The Standard Weakly Standard

When God Sneezes

Chapter 52

When God Sneezes

Sometime later that afternoon, we learned that Federov’s secretary finally found Federov dead in his office. Rumors of his demise raced through Grain/Ag’s headquarters like wildfire. By the next day, Grain/Ag employees knew the rumors were not that but that Federov had, in fact, died suddenly. His Chicago lawyer was, of course, suspicious, and called for an immediate investigation.

The following week, we printed the story of Federov’s death. Versions of our story, along with news out of Wichita media, made the wire services and national news. A day later, Wichita police detectives arrived at our newspaper office wanting to talk with me since I was one of the last to see Federov alive.

The story that Father and I agreed upon concerning my meeting with Federov hinged on the assumption that Federov’s secretary did not know Father was being kept there against his will. And if she did know then she would have to admit to being an accomplice to kidnapping. We didn’t think she would want to entangle herself any deeper into Federov’s affairs.

The detectives arrived on a cold winter day. The first winter snow had begun the night before blanketing the town in silence and white. They shook the snow from the long heavy coats they wore over drab gray suits. They were cordial and straight faced. I explained to them that Father, due to his dementia, had wandered away. “He does this from time to time,” I said. “Drives me crazy but I’ve been lucky this far.” I added that a couple of days later Federov called to say Father was with him at Grain/Ag’s headquarters and that I might want to come and get him, which I said I would.

“And Mr. Federov was, in your opinion, okay when you met?” the older of the two detectives asked.

“Yes. He was. He was quite cordial, in fact. He offered us coffee, tea, or lunch if we wanted. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry. He said he had been chatting with Father about the Farm Bureau. But since I was there, I decided to use the opportunity to ask Mr. Federov about the company’s plans to add more solar panels and wind turbines to farm and ranch land in Standard County. That’s been quite controversial, as you may know.”

The gray-haired detective nodded. “And he appeared healthy to you by the time you and your father left his office?”

“Yes.”

That seemed to satisfy them, but they also wanted to ask Father some questions. I escorted them to Father’s office. After introductions, Father grabbed his suit coat and started to leave. “Bye,” he said. I stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Father, I said these men are F.B.I. They want to speak to you.”

“Oh,” he said. “How can I help you?”

The detectives asked him to recall his leaving Standard and why he went to Federov’s office.

Father shook his head. “Who is Federov?”

The detectives stared at each other. Then the older one asked, “Do you remember visiting Mr. Alexander Federov in his office in Wichita?”

Father shook his head, again. “I’ve never been to Wichita. Where is that?” Then Father stared at them, mouth open.

“Mr. Eggers, you don’t remember visiting Mr. Federov in Wichita?”

I watched Father as he continued to stare and then his eyes moved passed them, focused somewhere outside the window. And then he spoke as if to no one in particular. “It’s no use to pretend to be two people! Why, there’s hardly enough of me left to make one respectable person.”

The detectives looked at me with curious eyes.

“He likes to quote ‘Alice in Wonderland.’ Does it all the time. Just go with it.”

They cleared their throats and stood. “Thank you, Mr. Eggers. Miss Eggers. You’ve been most helpful.”

After they left, Father said, “How’d I do?”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” I said.

He winked and giggled and pecked me on the check.

The following week I received calls from families who’d lost husbands and fathers, brothers, and sons during the period when Federov was doing his best to force farmers and ranchers to give up their land or sell it cheap. They exclaimed they’d received anonymous donations of cash, some in the thousands of dollars with notes saying, “This can’t replace your loss of a loved one, but I hope it assuages your fears and in a small way, restores your faith in mankind.” The note was signed “A Good Friend.”

We turned that good news into a front-page story and paid visits to each of the families to help them celebrate their new fortune. Subscribers wrote in to the newspaper and called, while many tried guessing who the anonymous donor was. The rumors and guessing game made for more interesting stories, and for titillating gossip at the coffee shop.

Meanwhile, Aunt George, “the Nose,” stepped down from her office of Mayor, and moved to Kansas City, Missouri, where she opened a gift shop inside Union Station selling weird Christmas gag gifts. Strange gifts like emergency underpants, jalapeno-flavored candy canes, pens in the shape of pickles, banana nut bread scented candles, and refrigerator magnets with a picture of Jesus peering around a corner saying, ‘I Saw That.’ Last we heard; she was making a killing.

Deputy Doug Martin eventually ran for Sheriff and won the election in a landslide over two opponents, who, while they had military backgrounds, had no law enforcement experience. Along with his shiny new badge, he began to wear a broad smile.

The KBI and FBI eventually gathered enough evidence based on testimony and circumstantial evidence to charge Alexander Federov for murder and murder-for-hire of some of our area farmers and ranchers. As a result, KBI and FBI closed their cases calling them an “exceptional closing.”

