by Becky Durfee
“I see you have judge’s paneling in the dining room, too,” Zack noted.
Richard went on a rather lengthy tangent about how he decided upon that particular style of paneling. Jenny couldn’t help but smile; Zack knew exactly which buttons to push to get Richard comfortable and talking. Perhaps this was some construction code of honor she wasn’t familiar with; she was grateful to have Zack there.
After the comments about the house were over, Jenny posed a question. “Mr. Larrabee, do you mind if I ask about that picture on your end table?”
Richard glanced in the direction of the photo. “That one? What about it?”
“Who are they?”
“Those are my parents, on their wedding day.”
Jenny flashed what she hoped was a subtle glance in Zack’s direction. She scooted down to the end of the couch, taking a closer look at the smiling couple. Indeed, she was looking squarely in the face of the man who eventually went on to kill Steve O’dell.
“That’s a lovely picture,” she commented, resuming her original place back on the couch. Another subtle glance and nod in Zack’s direction let him know she’d found their man.
Richard looked solemn. “I know what you guys are here for.”
Feeling uncomfortable, Jenny delicately stated, “Any information you can give us would be greatly appreciated.”
“Y’all aren’t cops, are you?”
“I’m a Larrabee,” Zack said. “I build houses.”
Jenny raised her hand. “I teach fourth grade.”
Richard sighed and made a grunting sound. “You know, when you get to be my age, you start thinking about your life and what you done. You like to think that what you done is good, and when you meet your maker you’ll get the green light to go on to heaven.” He looked sadly at Jenny and Zack. “My wife’s there, you know. She died a few years ago, and she was an amazing woman. There’s no doubt she’s in heaven. She never done nothing bad to nobody.”
Zack and Jenny sat quietly, waiting for Richard to continue.
“But I got this thing…this one thing I done that might mean I don’t get to be with Beth after all.” Tears formed in Richard’s eyes. “I can’t stand the thought of never seeing her again.”
Jenny felt her heart splitting in two.
“We’re not here to judge you, Uncle Richard. We are just trying to find out what happened.”
“It ain’t your judgment I’m worried about.”
Jenny leaned forward in her chair and spoke softly. “Mr. Larrabee, what’s done is done. You can’t change the past. But there’s a woman in a nursing home who doesn’t have much time left…she’s looking to find out what happened to her boyfriend back in 1954. All she wants is answers, and then she’ll feel like she can die peacefully. I know you can’t take back the events from sixty years ago, but you can do the right thing now and give a woman some solace in her final days.” Jenny tried to make eye contact with Richard, but he was looking at his lap. “Besides,” she added, “I know you didn’t do it.”
With that Richard did look up at Jenny, who added, “But I know who did.” She gestured her head in the direction of the photograph. Tears fell freely from Richard’s eyes at that point; he grabbed some tissues from the coffee table and covered his face with them.
“I’m glad this secret isn’t going to die with me,” Richard said feebly. “It’s been eating me up since I was a kid. I never told nobody what happened, not even Beth. My brothers never said nothing neither. They took this secret to their graves.”
“What happened, Mr. Larrabee?”
With a sigh Richard gained some composure and began his story. “My dad…he used to gamble a lot. When I was a kid it wasn’t that bad, I don’t think. But as I got older, it got worse. By the time I was a teenager, it got so bad we didn’t have any money. My uncle Arthur offered my father a job with his construction company. My dad made me and my brothers quit school and work for him, too. My uncle used to pay us for working for him, but my dad would take the money. He called it rent. There were always houses to build, so business was good. Uncle Arthur was certainly living high on the hog, but we never knew where our next meal was coming from. And this went on for years.
“My parents used to fight a lot. They didn’t think we could hear them, but we could. My mom was threatening to leave and take us boys with her, saying she couldn’t take no more. My dad just kept saying he could get us out of it. He kept on talking about these ‘sure things’ he could bet on. How he couldn’t lose. How if he could just borrow a little bit of money, he’d be able to make ten times that much.” Richard wiped some tears from his cheeks. “He thought he could gamble his way out of the hole.”
