Gwendy's Magic Feather

66

ON HER WAY HOME from Carbine Street, Gwendy sees Sheriff Ridgewick’s cruiser parked on the shoulder of Route 117 with its hazard lights blinking. She hits her turn signal and pulls over behind him.

As she gets out of the car, she spots the sheriff climbing out of a snowy ravine that runs alongside the highway. He’s up to his hips in drifting snow and cussing up a blue streak.

“What would your constituents think if they heard you talking like that?”

The sheriff looks up at her with snow in his hair and daggers in his eyes. “They’d think I’ve had a shitty-ass day, which I have.”

Gwendy extends a hand to help. “What were you doing down there, anyway?”

“Thought I saw something,” he says, taking her hand. He pops out of the ditch and starts stomping his boots on the gravel shoulder. He looks up at her. “I was just about to call you before I pulled over.”

“What’s up?”

He rubs a hand over his chin. “We received a padded envelope at the stationhouse about an hour ago. No return address. Postmarked yesterday in Augusta.”

Gwendy feels her face flush. She knows what’s coming next.

“The orange ski hat Deborah Parker was wearing the afternoon she went ice-skating was inside the envelope. And stuffed inside the hat… three more teeth, presumably hers.”

Gwendy gapes at him, unable to find the words.

“To make matters worse, I just got off the phone a little while ago with that reporter from the Portland Herald. Someone leaked. He knows about the teeth we found in the sweatshirt and he knows about the package.”

“But you said it was only delivered an hour ago.”

He nods. “That’s right.”

“So how…?”

Sheriff Ridgewick shrugs. “Someone needed the money I guess. Anyway, he’s working on an article for tomorrow morning’s paper and he’s already calling the guy ‘The Tooth Fairy.’ ”

“Jesus.”

“Ayuh,” he says grimly. “Shit’s about to hit the fan.”