Humpty Bumpkin

by Sam Cheever

  “Joey...”

  I spun on my heel and stalked out of the kitchen, heading out into the still warm evening. Caphy was right on my heels. I took off running around the house, not even knowing where I was headed.

  It didn’t matter anyway. I just needed to be alone. I told myself the spike of pain in the vicinity of my heart was because I was mad at Hal. Not because I’d thought I finally had someone I could count on and he’d let me down.

  They always let me down.

  And they always believed my parents were criminals.

  I ran until the stitch in my side made me stop. Then I stumbled forward, panting and sore, toward the only place I could still feel my parents as they’d always been.

  To the spot where my parents had breathed their last breaths.

  And plunged me into the dual nightmare of doubt and loneliness.

  A LIGHT RAIN MISTED my face and weighted down my hair. I tugged it off my face and twisted it at the back of my neck, then rubbed the moisture off my face with the hem of my shirt.

  Thunder rumbled softly in the distance and I watched the jagged play of lightning cut the quickly approaching clouds. The thick, iron-gray cloud cover was pulling the light from the day, dragging an early nighttime into place. I stared at the long, unbroken runway, trying to picture it as it had been before they’d died.

  The grass was up to my thighs, dotted with thistle and milkweed and untamed where it had once been carefully manicured.

  Somewhere in that tangle of vegetation were large chunks of refuse from the crash. Remnants of the worst night of my life, which I couldn’t bear to remove.

  Behind me was the big, metal outbuilding where the two-person Cessna had been housed. And the office where my father took care of all the details involved in having a plane. A large metal tank sat rusting beside the building, still full of aviation fuel.

  I had memories from when I was a kid, probably around nine or ten, of sitting in the shade of the hangar building watching my dad fuel his fast little plane for a trip. When I’d been a kid they’d taken me with them on their frequent trips.

  As I got older they’d chosen to leave me behind.

  A rebel thought intruded on the memory. Why had they stopped bringing me along? Was it because I was old enough to ask uncomfortable questions?

  I shoved doubt away. If I gave into it at all, I’d surely join the rest of the world in doubting them.

  And I was all they had left.

  Caphy lifted her head and gave a worried look at the distant sky, shivering against my hip as another low groan of thunder rolled through the clouds.

  “We’ll go back soon, girl. I promise.”

  The truth was I was afraid to go back home.

  Afraid Hal would be there and almost more afraid he wouldn’t.

  A moment later I lost the choice of going back. The sky opened up, turning the mist into a thunderous downpour that pelted painfully against my skin.

  I jumped up and ran toward the hangar, praying the door wasn’t still dead bolted. I couldn’t remember if I’d locked the place back up after my parents’ death.

  That time was all a blur.

  Fortunately, it wasn’t locked. I shoved one side of the big, sliding doors open just enough for me and Caphy to squeeze through and pushed it closed again as the rain forced its way inside, like a heat seeking missile.

  The torrent banged against the door and the ceiling, creating a jarring sound that made me want to cover my ears. I shivered violently and turned to the small door on the side wall.

  My father’s office.

  I wasn’t sure I could go in there. I hadn’t been inside since his death.

  Another teeth clacking shiver made up my mind for me. I would just duck inside and grab the aviator jacket he always kept in there. And then I’d get right back out.

  Caphy’s head lifted and her gaze shot to the office door. She gave a little bark, her tail wagging half-heartedly.

  Tears burned behind my lids. She thought my father would be in that tiny office.

  I hurried over and grabbed the knob, taking a deep breath to give myself strength, and then pulled it open.

  Standing on the threshold, I stared at the sight in front of me. I narrowed my gaze, trying to remember if the room had been that way when I’d last seen it.

  Surely not.

  It looked like someone had tossed the place. Except not really. The drawers of my father’s antique wooden desk were closed and the contents presumably still intact. The painting of my father’s pretty little Cessna, which my mom had done for him as a wedding present, was still hanging on the wall across from his desk where he could see it. And the two remote control cars my dad and I had raced across the hangar were still there.

  The framed pictures of me and my mom and of all three of us together were still in their spots on the wall. And the one, small window was intact, the dusty shade still tucked up at the top because my father had loved to watch the sun come up from his little office.

  The thought made my eyes tear up. I shoved it away, tired of feeling melancholy. It was well past time I proved my parents were innocent of the things they’d been charged with.

  Caphy dove happily into the mess on the floor and came up with part of a hamburger. She’d swallowed it whole before I even had time to react.

  “Ew! No, girl. Heaven knows how long that’s been here.”

  She wagged her tail and stuck her nose back in the mess. She came up with an empty French fry box. Since I’d yelled at her about the burger, she stood staring at me with the grease-saturated box in her mouth as if waiting for my permission to eat it.

  “Drop it,” I told her firmly.

  She gave her tail a half-wag, clearly hoping I was just kidding, and then lowered her head and gacked it out on the floor.

  “Good girl,” I told her, scratching her between the ears. “What a mess. I can’t believe it’s been like this for two years.”

  Caphy growled low and stepped forward, her body vibrating against my leg and her lips peeled back to show her teeth.