At that point Richard let out a sigh that had clearly been in him for decades. “Back in 1954 I was seventeen years old. I remember my dad came up to my brothers and me one Saturday morning and told us we needed to go somewhere. He told us not to say nothing, just get in the truck. We knew something was up, but we did what he said. In the truck he just kept telling us that we needed to keep our mouths shut about what we were about to do. If we said anything to anyone, everyone in the family would go to jail. Yeah, I was pretty scared.
“He drove us to the site on Meadowbrook Road. It was where we had been working. Everything seemed normal except there was a fifty five gallon drum sitting there. He told us it was too heavy for him to lift by himself, and he needed our help putting it in the truck. We didn’t know what was in it. We didn’t want to know what was in it. We knew it was something bad.
“Later that night, when it got dark out, my dad told us we needed to go back out again. We went to this house that had a door in the back. My dad popped off the door knob and we went in. He told us to take everything we could find out of there. I thought we were stealing, but I did as I was told. My brothers did too. We were too scared not to.
“We ended up putting all that stuff into to some other drums and sealing them up. My dad put the doorknob back on like we’d never been there. Then, in the middle of the night we drove the drums out to some building somewhere. We walked them pretty far out into the woods and left them there.” Richard shook his head. “I didn’t know what I done, but I knew it was bad.
“On the way home my dad said again that if we breathed a word of this to anyone, we’d all be done for. I knew I wasn’t going to say nothing. My brothers didn’t say nothing neither.
“But after that, things got much better at home. We had money. My mom and dad stopped fighting. My dad stopped taking the money we earned from Uncle Arthur. I knew it had to be because of what we done that night, so I guess in a way I was glad I did it, whatever it was. It sure made my life better.
“I did notice that one guy from work stopped showing up after that. A few guys asked where he’d gone, and my dad just said he’d left town. I guess if I thought about it I’d know something wasn’t right, but I didn’t let myself think about it.” He looked squarely at Jenny and Zack. “I’m pretty sure I know what was in that drum now that you said there was a murder.”
“Yes,” Jenny said softly. “Unfortunately his remains were found in a drum not too long ago.”
Richard sobbed freely for a few minutes, ripping Jenny’s soul in half. “Mr. Larrabee,” she added. “Might I say something?”
Richard didn’t agree, but he didn’t protest, so Jenny continued.
“I really don’t think you should let this eat you up. Truly. This wasn’t your idea…you were just a kid doing as you were told.” Jenny hoped she wasn’t overstepping her bounds. “I actually think it was unfair for your father to put you in that position.”
Jenny’s words seemed to provide Richard with some comfort. The tears slowed to a stop, and he looked up at his two guests on the couch. “That’s what I’ve tried to tell myself over the years, but I wasn’t sure if I believed it.”
“Believe it,” Jenny said sincerely. “It’s the absolute truth.”
Richard uncomfortably shifted his position in his chair. �
��Now that I’ve given you two your answers, can you clear up something for me?”
“Absolutely,” Jenny said. “That is, if we can.”
“Who was that guy in the drum, and who was willing to pay that much to make him disappear?”
Jenny felt that after all those years of guilt Richard had endured, he deserved to hear the truth. She recited the entire story, pulling out no stops, noting Richard grimaced every time she talked about the love between Elanor and Steve. At the end of the account, Richard silently nodded with understanding.
“You know,” he began, “It actually feels pretty good to get this off my chest.”
“I imagine it does. That’s quite a secret you’ve had to harbor,” Jenny replied. “Honestly, the way I see it, you were just as much of a victim in this crime as Steve was.”
“You know,” Richard began, “there was one other victim in this crime.”
Jenny’s blood ran cold. “Who?”
“My father.” Richard looked Jenny in the eye. “He committed suicide four months after this happened.”
