by Donna Doyle
He finished his run early and decided against going to The Café for breakfast. It wouldn’t be the same without Kelly.
Kelly was already at the library. Keeping busy was an antidote to letting herself ponder how Troy was going to handle his friend’s death when he had no straightforward way of proving his suspicions that what had been ruled a suicide was certainly a murder.
She was alone in the meeting room. Lucas had helped her set up the chairs; nothing had been easier than to invite him to come and set up while Doug Iolus was present. Mrs. Stark had frowned and for an instant the professional smile had slipped when she saw him come into the library on Friday night, announcing to Kelly that he’d come to work. Doug, oblivious to the ban but sensitive to atmosphere, had gone upstairs with Lucas so that the chairs could be arranged in a manner that was friendly to photography. As they walked up the stairs, Doug asked Lucas why he was helping out and Lucas explained that he helped out a lot at the library. But Memorial Day was special, he had told Doug, because even kids needed to tell the veterans thank you. Kelly had a feeling that a photograph of Lucas, and probably that quotation as well, would show up in the paper. She was certainly going to do her best to support that addition.
Representative Eldredge was coming with the flag, but before the program, the Starks were taking him to lunch. Kelly was relieved that Mrs. Stark wouldn’t be arriving for the program until later. It was never easy to maintain her usual welcoming demeanor in the library board president’s presence, but since Troy had shared his suspicions that Chief Stark might have been involved in, perhaps even engineered, Sean Claypool’s death, Kelly felt as if the library had turned into the setting for a novel. Villains belonged in print or on the screen; not in daily life.
Doug arrived early. Too early to just be getting ready for the program, which he’d been covering for years and could probably do on autopilot.
“Don’t you look like Miss Red, White and Blue,” he said, complimenting her on her patriotic ensemble, with a blue skirt and a red, white, and blue blouse displaying fireworks shooting off against the sky.
Doug looked the same as always. She wondered if he had innumerable versions of the tee-shirts, baggy jeans, and baseball caps. The cap today was in honor of the holiday, with the imprint of the American flag on the bill.
“So, I hear that Eldredge is being feted for lunch by his favorite constituents,” he said, bringing the camera up to his eyes to take a photograph of Kelly as she placed the opening remarks on the lectern.
Kelly protested. “Don’t take photos of me,” she said. “Save it for the program. You know how the veterans love to see their photos in the paper.”
“You deserve some of the credit,” he said. “You work harder than anyone to honor the vets on Memorial Day. Why should Mrs. Stark get to steal the spotlight?”
“Lucas did a lot of work,” she said. “Thanks for taking the time to talk to him. He’s a good kid.”
Doug grinned. “Mrs. Stark doesn’t think so, does she? I felt daggers in my back when the kid and I were walking up the stairs.”
“No,” Kelly said diplomatically.
“He’s the kid who got blamed for the Daffodil Alley murder,” Doug recalled. “Until Scotty Stark was arrested for it.”
She should have known that Doug would have had his reporter’s instincts on full alert. “That’s right,” she said.
“And that’s why she doesn’t like him.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Lucas is a good kid. He’s gotten into some mischief, but nothing serious.”
“Not murder, that’s for sure. I still don’t know how they expected to pin it on him.”
“Doug . . . what do you know about the death of Sean Claypool?”
Doug’s clever gaze scrutinized her. “The suicide out in Doe Crossing?”
“Yes.”
“No one is asking any questions. Why? Should they be?”
This was dangerous ground. She couldn’t reveal anything that Troy had told her; it was only speculation anyway, even if it was more likely to be true than the official version that had been published in the newspapers.
“I don’t know, I’m not a journalist. I’m just curious about what you know.”
“All I know is what everyone knows. A mentally unstable veteran of the Afghanistan war with a criminal record came to Settler Springs to visit friends and family in town. He got into some bar fights, there’s some suspicion that he’s behind some of the break-ins that were taking place; he stole a car and a gun, and he drove fifteen miles out of town and shot himself. The death was called in by an anonymous observer who noticed the car and the man in it. Why?”
“That’s not exactly the truth.”
“What is the truth, then?”
Kelly remained cautious. “I don’t know. I just think there might be more to it than what people have been told.”
“What’s your angle in the story?”
“I don’t have an angle.”
“But you know something.”
“I don’t know anything.” Then, in a rush of words, “But I know someone who
might.”
“Give him my number, Kel,” Doug said casually. “I’ll listen to what he has to say.”
19
Meeting at the Diner
Troy wasn’t expecting to see Kelly standing at his front door when he went to answer the knock.
“Hey . . . is the program over?”
“It’s over. I’ve never felt like this before. Relieved that it’s over. I came by to see how you’re doing?”
“I’m doing. Sit down, I’ll bring out something to drink. Sit on the far end of the porch swing,” he advised, “where the forsythia bush hides you from view.”
“You’re ashamed of being seen with a librarian?” she asked as she followed his directions.
“I’m leery of Chief Stark seeing who comes to visit.”
“Does he come by?”
