The Rivers Webb Read Free Page B

volumes.
    â€œI take it there’s more to that story?”
    â€œWell, your aunt was more than happy to help get people together to put that barn up—that’s for sure. Seein’ as how it’s really her barn!”
    That got John’s attention. He got back out of the car. The bridge could wait a few minutes.
    â€œYou’ll have to run that by me again. Wilhelmina organized a town function to raise money to build a barn that was supposed to be for your family, but it really belongs to her?”
    Arthur laughed at John’s obvious confusion.
    â€œMr. Webb, there’s somethin’ you need to realize. In this town, every damn thing belongs to the Rivers family, one way or another. In my case, the land I live and work on is Rivers property, and they get their chunk out o’ any money I make off it.”
    â€œWhat, like some kind of a co-op?”
    Arthur laughed, “Co-op. That’s a clever word for it. I just love how you northerners can find a polite turn-a’-phrase for everything. You want to call it a co-op, that’ll work. It’s still sharecroppin’, no matter how you say it, though. Now, I can make any improvements I want, be it to the house, or the land…or a barn. But come that day when I can’t get my tired old body out to work no more, that’s the day they’ll come with smilin’ faces to move my family out.”
    John was suddenly feeling awkward, standing there in the street, hearing about all the horrible things his family was doing. It was one thing to joke about them with friends from the comfortable distance of New York, when they were nothing more touching to him than a collection of stereotypes he had heard about through his mother. It was quite another thing to stand face to face with a man who was a living reminder of their excesses and indifference. Suddenly, John felt the need for a little distance. This place called Sales City was becoming all too real.
    â€œIf there’s anything else you happen to hear that you think I might want to know about, you can look me up at the boarding house. I’ll be staying there while I’m in town.”
    â€œYa’ ain’t stayin’ at the Rivers’ place?”
    With a smirk that carried far more emotion than he meant, John simply said, “No.” Then he got behind the wheel and headed off toward the bridge.
    It was a short drive to the Parrott River Bridge. John was quickly beginning to realize that everything in this town was a short drive. The trees were in full bloom, and brimming with brightly colored blossoms that were as foreign and unknown to John as if they had been transplanted from the farthest reaches of China. He couldn’t explain why, but John was suddenly struck by a desire to turn back the calendar eight or nine months, and gaze up at the familiar fall displays of that wide Connecticut road that led to his childhood home. The smell of pine was in the air, and something else. John found himself momentarily distracted, trying to place the scent wafting through the air. It was familiar, somehow, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember when he had ever smelt it.
    The sheriff’s car was on the side of the road, and abandoned. Pulling in beside it, John couldn’t help but park just a little too close. It was something they used to do to rookie detectives back on the force. Park so close that they would need you to move your car before they could leave—then be sure to hang around until they were ready to go, just to get a little sadistic pleasure out of watching them trudge back and ask for your help. The best ones always tried to move anyway, and they always ended up scraping paint.
    John made his way down to the edge of the river, where the sheriff and his two deputies were busy…doing something. To tell the truth, John wasn’t really certain exactly what they were up to.
    â€œSir, we’re gonna have to ask you