As Jenny and Zack pulled out of Richard’s driveway, they remained quiet for quite some time. Finally Zack broke the silence. “I guess you have your answer now, huh?”
Jenny nodded. “It appears I do.” She looked out the window as all the quaint houses sped by, wondering if any terrible secrets were contained within those walls as well. “I feel awful for him,” she added. “He seems like he has a good heart.”
“Agreed.”
“Could you imagine if your own father put you in that position at just seventeen?” She turned to Zack. “I just can’t wrap my head around it.”
“It was shitty, no argument from me,” Zack replied. “And I guess Brian knew it, too, offing himself just a few months later. I guess he couldn’t live with what he’d done.”
“Nope.” Jenny reflected silently for several minutes. “I can’t believe how many lives Luther Whitby ruined just because he didn’t want his daughter to marry a poor man.”
“Well, it sounds like Brian Larrabee did a pretty good job ruining some lives, too.”
Jenny didn’t reply.
“But do you know what’s cool about this?” Zack looked mischievously at Jenny out of the corner of his eye.
“Oh dear.”
“I’m still related to a murderer.” Jenny snorted as Zack continued. “Now, I’m not his direct descendent or anything, which does knock the badass level down a few notches, but he was still a Larrabee.”
“You’re demented,” Jenny posed. “And incidentally, in what universe is your grandfather’s cousin your uncle?”
Zack laughed. “I was hoping you didn’t catch that. I had no idea what to call him. Mr. Larrabee seemed too formal, but Richard seemed too casual. Before I knew it, ‘Uncle Richard’ just came out of my mouth.”
“I guess now that I know the explanation it makes sense. You’re forgiven.”
“Thanks, boss. You know, I’ve got to admit, we made a pretty good team back there.”
“You think?”
“Oh, hell yeah,” Zack replied emphatically. “I was like the warm up guy. I got him warmed up with all that construction talk. And then when it came time for all that sensitive stuff, you took over.” He held up his hand. “I’ve got to be honest; I would have had no idea what to say to him once he started crying. I don’t do that well with tears, especially not a grown man’s.”
“Ovaries,” Jenny replied. “People with ovaries can handle tears. It’s part of that second X chromosome.”
“I wouldn’t know. Me, my penis, and my Y chromosome are too busy working construction.” Zack’s mood quickly switched to solemn. “You know, I’m actually pretty bummed that this is over. This was so cool. A nice little break from the norm.”
Jenny thought about the whole experience—the people she’d met, the arguments it sparked, the atrocities she’d witnessed—and realized she wouldn’t have changed a thing. “Yeah. It was pretty cool.”
Suddenly she became much more alert and turned to Zack. “You know what I can’t figure out, though?”
“What’s that?”
“Why would I hear the name Arthur Larrabee when the shooter was actually Brian?”
The following morning Jenny sat across from Bill Abernathy at his desk in the police office. “But Richard had no knowledge of it,” she concluded. “All he knew was that he moved some drums for his father in the middle of the night. He knew he’d done something that probably wasn’t on the up and up, but he had no idea he was disposing of a body.”
Bill shook his head. “I have no intention of pressing charges. Don’t worry about that.”
Jenny smiled.
“So, now that the case is officially closed, let me go get you Steve’s things.” Bill got up from his chair.
“Thanks, Bill.” Jenny looked around nervously as Bill disappeared around the corner. She’d never been in a police station before, except for a field trip in the fourth grade, which hardly counted. She hoped to get out of the station before anything frightening happened.
Bill returned with the bags of Steve’s belongings, placing them on his desk. “I think this is everything. We honestly didn’t spend a lot of time going through it considering we pretty much had all of the details, thanks to you.”
Jenny looked at the bags with a mixture of excitement and sadness. “Did you talk to Elanor about the funeral arrangements?”
“She said she’d take care of it,” Bill replied. “I assume she’ll follow through.”
“I’m sure she will.” Jenny gestured toward the bags. “So, do I need to sign for these?”
