Chapter Twenty Four of The Half Life of Dragons

by Sonja Hakala

PREVIOUSLY IN THE HALF LIFE OF DRAGONS: It’s been a few months since the crash and boom of the revelations made about the man once known as Timmen Eldritch and the band called Calliope. Some of the players in this story are facing a reckoning for their parts in the tale. Others have had time to do some healing.

So we’re going to wind this up here. For a limited time, free downloadable versions of the entire book will be available here. Expect to see them in early October.

And thank you so much for visiting. Your companionship means so much to me. ~ Sonja Hakala

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“Why are we stopping here, R.T.,” the trail angel known as Hot Frogs asked. “It looks like people are going to a funeral at that church over there.”

“It is a funeral,” Ruby Throat (R.T.) said. “A very good friend of mine just lost her Dad to Parkinson’s disease, and I wanted to pay my respects.” He looked down at his grimy hiking clothes. This was his last long walk of the season. In just a few days, the slender, rugged man once known as Timmen Eldritch would arrive at his winter retreat in a log cabin in Maine owned by his friend Nicholas Kelvey. Once there, he would split wood for the big stove that kept the place warm, make cider from the apples littering the ground in the orchard, dig into his towering books-to-read pile, and shovel snow when it piled up around the door. As much as he enjoyed the warm weather months volunteering on the Appalachian Trail, Arthur Chandler had developed a deep affection for the cold days ahead. They suited this time of his life.

“I take it you’re not going in,” Hot Frogs said.

Arty shook his head. “Not looking like this, no. It would be disrespectful.”

“What was the man’s name, the one who died?”

“Robert Owen.”

“Oh, I know that name. Wasn’t he big in the local skiing scene around here?” Hot Frogs asked.

“Yeah. He taught everyone of a certain generation here in Carding how to ski,” Arty said. “His efforts produced a few state and regional champions, including his granddaughter.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

“Only once, on my last time through. He was very weak by then but still a lovely gentleman. There had been a painful rift in his family for years and years, and he was determined to heal it before he passed,” Arty said.

“Did he succeed?”

“I think it’s safe to say he got the process well underway, and he was at peace with that.”

“So does the daughter, the woman you know, live here?”

“No, she’s got a place in Burlington but she’s back and forth a lot. I understand she was here with her father for the whole last week of his life,” Arty said.

More and more cars were squeezing themselves into the minuscule parking lot behind the picturesque Carding Community Church. Soon, the dirt road that curved over the hill would narrow to a single lane as folks paralleled along its length. Arty eased his pack off his shoulders, and settled himself to wait.

One of those cars threading its way up the hill was the bright yellow Jeep owned by Ruth Goodwin. All four of its seats were filled in the interests of carpooling and friendship. The conversation was lively.

“So it was Lester Miller who planted that fake Timmen Eldritch grave up here,” Charlie said as the quartet of friends rocked along the uneven road. 

“Created it, photographed it, and posted it in multiple places online,” Edie said. “It seems he’s been milking the Calliope cash cow for quite a while which is how he came to the attention of Smugs Gallagher. Eventually, he became Gallagher’s favorite useful idiot. Miller claims he believed Smugs when he said that Timmen was dead. There was more money to be made in a dead Timmen Eldritch than a live one.”

“But then there’s Pearl McGregor who definitely knew far more of the truth, and threw her lot in with Gallagher to make money,” Aggie said, her eyes clamped to her cell phone’s screen.

“What gives, Aggie?” Ruth asked. “For someone who professes to hate cell phones, you’re quite attached to yours today.”

“Yeah, sorry but I’m expecting to see the judge’s decision in the case I brought against Gusto for looting Oliver Quigley’s estate,” Aggie said.

“I would think that would be an open and shut deal,” Charlie said, “especially after the forensic accountant laid out that paper trail for the judge. But justice is rather thin on the ground in America today, isn’t it?”

“Well, at least Gusto was booted out of Brownlow, Smith & Brownlow,” Edie said. “That had to sting.”

“And he’s in real danger of losing his license to practice law,” Aggie said.

Ruth slowed at the crest of the last hill before the church to survey the parking situation. “Wow, cars as far as the eye can see,” Charlie said. “Not that I expected anything less. Lots of folks cared about Robert.”

“Do any of you mind if we park in the cemetery, and walk up to the church?” Ruth asked.

“Not at all,” they all agreed. “Nice day for it.”

As Ruth swung the Jeep under an oak just starting to show off its russet leaves, Edie spotted a small knot of people clustered around a gravesite off to their right. “The Owens family is here,” she said quietly. “Isn’t that where Anna is buried?”

Charlie craned his neck. “I believe so, Edie. Let’s be as quiet as we can so we don’t interrupt.”

Ruth had just turned off her car when Aggie’s phone pinged. She looked then punched the air with a hissed “Yes! Convicted of fraud, and the law firm is responsible for making the trust whole again.” She turned off her phone with a triumphant grin. “This will be great news for Allison, for the whole family, I imagine.”

“And before we walk up to the church, what about Smugs Gallagerh?” Ruth asked.

“Well, California has first dibs on him,” Aggie explained. “They’ve reopened the investigation into the death of Oliver Quigley.”