Even though the case had been closed, I spent many a sleepless night after that racked with guilt for killing another human being. I replayed the scene in my mind numerous times and each time came away from the memory surprised at how this rage, I never knew existed inside of me, boiled over in an instant. With the needle in my hand, I wanted to kill Federov. For mother’s sake. For Father’s sake, and maybe my own. There was no doubt that’s what I wanted. But as I watched him die helplessly in front of me, his face twisted in surprise, pain and hate I instantly regretted my actions. What bothered me the most I think is facing the truth of my dichotomy—whereas I am at once a force for light and love, I am also capable of darkness and destruction.

I finally confessed to Tom what happened. We were at his house, sitting by the fire, when I suddenly started crying. It came upon me so suddenly, I didn’t understand why at first. Tom was patient and he listened and he encouraged me to take my time and when ready to unload what was on my mind. I explained the whole horrid scene in Federov’s office: Federov’s surprise attack on me, Father’s saving me with a swift kick, Federov’s attack on Father, and my instant reaction with the needle to his neck.

Tom said, “I think anyone else in your situation would have done the same. You were acting in self preservation and self defense for yourself and your father. And if you hadn’t have acted when and the way you did, you both might not be alive today.”

“I know. I’ve gone through that rationalization hundreds of times.”

Tom took my hands in his. “Well, maybe it will never be proven that Federov killed your mother, but we have the needle, and based on his actions, it seems clear to me he intended to do the same to you. I think your mother’s murderer received the justice he deserved.”

I later told Father that I had confessed to Tom and that he knew the truth. Father just nodded. “Good. Very good, my dear. I’m glad you let it out. We can’t know the light if we don’t accept the dark. And we cannot know life if we do not acknowledge death. Now, let it be.”

My soul felt bruised but Tom and Father continued to encourage my light.

I began to spend more time with Tom, even though his medical practice was booming, and he was busier than ever. The old ladies in Standard thought he was “the cutest thing” and they lingered with him on their visits long as they could manage. The old men also like to linger and enjoyed regaling him with stories of their escapades when they were younger and more ornery. Tom was a good listener. Nevertheless, about every other weekend, we met for dinner and I (dare I say this) would at times spend the night at his place, or he at mine. Come spring, he planned to take me to Catalina Island for a getaway. Knowing that, I’ve begun exercising again in the hope I can look respectful in a bikini. If not, there’s always large t-shirts.

I called my old boss, Ted, in New York and I told him I was staying in Standard. “Guess, I’m not surprised,” he had said. “You’ve made national news on a couple of occasions. With that kind of excitement in the middle of Kansas, I’d stay, too.”

I told him Standard wasn’t quite the same as I knew it, but I’d come to re-appreciate the people here and all my hometown had to offer. I also told him how working with Father as long as I could was an experience I did not want to miss. He promised to visit one day to see what flyover country really was all about it. “That’d be great, Tom. Just be prepared. You might want to stay.”

I got up from my office chair and stood at the front door. The late afternoon sun gave off a faint golden glow as it stretched its wintery rays down a snow-covered Main Street. Busybee city workers installed Christmas decorations on light poles and ringed the giant pine tree at Courthouse Square with yellow twinkling lights.

Mabs joined me at the door and put her arms around me. “Whatcha thinkin’ honey?”

“Oh, lots of things, I guess.”

“Care to share on a dare?”

“Sure. I was just thinking. It wasn’t that long ago I was sitting in a comfy job in New York. I liked what I was doing but if I had to admit it, I was going through the motions of living. Coming back home has made me realize how much of life I was missing.”

“I’m glad you came back, sweetheart. You know God must live in a constant state of giggles. Always throwing us curve balls just to see what we’ll do.”

I looked at her in surprise. “I think I’ve heard that somewhere before.”

Father ambled out of his office and joined us. He carried three paper cups. “What’s the haps?” he said.

“What you got there, Father?”

He passed us the cups. “Little Grand Marnier. Cut the edge off the week.” You can’t clink paper cups in a toast, but we pantomimed the gesture.

“I was just telling Mabs, I’m glad to be back home.”

“Yeah. We are so, so, so glad she’s here. And I was telling Sam about God tossing us curve balls just to keep us on our toes.”

Father giggled. “You know, I fear one day I’ll meet God, he’ll sneeze, and I won’t know what to say.”

We had a good laugh at that. We continued standing there basking in the last of the afternoon light, when a limousine pulled up to the front door. A squat man in a shark suit stepped out of the long black car and walked into our office. It was Federov’s Chicago attorney. He eyed us disdainfully, as words assembled in his mouth.

“For small town hicks, you sure know how to pull a fast one. I’ll give you that. But at least I didn’t kill my client, and maybe I know, or maybe I don’t know anybody else who might have. Have a good day,” he said. He spun on his heels, returned to his car, and we watched it speed away.

THE END