Chapter 31
Found
And in related news, while waiting precisely thirty-two minutes and fourteen seconds for Pete to open the damn gate so we could go for a swim, we were shocked as the police arrived in their cruiser and pulled into the Mashnee Village clubhouse parking lot. They responded to an emergency call. We, of course, weren’t permitted inside, but we watched the whole thing unfold.
The detached digit also under investigation was found on a bench at the Mashnee Island pool by an attending lifeguard and phoned into the Bourne Police Department by a TV reporter who happened upon the scene.
It certainly seemed like an “emergency,” that was the way Rochelle described it to the police, but judging from the slow response time, “cape-time” is what we called it, maybe the cops didn’t agree. I guess a finger’s a finger.
Maxine had stood guard, shooing people away from the bench along with Pete Jones, until Rochelle returned to help keep the crime scene, or whatever it was, uncontaminated until the cops arrived. I suppose a reporter’s never really on vacation. Mr Knight appeared a full ten minutes before the cops.
But the arriving officers more than redeemed themselves for tardiness (After all, it was a finger and not an entire body.) by thanking Rochelle and Maxine for calling the station, and more importantly, (as they giggled later) by both being so downright handsome!
The two men in blue introduced themselves as Officers Dale Prichard and Steven F. Gifford, dispatched out of the Bourne barracks located about four miles away on Main Street in Buzzards Bay. Then they both walked over to the bench and examined it closely.
“Looks like a human finger to me,” Prichard commented drolly.
“Yep,” agreed Gifford. “So, ladies, we’re responding to your call. Do I have this right; you found this curiously unattached extremity exactly where it is now, on this bench?”
“Actually, the lifeguard found it, but she’s a reporter,” Maxine replied. “We didn’t touch it and we made certain that nobody else did either. Rochelle knows about crime scenes.”
“We appreciate that,” said Officer Prichard. “Ok, our crime scene guy was right behind us so he should be here in a second to take pictures and gather this—” He nodded at the finger “—as well as whatever additional evidence there might be.”
“Do you need a plastic bag for the finger?” Maxine asked, and Officer Gifford smiled as he shook his head.
“You might think so, wouldn’t you? But no, anything containing blood or similar is transported in special paper bags to keep moisture and bacteria from forming.”
“Mr. Jones, mind if we get a quick statement from you?” Prichard asked.
“Sure thing, just let me kick these kids out of the pool first. I saw somebody cannonballing…” Jones responded, and then blew the hell out of his whistle!
The crime scene technician arrived then and everybody quickly shifted into professional mode. Before they left however, the officers left their business cards with both Rochelle and Maxine and inquired as to their cottage number, promising to return with additional questions.
Despite the obvious flirtation and undeniable mutual attraction, a missing finger was still a missing finger. It had belonged to someone, presumably someone on Mashnee, or who had been to Mashnee, the whole notion of which was creepy as hell, so the experience had left both Maxine and Rochelle looking distinctly unsettled.
Naturally, within a matter of hours every resident on Mashnee knew the story, or a version of the story.
Of course like any good summer retreat, it had its share of primary gossipers; those who caught hold of a mere whisper or misplaced sentence and dispersed it to their flock of worthy subordinates for immediate dissemination to the hungering masses (i.e., you know, renters and regular people).
Anyway, a good story, which this definitely qualified as by Mashnee standards, traveled from one side of the island to the other in approximately 4.2 seconds, or as fast as my Aunt Janet could dial her telephone, for she was, and proud of it, Queen Mother and Chief of Staff of all things cool and gossipy, and this wasn’t just gossip. It was, well, a real-life mystery is what it was, and she would either get to the bottom of it, or find out who could.
Next would come questions, maybe a lot of them, but before answering them we needed a meeting.
“Everyone get your ass to The Hut by ten-o-effing-clock,” barked Tommy, “We need to get our shit straight, boys and girls. There’s a finger-hacker to be found.”
So that’s what we did.
By then, Christine and Sally were permanent fixtures in our crew, much preferring the tough-guy Mashnee boys to those of Memorial Beach. Both girls had convinced their parents to take out memberships at the Mashnee pool. So that was another reason for them to hang around. Hey, who could blame them?
Back home around the dinner table, my parents and sister were all chatty about “That Disgusting Find” on Mashnee. Since I was already skating on thin ice and my sister Alison was on extremely thin ice, I hesitated to join any conversation or offer a hypothesis which might be misconstrued as even the least bit controversial. (Fancy way of saying I’d like to be able to drive my father’s boat again in my current lifetime.)
I kept my mouth shut. Something I was quickly getting better at.
The news said a press release from The Bourne Police Department later positively confirmed that what appeared to be a severed finger also found on Mashnee Island was in fact exactly that. It was the severed right digitus minimus manus, of a white, middle-age, possibly obese, Anglo-Saxon male, possessing a fairly rare blood type.
Further details surrounding the severed digit remained unknown. The police investigation was ongoing.
Funny, so was ours…
After an Emergency Homeowners Association Meeting, members had voted almost unanimously to hire a Island Security Guard to be stationed at The Bump on a nightly basis, from before sundown until 1:00 a.m. when the Boat ’n Bottle Bar closed, in order to protect our prized Island from:
“The questionable influence of degenerate outsiders and the illegal and immoral activities of hippies and their undesirable followers.” Or something like that.
Groovy.
We dubbed them the Lumps on the Bump.
Chapter 32
Axe
With all the crazy stuff that had happened and the “heat” now turned up extra high on Mashnee (by parents and police alike) due to the severed finger and automobile accident, it was a great weekend to get away and Brain, always up for fun, had a plan.
“Hey, you detective wannabes!” Giggle, giggle. “Anyone up for putting this show on the road and getting the hell off this godforsaken island for a night? Don’t know about you guys, but I need a break. My old man’s been all over my case since the accident.”
Brian announced, while puffing on a sweet-smelling Tiparillo Cigar and coughing slightly between drags.
“What road?” I inquired. “Wait, have we ever met before, Mr. Chuckles?!” (My poor attempt at teenage humor.) “And where’s this road show happening?”