  “It hasn’t been,” a rusty voice said from behind me.

  I spun around with a yelp of surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  My father’s old partner looked a lot the worse for wear. Devon Little was dressed in filthy clothes that hung on his once robust frame like rags on a skeleton. His graying brown hair was long and hung in greasy strings down past his chin.

  A bushy mustache and a scraggly beard obscured much of his face. The round, ruddy face I remembered was transformed, his cheeks scored with deep creases and the puffiness around his eyes telling a tale of stress and weariness.

  He stood straight and tall, though, and his carriage reflected a residual arrogance that had always made people trust and rely on him. As my father had.

  “How are you, Joey?”

  “I’m okay. What’s going on, Uncle Dev? We were at your place and it was empty.”

  A shadow passed over his face and his bottom lip, barely visible between the mustache and the beard, quivered slightly. It was the only sign of weakness he would show me. He clenched his hands, drawing my gaze to them. They were covered in filth and he was soaked through from the rain. “Who’s the guy? He looks like a cop.”

  With a jolt of surprise, I saw that he was angry. “Hal? He’s a private investigator from Indy. He’s helping me figure out what’s going on.” I frowned. “What do you know about the corpse in the chipper?”

  Dev’s dark brown gaze hardened, but not before pain flared in the depths. “I don’t know anything.”

  I could tell he was lying. “People are trying to kill me. If you know something about all this mess you need to tell me.”

  His jaw tightened and he took two, quick steps in my direction, closing the distance between us to mere inches. I winced both from surprise and from the sour stench of his body.

  “You need to get out of Deer Hollow, Joey. I can’t protect you. I’m
too busy staying alive myself. But I owed it to your father to tell you to leave. It isn’t safe for you here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  One of his hands snaked out and snagged my wrist, squeezing it hard. “You need to go!”

  His grip was painful and I tried to pull free. “Stop it, you’re hurting me!”

  Caphy snarled and Dev jumped. “Down, Caphy, girl. It’s all right.”

  My pitty growled long and low, clearly no longer trusting the man who’d brought her to me after finding her abandoned on the side of the road. The memory made my chest twist with pain. Devon Little had once been like family to us, to me and Caphy. I was no longer sure if he fit that role, but I shared my dog’s distrust. “She’ll stop growling if you let go of me and step back.”

  Dev seemed unwilling to do that. “I need you to understand.”

  We both went still at the unmistakable sound of a bullet being ratcheted into the chamber of a gun.

  “Let her go.”

  I closed my eyes as a wave of relief swept me.

  Uncle Dev’s grip tightened for a beat and then he released me, lifting his hands over his head. “I’m no danger to her.”

  “Joey, come over here.”

  I opened my eyes, scouring my dad’s former partner with a glower, and moved around the desk to Hal. Caphy trotted along with me, so close I could feel the brush of her wet fur against my leg.

  Hal swept an angry glance over me as I approached. “Did he hurt you?”

  I rubbed my wrist, giving my head a quick shake. I couldn’t believe he was still there. I’d been so afraid I’d run him off.

  He relaxed slightly. “This is Devon Little I presume?”

  “Yes. He was just getting ready to tell me what’s going on,” I said in an uncompromising tone.

  “Can I turn around? I’d like to face the man holding a gun on me.”

  “Turn,” Hal told him, the gun pointed directly at Dev’s heart. “But you can drop the victim act. You’ve been here all this time and you did nothing to help or protect Joey from the results of your own mess.”

  Uncle Dev turned slowly around, his arms still in the air. “I don’t really care what you think of me, Hal the PI. But believe it or not I have been looking out for her the only way I know how.”

  “By hiding in the hangar?” I accused.

  Devon shrugged. “I’m not proud of it but, yes. I figured getting lost was the best way to protect you. If the people looking for that painting find me they’ll use whatever means they can to get me to tell them where it is, including threatening you.”

  “This is how you repay your old friend? By leaving his daughter on her own when your crap blows up in your face?”

  Dev shook his head but didn’t try to defend himself further. He probably realized there was no point. Hal was too angry to listen.

  A fact that created a warm spot in my heart.

  “Just tell us what you know, Dev. Who was the body in the chipper? Did you put him there?”

  “I don’t know who he is.”

  “Stop lying.” Hal said in a dangerously soft voice.

  “I’m not lying. I don’t know his name. He’s just some homeless guy. He was squatting in the woods and I think he might have moved into the cabin when I left.”

  “Why would the people who are after you kill a random homeless guy?” Hal asked.

  “They probably thought he was me. I’m sure they tortured him to find out the location of the painting.”

  A deep sadness overwhelmed me, making it hard to breathe. I dragged air into my lungs and focused on Dev. “You know where the painting is?” I asked him.

  Dev gave a harsh laugh. “I wish.”

  “If you don’t know, why do they think you do?”

  He gave Hal an impatient look. “How the heck do I know? Because they’re crazy?”

  “Okay, let’s start at the beginning,” Hal said, lowering the gun to his side. “Tell us how this all started.”

