Another was anchoring a large, freshly cut fir in the park next to the courthouse. Christmas was suddenly in the air and the entire town was catching the spirit.

At dark, all of Brady arrived and throngs of people clogged the sidewalks along Main Street, drifting from store to store, picking up hot cider and gingerbread cookies as they went. Traffic was blocked from the street and children waited excitedly for the parade. It materialized around seven, when sirens could be heard in the distance. The crowd pressed closer and lined Main. Samantha watched with Kim, Adam, and Annette. The sheriff led the procession, his brown-and-white patrol car gleaming with fresh polish. His entire fleet followed. Samantha wondered if ole Romey might sneak into the action, but there was no sign of him. The high school band marched by with a rather weak rendition of “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” It was a small band from a small high school.

“They’re not very good are they?” Adam whispered to Samantha. “I think they’re great,” she replied.

The Girl Scouts marched by, followed by the Boy Scouts. A float carried some disabled vets in wheelchairs, all happy to be alive and enjoying another Christmas. The star was Mr. Arnold Potter, age ninety-one, a survivor of D-day, sixty-four years ago. He was the county’s greatest living hero. The Shriners zipped about on their mini-motorcycles, stealing the show as always. The Rotary Club’s float was a Nativity scene with real sheep and goats, all behaving for the moment. A large float pulled by a late-model Ford pickup was packed with the children’s choir from the First Baptist Church. The kids were dressed in white robes and their angelic voices sang “O Little Town of Bethlehem” in near-perfect pitch. The mayor rode in a 1958 convertible Thunderbird. He waved and smiled a lot but no one seemed to care. There were some more police cars, a fire truck from a volunteer brigade, and another float with a bluegrass band picking and strumming a rowdy interpretation of “Jingle Bells.” A riding club trotted by on a herd of quarter-horses, all garbed up in rodeo splendor, humans and animals. Roy Rogers and Trigger would have been proud. The local gas jobber had a shiny new truck with a ten-thousand-gallon tank, and someone thought it would be a nice addition to the parade. For fun, the driver, a black guy, was blasting non-holiday rap with the windows down.

Finally, the reason for the season appeared in his sleigh. Old Saint Nick waved to the boys and girls and tossed candy at their feet. Through a loudspeaker he chanted, “Ho, Ho, Ho,” but nothing else.

When the parade was out of sight, most of the spectators moved toward the courthouse and gathered in the park beside it. The mayor welcomed everyone and prattled on too long. Another children’s choir sang “O Holy Night.” Miss Noland County, a beautiful redhead, was singing “Sweet Little Jesus Boy” when Samantha felt someone touch her right elbow. It was Jeff, with a cap and eyeglasses she had never seen before. She backed away from Kim and Adam, eased through the crowd and away from it to a dark place near the war memorial. They had stood there last Monday night, looking at Bozo and Jimmy in the distance.