Chapter 10 of The Half Life of Dragons

by Sonja Hakala

PREVIOUSLY IN THE HALF LIFE OF DRAGONS: It’s been seven years since Timmen Eldritch, lead singer of the mystical rock band Calliope, disappeared. To this day, most people believe he died. But there are enough conspiracy theories swirling online to keep his ardent cult members hopeful of “Timmens’ return .”

Eldritch and Calliope recorded their last album in an old farmhouse in Carding, Vermont so the town has become a reluctant mecca for Calliope culties, as they call themselves. They’ve already started to gather, and no one in Carding is happy about it. 

You can catch up on previous chapters of this novel in progress here.

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Edie always remembered the date of the “Calliope Nonsense” because it coincided with the death of her Aunt Nettie. (Antoinette to everyone outside her family.) Not that Nettie had—or would have even permitted—a connection between her timely demise (she was far into her nineties when she departed), and the controversial rock band that once lived in Carding. After all, Calliope’s reputation was built on excess while Nettie prided herself on being careful, chary, extremely frugal, and austere—abstemious even.

“A penny saved is more than a penny earned,” she liked to say. “It is a penny kept from wasteful hands.”

Edie wasn’t sure how she became the person responsible for overseeing her aunt’s last wishes. They had never been close, avoided one another at family gatherings due to the wide gap in their political perspectives, and except for cheap cards at Christmas, they were never in touch with one another. But as Nettie neared the end of her life, a hospice nurse phoned Edie to ask about “the funeral arrangements for your aunt.”

“Why me?” Edie asked Ruth and Aggie over their late lunch at the Crow Town Bakery. They needed refreshment after the excitement at the library.

Ruth thought about Edie’s question while she drained her coffee cup. “When the nurse called, did you immediately say ‘no way, not me?’”

“No, of course not,” Edie said, sopping up the last of her soup with a bit of bread. “That would have been…oh, I see what you’re getting at.”

Aggie peered over the glasses perched on the end of her nose. “You do realize that your reputation for dependability and reliability and…”

“…willingness to help,” Ruth added.

“…and honesty are quite well known,” Aggie finished. “Based on everything you’ve told us about Nettie, we can surmise that she was a woman whose attitude about pennies extended to people, right? Given that, I would say that she chose you very deliberately because she knew you would take on the task of seeing to the details surrounding her death and wrapping up her estate when all others would not. Would you say that’s a fair description of your situation?”

Edie frowned. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“How many cousins are left in your generation on that side of your family,” Ruth asked, “including yourself and your sister?”

“Six.”

“And how many of them are up to traveling all the way to Vermont to take care of Aunt Nettie’s final stuff?”

Edie’s frown deepened. “When you put it that way, I guess I’m it.” She sighed deep and loud. “How am I supposed to pay for all of this?”

Aggie had just opened her mouth to let Edie know that she could not be held financially responsible for her aunt’s funeral expenses when a loud honking mixed with louder-than-loud cursing made everyone in the bakery look up.

“What the…?” Ruth said. 

“Oh gawd, more vermin,” Aggie groaned.

Edie pulled out her wallet. “They’re starting earlier than usual this year.”

“Yeah, they want to see if their legendary rock hero is going to be declared legally dead or not,” Aggie said.

Edie looked sharply at her friend. “You still haven’t said one way or the other—is it going to happen or not? And are you going to be a part of it?”

Aggie shook her head. “I sincerely hope not. I am the unofficial archivist for the law firm’s records on Calliope but as far as I know, it’s Brownlow, Smith & Brownlow who are responsible for filing paperwork with the court, not me. And they’ll only take action if a family member requests that it be done.” She raised her hand to stop Edie’s question. “And I still don’t know whether that has happened or will happen.”

Ruth stood up in order to make a vigorous search for her wallet among the pockets in her jacket, her fleece vest, and her pants. Having too many pockets was a perpetual problem for her. “So there’s no requirement to declare Eldritch dead other than a request from his family? Is that what you’re saying?”

Aggie nodded. “That’s the law here in the Green Mountain State.”

The three friends turned to look out the window toward Carding’s Academy Road where a truck decorated with Calliope stickers was driving the wrong way down the one-way street, music blaring. Edie pointed. “Someone does that every year. Can either of you tell me why?”

“It’s this song on Calliope’s last album,” Aggie explained. “It’s called ‘One Way, Wrong Way.’ There’s a famous picture of Eldritch doing exactly that,” she pointed at the truck, “but the picture was taken somewhere else, not in Carding. However, social media insists it was taken here in Carding, and that makes it so, This is what we get as a result of the lies.”

Ruth and Edie stared at their classical-music loving friend open-mouthed. “How do you know that?” Edie asked.