“Every now and then. The first time that I noticed was when Mia Shaw came by. He didn’t see her, and she’d parked her car around the corner. Where’s your car?”
“I walked. I needed the exercise.”
“Okay. Sit down, I’ll bring out drinks.”
Drinks consisted of cans of soda, but he did bring glasses with ice, and a bowl of potato chips.
“Everything go okay?”
He was dressed casually: shorts, a tee-shirt, no shoes or socks. Arlo had followed him outside and after going over to greet Kelly, sat down on the porch between them.
“It’s not the program . . . it went fine. But I couldn’t stand seeing Mrs. Stark up there, oozing hypocrisy, knowing—I shouldn’t be here complaining to you. How is everything? And I know there’s a lot of everything.”
“You can complain. The Starks inspire complaining. I talked again to Sean’s dad; he’s flying out. He decided to have the funeral here, since there are so many relatives here. The Krymanskis . . . they’re all taking this to heart. Skip doesn’t buy the suicide story and I can’t tell him what I think.”
“Why not?”
“Are you kidding? If the Krymanskis get involved, Stark has his ready-made scapegoat. Sean was a Krymanski, therefore he was bad news, therefore he committed suicide. And it’ll put them on the hot seat. I have to figure this out without getting them involved.”
“What made Sean’s dad decide to have the funeral here?”
“Some of the family contacted him to say . . . you know, what people say when these things happen. He was glad that Sean was having a good time reconnecting. Of course, that doesn’t make the suicide story any easier to swallow. What’s this?”
Kelly had handed him a post-it note. “It’s Doug Iolus’ phone number. Give him a call.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows a lot. I think he’ll help.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing specific. Just that what he’s heard isn’t the whole truth.”
“Kelly
, I told you not to get involved in this.”
“I can’t not get involved, Troy. Those men today who spoke up about the wars they fought in . . . they survived. They weren’t shot by the enemy. They came home. But they all remember the ones who didn’t come home. Your friend came home, but . . . if the Starks had him killed, then they have to be exposed. I know it won’t be easy. But we have to try.”
“You said ‘Starks’,” Troy noted. “What makes you think Mrs. Stark knows anything about this?”
“Just . . . I don’t know. I have no way of knowing. But she could stand up there and receive that citation from Rep. Eldredge for all their service to the community, and beam as if it’s all true. I know that citations are just a piece of paper, but they should represent something. The men who fought, they . . .”
“Kelly, honey, why are you crying?”
She couldn’t answer. How could she tell him that she was crying because he wouldn’t, or couldn’t; because he had lost a friend that she hadn’t had a chance to meet; because honoring the veterans on Memorial Day had done nothing to prevent the death of a veteran who had survived the war and met his demise in her home town. She just shook her head and didn’t answer.
But when Troy took her in his arms and held her so that she could cry against his chest, he felt his own grief begin to flow through him. He held her tighter; his tee-shirt was wet from her tears, and as she cried, he thought of Sean through the years. A brother in arms, a survivor of the war that preyed upon his soul, a friendship forged in those battles in a foreign place that was strange to all of them and yet home while they were soldiers.
Sean was dead. Not in battle. Not by the acknowledged enemy. But he hadn’t killed himself. As Troy sat on his porch swing, holding Kelly in his arms while she cried, shielded by the forsythia bush that hid half his porch from view, he knew that he was no longer a soldier with a soldier’s way of mourning. He was a civilian now and he would have to find a way to acknowledge the loss that he felt.
But first, he needed to find a way to prove what he believed.
He wasn’t quite ready to tell Doug Iolus all that he suspected. The habit of circumspection was strong within him. But the next day, when he called the phone number Kelly had given him, Doug Iolus suggested that they meet out of town at a diner about twenty miles away from Settler Springs.
“Kelly suggested that I call you,” Troy said as if he needed a reason to be meeting the photographer, who was waiting outside the diner. Scruffy and nonchalant, Doug Iolus in his loose-fitting cargo pants and stretched-out tee-shirt and baseball cap didn’t look like someone who could assemble the missing pieces of the Stark puzzle.
Doug nodded as he opened the door. “Good breakfasts here,” he commented, waving to the waitress who greeted him as he entered. He didn’t wait to be seated but walked to the booth at the end of the diner. Troy followed. The booth looked out on the parking lot; it wasn’t an especially enticing view, but it did offer an excellent opportunity to see everyone who was entering the diner. Troy wondered if the instincts of a photographer were like those of a cop.
Troy felt a pang as he perused the menu, thinking of the way Kelly had been last night when he drove her home after her tears had subsided. She was shaken by Sean’s death even though she hadn’t met him, and Troy realized that her sorrow was no less real for that. They hadn’t had their usual Saturday run at the Trail followed by breakfast. Instead, it was Sunday morning, and he was meeting a local journalist to find out what he’d heard about Sean’s death.
“He didn’t kill himself,” Troy said abruptly.
Sean put down his menu. “That’s what Kelly says.”
“She’s right.”
“Why not?”