“Do you know how Allison feels about that?” Ruth asked.

“She’s adamant that Gallagher’s behavior around the time of Suzanna’s birth was criminally threatening, and in California, that’s a felony,” Charlie said. “At the time, she and Oliver filed a complaint, and Gallagher was arrested. But then he posted bail, and disappeared. That means the statute of limitations doesn’t apply here, and Gallagher can be prosecuted.”

“Good,” Ruth said. “I would enjoy knowing he’s in prison.”

“Well, it looks like the Owens clan is heading for the church,” Edie said. “We’d best get going.”

Back up by the church, the two watchers—Ruby Throat and Hot Frogs—had been joined by a third man, Nicholas Kelvey. The trio stood quietly, arms folded, waiting for the Owens family to appear. Nick finally cleared this throat. “We had a cracking thunderstorm last month,” he said, addressing his longtime friend. “Did some damage in the orchard so there will be pruning if you’re up for that late in the winter.”

Arty nodded. “I’ll take the dead wood out of there right away then prune in March.” He smiled and rubbed his hands together. “I love that kind of work.”

“Oh, here they come,” Nick said, nodding toward Ted Owen’s car. “I hope we can catch their eye.”

As they waited, Hot Frog’s eyes darted from one of his companions to the other. He had the distinct feeling he’d seen them both somewhere before. Or had he seen their faces in the news? 

“So why do they call you Hot Frogs?” Nick asked.

Arty laughed. “You should see the pajama bottoms he wears in camp, hot pink frogs on a bright green background.”

Hot Frogs laughed to cover the fact that he’d just realized he’d been hiking with Timmen Eldritch, and that his friend was Nicholas Kelvey. And that neither one of them wanted to be identified. “Hey, no one has ever stolen or borrowed my pajama bottoms,” he said.

Nicholas laughed. “I would say that’s an easy thing to understand.”

At that moment, Allison stepped from her brother’s car. She was followed by Suzanna. Their eyes were a little worse for wear. “So they are speaking to one another,” Arty said. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah, Allie’s described the process as a long, slow thaw. I think they’re negotiating it rather well,” Nick said. “Oh, Allie’s seen us.” He and Arty raised their hands in salute to the reunited mother and daughter.

As they watched, Allison leaned over to talk to Suzanna, nodding in the direction of the three hikers. The younger woman turned, smiled, and then set off across the grass to where they stood. “Are you coming in or are you going to stand out here like statues?” she asked when she reached them. “Mom wants you inside no matter how grubby you are. Grampa was an outdoors guy. He’d understand about your wardrobe choices.”

“Well, they will be but not me,” Hot Frogs said, shouldering his pack. “My sister lives just over the New Hampshire border, and I’m due there for her annual Halloween party.” He extended his hand toward Arty. “It’s been nice walking with you.” He glanced toward the church. “If I were you, I wouldn’t sing in there. People may not recognize your face—I know I didn’t—but your voice is still unmistakeable, Ruby Throat.”

He grinned at the raised eyebrows facing him. “Don’t worry. I know what it’s like to have your privacy taken away, and what a tough job it is to get it back. Unfortunately, we live in a world where being on guard is now part of our everyday lives.”

He smiled at Suzanna, and said: “I’m sorry about your grandfather.” Then he walked off whistling the tune to Calliope’s greatest hit, The Half Life of Dragons.

“Well, that was a close one,” Nick said as they watched Hot Frogs disappear. “Do you think he’ll be a problem, telling folks about you, I mean?”

“Him? No. Do you remember that author who dropped out of publishing a few years ago after his book, Pantheon in Blue, sold a bazillion copies, and people got so frenzied about it?” Arty asked as they walked toward the church.

Nick stopped in his tracks. “That was him? I loved that book.”

“Yeah, you and a whole lot of other people,” Arty said. “He hates fame like I do. It’s why he was hiking.” He turned to look at the Appalachian Trail whispering off through the thinning woods of October, and then he sighed. “I’m sorry you’ve been pulled into the Calliope mess, Suzanna. It never seems to end.”

“My mother’s not happy either. She hopes, because I’m not directly involved, that it will be brief for me. I won’t be going with her to any court dates or saying anything public about Calliope or you or anything else. But I am concerned about her,” Suzanna said, tilting her chin in the way that reminded Arty and Nick of their friend Oliver. 

“So I’ve been talking a lot to her friend Dexter, and we’ve worked up a plan to support her,” Suzanna continued. “He will be the one who goes with her to court if and when she needs it. We’ve even worked up a bunch of disguises for her to wear if she has to be in public. Come to find out, Dex was a hairdresser in another life. You should see my mother as a blonde. Kind of startling.”

Nicholas laughed. “I can imagine.”

Just then, the old Estey organ in the church invited listeners to come inside to celebrate the life of Robert Owen. Suzanna took a deep breath and let it out in a long shuddering sigh. Then she walked forward, took her mother’s hand, and together they stepped into the future that the good folks of Carding would continue to make together.

Just like all the rest of us.

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Thanks for sharing some of the minutes of your life with me and Carding, Vermont. I hope you’ve enjoyed The Half Life of Dragons. Downloadable versions of the latest book about Carding, Vermont will be available in October.

~ Sonja Hakala