Aggie shrugged. “Like I said, Marcus Brownlow entrusted me with all his Calliope papers before he died, and I did due diligence when I got them. I read everything, indexed everything, listened to everything, and then Charlie put it all in a safety deposit box where it’s been ever since. The whole story about that picture, and where it was taken, is among the notes that Timmen Eldritch left behind.”

“So does that make you something of a Calliope expert?” Ruth asked.

“I guess so, yeah. But that’s a fact I’d rather keep among ourselves, okay?”

“So if you do get pulled into this maelstrom, what can we do to help?” Edie asked.

“Keep me sane.”

“So lots of walks and tea, then,” Edie said. “Isn’t there a young gung-ho lawyer in BSB, a descendent of the original Smith? Could he take this on?”

“You mean Oscar Augusto Octavio Smith?” Aggie said. 

“You’re kidding. Is that his real name?” Edie said.

“It certainly is. I’ve been told by people in the office that he likes to be called ‘Gusto,’” Aggie said.

Edie and Ruth started to laugh. “Gawd, he must have some ego. Is he orange like our country’s fearless leader?” Edie asked.

“And does he cheat at golf like our country’s fearless leader?” Ruth asked.

Aggie grinned. “Well, he’s not orange, and he may cheat at golf. I have no idea. Supposedly Gusto is his gaming name. I gather that people in the office have other, rather juicy, names for him.”

“He sounds like someone who pushes all the work off on others, and then takes credit for it if it turns out well,” Edie said.

“That’s my understanding, yeah. Now you know why I’m trying to stay as far away from this stuff as possible,” Aggie said as she turned her attention to the growing melee on Academy Road where Calliope wannabes took turns posing by the street’s one-way sign. “But there is one thing I am concerned about.”

“And that is…?” Ruth asked.

“I discovered there’s a potential inheritance, a sizable one, tangled up in the Calliope mess, and I fear that that may become the target of legal shenanigans.” She frowned at the crowd as they walked out the door. “I’ve been doing what I can to keep track of it after Charlie discovered Gusto’s online gambling debts because I suspect he’s using it to pay them off.”

She suddenly turned toward Edie. “Before I forget, you should know that you cannot be held personally liable for your aunt’s funeral expenses.” She hesitated. “You didn’t sign anything, did you?”

Edie laughed. “No Aggie, you’ve taught me the dangers of signatures. All I’ve had so far is a request conveyed by a nurse, and a phone call from Nettie’s lawyer to make an appointment to discuss my aunt’s will. Nothing more.”

“Gawd, let’s get out of this,” Ruth said as the noise of the Calliope fans mixed with the chorus of irritation from Carding’s drivers. She put her hands to her ears. “I need a couple of things from the Coop. Shall we walk over?”

The three friends hustled across the street but the peace they were seeking was not to be found in their favorite grocery store. It too was infested with Calliope fans, their mouths open to make loud words that no one heeded while their arms bristled with bottles of Carding Cream Ale, the drink of choice for Timmen Eldritch wanna-bes.

Andy Cooper, one of the Coop’s owners, had just grabbed the microphone for the store’s intercom when they walked through the door. The mic was an ancient but still effective piece of equipment with a reputation for deafening feedback squeals so the three friends immediately covered their ears before the noise from the intercom pierced the store’s atmosphere. People flinched, and the Coop’s employees appeared around the perimeter of the store armed with brooms, mops, rakes, and even a toy sword from a Lord of the Rings Halloween costume. As the tumult died, Andy handed the mic over to Charlet Davenport.

“This behavior will not be tolerated in Carding, Vermont,” she bellowed to the accompaniment of more howling feedback. “If you have something to buy, you will line up—quietly—at one of these two registers with either cash or a credit card. No one here is taking any checks from the likes of you. You can leave only after you’ve been searched for stolen goods.”

“I don’t have to submit to any search,” a skinny young male with a struggling beard yelled. “And neither does anyone else.”

Charlet positioned herself close enough to connect her fist with the loudmouth’s nose if she chose. He smirked. 

“If you refuse, you will be escorted to the holding cells in the Carding police station where you will be very, very, very slowly processed on suspicion of shoplifting,” she said. “Under Vermont law, I can hold you for 24 hours without filing charges against you.”

The smirk became more pronounced. “Okay, fine. You’re still not going to search me.”

“I want your backpack,” Charlet said, holding out her hand. “Now.” Behind her, several people raised their phones to eye level, and the loudmouth turned his head so they could catch his profile as he refused to comply.

Charlet took a step closer, peering intently at Loudmouth’s face. “What’s that line of white powder under your nose?” she asked.