“Why didn’t he kill himself?” Troy’s voice was harsh. “He was getting ready to open his own landscaping business in Texas; he already had employees lined up. He came out here to visit because he said he’d likely be busy the next few years, building up the business. He was meeting family members he hadn’t seen for twenty years.”
“He got arrested at Outlaws for getting into a fight,” Doug said flatly. “What about that?”
“The fight was started by an ex-Marine who likes to throw punches. He’s a stranger in town, one of a number of them. Veterans who showed up to be part of the Memorial Day action but did most of their celebrating in the bars. His name is Eddie Kavlick—”
“You said he’s a stranger.”
“He is a stranger, but I talked to someone who knows him.”
Doug was stretched out in the booth, his leg on the seat, his chin resting in his hand as he listened. “Knows him?”
“Knows who he is and what he’s done.”
“I might want to talk to that person.”
“Not likely.”
Doug didn’t pursue this. “What’s this Kavlick dude done?”
“He’s a business associate of Travis Shaw.”
“Shaw who’s in prison? How do those dots connect?”
“Drugs. Shaw sold them, Kavlick collected on people who owed money.”
“So what brings him here to Settler Springs.”
“I don’t know what brought him here. I’m trying to locate him but not having much luck.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think everyone wants him to be found.”
“Who’s everyone?”
“I don’t know. But Sean didn’t commit suicide.”
“If he didn’t commit suicide, how did he die?”
“With my service weapon.”
Their food came then, but Troy could tell that he’d piqued Doug’s interest with his remarks. There was something alert ticking beneath the disheveled photographer’s casual demeanor, and as soon as the waitress had left, Doug returned to the conversation.
“Your weapon?”
Troy went into more detail, keeping his voice low to avoid being overheard as he relayed his suspicions about the disappearance of his Baretta from the squad car.
“Let me put this in a nutshell,” Doug said. “You think that Stark intentionally took your gun out of the car and is blaming you for losing it. The gun gets used in a murder that’s meant to look like a suicide. There’s no trace of the man who’s been in town for a couple of weeks getting into fights; you think he killed Claypool. Claypool is related to the Krymanskis; no one is going to bite on the murder bait because he’s a Krymanski. Meanwhile, Shaw is in prison, getting television interviews with the local news. I still don’t see a connection between Shaw and this Kavlick.”
He smeared grape jam on his toast. “And you’re not going to tell me who the connection is, are you?”
“I can’t.”
“But maybe I can find out on my own?”
“It would be better if you didn’t.”
“Better for you, maybe. Better for the person. But not better for solving the murder. If you want me to help you find out the truth, don’t ask me to wear a blindfold.”
20
Memorial Day
When Skip Krymanski went to Kelly on Memorial Day morning as she was preparing for the guests who would be seated at the grandstand, she welcomed his request to march in the parade. He and a few of his family members who had served would be marching, he told her.
Kelly smiled. “I’m glad,” she said. She guessed that his family’s decision was prompted as a way of mourning for Sean Claypool, and she thought it was as good a recognition as any. The funeral was to be held on Wednesday, after the viewing on Tuesday night. Sean’s father had arrived from Texas and was staying with members of the family, even though he was not related to them. The bonds of kinship had been extended in the grieving for Sean. Troy would have welcomed Sean’s father as a houseguest, but Skip had been insistent. They wanted to do this. They had to do it, Skip said. It wasn’t a topic open for discussion.
Troy was assigned by Chief Stark to work crowd control on the day of the parade. Chief Stark, of course, would be in uniform up on the grandstand, along wi
th Mayor Truvert and other town dignitaries. Representative Eldredge had decided to stay in town for the parade. Troy could see Kelly on the other side of the street, helping the Scout troops to assemble for their place in the parade.
The units marched according to the war they had fought in, although the Korean War veterans rode in cars provided for the day by the local car dealerships. Marching after the Scouts and before the veterans was the high school marching band, playing lively patriotic tunes that kept the crowd humming as the veterans passed by.
As the soldiers went by, Chief Stark saluted them, his hand at his forehead in a gesture of respect to the troops and their service. Troy’s lip curled in contempt; it was just another photo opportunity for the publicity-hungry police chief, and Troy wondered whether Doug would run the image in his coverage of the parade.
Troy found Doug Iolus a hard read. He was unquestionably true to his craft; of that Troy had no doubt. But he couldn’t tell whether or not Doug believed him and his assertion that Sean had not committed suicide. With no proof but his own convictions, Troy couldn’t blame him. He had had little success in following up on his own investigation. There was no word regarding the whereabouts of Eddie Kavlick, and Troy had the feeling that there was no driving interest in finding him. Troy doubted that Kavlick, despite his vehement promotion of his Marine history, would be marching in today’s parade. All of which simply compounded the mystery. Why had Kavlick come to town for the Memorial Day participation if he was not going to be in it? Had he come to town at someone else’s behest? But Travis Shaw was in prison and in no position to send a lackey to stir up trouble. Nor did there seem to be any connection between the abduction by Kavlick of Mason Shaw and Sean’s murder.