“No, ma’am, you can just take them.”
With a deep breath Jenny shook Bill’s hand, recalling how firm his grip was. “Well, thank you very much for getting these to me. I’m sure this will mean a lot to Elanor.”
Back at the house Jenny sat on the living room floor with the bags spread out in front of her. After gathering her courage she opened the first bag, pulling out some trivial contents: silverware, dishes, and various other kitchen items. Next she removed an old framed picture—a black and white photograph of a stunning young girl sitting on a rock by a lake. She recognized that it was Elanor right away—she could tell by the eyes. Jenny remained motionless as she studied the image, marveling at both the beauty of the subject and the gravity of the find. She was mesmerized, unable to put the picture down for quite some time.
With a sigh she put the photo off to the side and continued searching the bags, finding mostly everyday items. She did pull out an envelope—a modern one—which she opened to find Steve’s photo ID. Once again she found herself staring.
“So you’re Steve, huh?” she whispered to the image. The picture on the identification card was that of a nondescript, light-haired man who Jenny could have easily passed on the street without a second glance. Fully aware of his character, Jenny felt immediate fondness for this man; she could see the kindness in his eyes. Her gaze shifted to the card’s signature. Steve had signed this document with his own hand. He’d posed for the picture. He carried this very certificate with him in his wallet. A strange feeling of déjà vu washed over Jenny. “I’ll just put you back in your little envelope,” she said, nearly overcome with both familiarity and awe.
She continued to delve carefully into the bags, taking out each piece and deciding its importance. Most items seemed to be unsentimental; however, one particular item caused Jenny’s jaw to drop.
Chapter 18
Jenny scooted the recliner closer to Elanor’s bed so she could hear Elanor better. Elanor’s soft voice reflected her exhaustion, and Jenny was having a difficult time making out what she was saying. “I figured it was all about the almighty dollar,” Elanor said. “It usually is.”
“I actually felt bad for Richard Larrabee,” Jenny confessed. “He’d just been a teenager when his father asked him to do the unspeakable. It had clearly been weighing on him his whole life.”
“T
hat’s terrible, to drag your kids into something like that. Especially when it’s to get yourself out of a mess that you’ve created.”
“Well, he apparently felt bad about doing it. He committed suicide a few months later.”
“Did he now?”
“According to Richard he did.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. At least his sons got to live comfortably after that. If any piece of good news came out of this whole thing, it’s that those kids didn’t have to pay the price for their father’s gambling addiction anymore.”
“They do seem like a nice family.” Jenny thought of Zack in particular.
Elanor gestured toward the bags at Jenny’s feet. “So what do you have there?”
After a short pause, Jenny announced, “Some of Steve’s belongings.”
Elanor’s eyes instantly opened wide. “Can you help me sit up, dear?”
“Sure thing, Miss Elanor.” Jenny pushed the button to make Elanor’s bed upright, pausing every few inches to help her scoot into the correct position. The oxygen tubes added extra challenge. As much Jenny hated the idea of losing her beloved friend, she also hated seeing such a vibrant woman reduced to this level of helplessness. In that regard, she almost hoped Elanor would go quickly.
Once Elanor was sitting comfortably, she eagerly asked, “What do you have?”
First Jenny pulled out the photograph of young Elanor. “I believe I might know who this is,” Jenny said playfully as she handed the picture over.
Various emotions simultaneously appeared on Elanor’s face. “He’d kept this picture on his table,” she explained, never taking her eyes off the image. “I gave it to him.” She caressed the frame lovingly, this being the first tangible piece of Steve she’d had in decades. After a moment she turned with as much excitement as she could muster and asked, “What else do you have?”
“I bought a frame for this, but I thought you might like to hold it first.” Jenny handed Elanor Steve’s ID.
Tears immediately flooded Elanor’s eyes, causing her to laugh at herself. “I can’t see,” she giggled, blinking exaggeratedly. “It’s the first time I can look at Steve’s face in forever, and I can’t even see it.”