  Uncle Dev looked at the ground, his body slumping wearily. He scratched his chin through the beard and finally sighed. “I guess I might as well. Keeping quiet about it all these years hasn’t helped at all.” He looked up, his gaze pleading. “Do you mind if I sit down, though? I haven’t had much to eat lately and I’m weak.”

  I thought about the partial hamburger I’d seen Caphy snarf down and frowned, feeling like my dad’s old friend was still playing us for fools.

  Hal inclined his head. “Keep your hands on top of the desk.”

  Dev dropped into my dad’s worn, black leather chair. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desktop and sighing. If he was acting he was very good at it. “That’s better. Thanks.”

  “Talk.”

  Dev shot Hal an irritated look. “Fine. Clearly you already know about the painting. About how it came into our sphere.”

  When Hal and I nodded, he went on.

  “Your parents found out about it after it disappeared. The office manager at that time, Betty something...I can’t remember her last name...took inventory of everything in the truck before it was offloaded into the warehouse. The painting was supposed to have been put into the big vault where it would be kept safe in a temperature and humidity controlled environment until the details of its purchase were complete and your parents were ready to deliver it...”

  I frowned, remembering Pru’s theory about my parents not knowing the painting was there. “They were expecting it?”

  Dev narrowed his gaze on me and didn’t speak for a long moment. “Of course. Why else would the painting be in that truck?”

  “Where were they supposed to deliver the painting?” Hal asked.

  “Uh...some royal prince in Dubai I think. I wasn’t really involved much in that side of the business. But Brent had told me about it. About how rare and valuable it was. I remember telling him it was dangerous to have something so valuable in the warehouse but he wasn’t worried.” Dev frowned. “Your dad never worried about anything. He had this ridiculously sunny personality that didn’t allow any negative influence to take hold. That was why he and I worked so well together. He supplied the positive influence. I tainted it with harsh reality.” Dev gave a harsh bark of laughter, shaking his head. “Anyway, he said they’d be delivering the painting soon and not to worry about it. So I didn’t. I had too much other stuff to do and I trusted his instincts, even if they sometimes were a bit too optimistic. He always seemed able to make things work out.”

  “But things didn’t work out, did they?” Hal asked.

  “No. They didn’t. Betty called Brent the next day and told him the painting was missing from the safe.”

  “How did that happen?” I asked, surprised. I remembered my father talking incessantly about how break-in proof that safe was.

  “I have no idea. I’ve been trying to figure that out for two years, since they were killed. Because I know there’s a direct connection between the missing painting and their deaths.”

  “You think whoever stole it killed them?”

  Dev nodded. “I know it. But I’ll be dammed if I can figure out who it is.”

  “Did the police ever figure out how it was stolen?”

  “They think the Monet was swapped out for another piece of art. There was a cheap picture of cats that was almost exactly the same size as the Monet in the safe when Betty went to check her inventory. It was wrapped just like the Monet had been but it wasn’t worth more than ten dollars.”

  “Someone knew the Monet was coming and was ready to swap it out.”

  “It sure looked that way to me.”

  “What did my dad think?” I asked.

  “I never got a chance to talk to him about it. He was out of the office all that day and then he and Joline flew out that afternoon to make a couple of short hop deliveries. They died that night.”

  “What was he doing that afternoon?”

  Uncle Dev looked at Hal. “That’s what I’ve been trying to piece together. I figured he
knew what happened to the painting and was trying to get it back. But we’ll never know now because all the people who were involved are gone.”

  “Betty?” I said with a frown. I vaguely remembered a heavyset, middle aged woman who used to give me a sucker whenever I’d come into the office. But I hadn’t been in there for several years. I’d been too involved in my own life at that point.

  In that moment I really wished I hadn’t been.

  “She died a couple of weeks later. Drove her car off the road. They assumed she’d had a heart attack behind the wheel.”

  “And the other people who worked there?” Hal asked.

  “That was it. Me, Betty, Brent and Joline. It was a small, family operation. There was an auctioneer who came up from Kentucky a few times a year but that was it.”

  “Do you know how to contact the auctioneer?” Hal asked.

  Dev frowned. “His contact info’s probably in the office. But who knows if it’s current. That was a couple of years ago.”

  I looked at Hal. “We can go over there tonight.”

  He nodded.

  “What about me?” Devon asked. “I don’t have any place else to go.”

  “What happened to all your money?” I asked him.

  “What money? I’ve spent everything I had trying to lay low over the last two years. I’ve got nothing but my land and that rundown cabin.”

  I thought about it for a moment and made a decision. “You can stay here for now. We’ll figure out what to do with you after we’ve put all this behind us.”

  Devon nodded. “Thanks, honey.”

  I held up a hand. “Don’t! We’re not okay, you and I. You’re not my Uncle Dev any more. Right now, you’re just a guy who only cares about taking care of himself.”

  He hung his head. “I guess I deserve that.”

  “And so much more,” Hal said softly.

  “I’ll make it up to you, Joey. I promise.”

  “I don’t want your promises. I want you to step up and help us fix this mess. Until I see that you’ve decided to man up, you’re dead to me.”