As he slapped a hand to his face, his backpack slid off his other shoulder, and the movement was accompanied by the distinctive sound of clinking glass. Andy snatched the bag up before it hit the floor. 

“Hey, you can’t do that. It’s mine.” 

Andy looked up at the sea of raised phones. “Shall we see what’s inside?” he asked, unzipping the bag to expose six bottles of Carding Cream Ale.

“You all got that, right?” Loudmouth shouted, pointing at Charlet. “You saw the way she manhandled me.”

“I don’t know about that but I sure got a good clip of you being bested by a bitchin’ lady cop,” a woman said. “And it will be online in three…two…one…now.” She pressed a button. “And there you are, for all the world to see.”

Edie was careful to hide her grin when she recognized her granddaughter’s voice as several sets of fingers recorded her “bitchin’ lady cop” remark. 

“Lemmings,” Charlet said, shaking her head. “You’re nothing but a bunch of lemmings.”

“Exactly,” Faye said, pocketing her phone with a wink in her grandmother’s direction.

Charlet picked up the clinking backpack then pointed at a deputy sheriff just coming through the door. “Officer Osawa, would you escort this,” she indicated the loudmouth, “to our finest cell.”

Loudmouth sneered down his nose at Jennifer Osawa. “Kinda small for a cop, aren’t you?” he sniggered, scanning the crowd for an approval that wasn’t immediately forthcoming. The young police officer was proud of her Japanese heritage, and no one in Carding ever thought of her as “small.”

“Officer Osawa,” Ruth said, “I heard you recently earned your black belt in akido. Congratulations. Have you had a chance to put your skills into practice?”

Faye giggled as she watched uncertainty flicker across Loudmouth’s face as Osawa unclipped a set of handcuffs from her belt. The sea of cameras rose once again. “All right, all right, so I took some bottles of that swill,” Loudmouth whined. “So what?”

Jennifer held up the handcuffs. “How about you empty your pockets before I give you the chance to model these for your fans.”

“And that goes for all of you,” Charlet added.

Loudmouth lunged at the Coop’s front doors but it was the work of a moment for Jennifer to leverage the man’s momentum and bring him to the floor. He was handcuffed before anyone could blink.

“Twenty-two point eight seconds,” Faye crowed, her fists raised. “Woohoo.”

Aggie laughed. “It’s like watching a calf get roped at a rodeo,” she said. The phone-heads laughed in unison while their thumbs flew over their keyboards to record her words.

Charlet squatted down to get a good look at the hog-tied man. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Lester Miller,” one of the phone-heads said. She tapped her screen then turned it so Charlet could see.

“Ah, I thought I recognized you, Mr. Miller,” the police chief said. “I believe you were arrested here last year. Criminal trespass, wasn’t it?”

“I paid my fine,” Miller croaked. “Get her off of me.”

“Hmm, yes, well you’ll be glad to know that this year, you’ll get a lot more than a fine. Won’t that just make you happy.” Charlet stood up. “Why don’t you take him for a ride, Jennifer? And make sure he has access to a pail for waste and water for drinking, nothing more.” Charlet turned her head so she could take in all of Miller’s face. “I’ll be around later today to process you. Much later. Enjoy your stay in Carding.”

Miller spluttered and huffed as he was escorted out the door. Charlet watched until he was in the squad car’s back seat then eyed the remainder of the crowd. “Right then, I hope we have no more nonsense from you people. Empty your pockets and bags and backpacks now. And be prepared to pay for what you’ve taken.”

As the phone-heads grumbled and emptied, grumbled and emptied, Faye sidled up to Charlet. “I think you should know that Lester Miller does a podcast about unsolved mysteries,” she said. “He’s nationally known. And the disappearance of Timmen Eldritch draws a lot of attention. No matter what you do to him, he’ll be back. He can’t afford to lose audience share.”

“Especially now that he’s got competition from that Jaini Haskell,” one of the phone-heads said. “She’s new to the Calliope beat but she seems to have a real inside track on the group, and on Eldritch in particular.” She swiped her screen. “And I just found out that someone calling herself the Black Pearl is putting Calliope artifacts up for sale here in Carding on the anniversary of Timmen’s disappearance. Look.”

Charlet studied the tiny screen. “Great. Just what I need. An auction of Calliope stuff. Talk about pouring gasoline on a fire.”

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Thanks for sharing some of the minutes of your life with me and Carding, Vermont. I hope you’re enjoying The Half Life of Dragons and can visit next week for the latest chapter.

When I reach the end of the tale, the entire book will be available here as an ebook. In the meantime, if you need to catch up or would like to share this adventure with someone else, you can do so by clicking this link.

~ Sonja Hakala