When the gurney was rolled out and Gwen saw the body bag, she did gasp and her knees buckled momentarily as she leaned on Meacham’s arm. In a minute, she was looking at the still piercing but lifeless blue eyes and the distinctive mouth that she knew too well. She turned and murmured in the faintest voice “It’s him, dear god, it’s him” before burying her face on Meacham’s shoulder.
“Gwen, Miss Halliday will take you home now. You shouldn’t be alone and she will stay as long as you like. Who can we call?” pleaded Meacham. Gwen then gave the name of a friend at the hospital and also asked him to call the Kosinsky’s to request that Woody be allowed to stay the night. “Just tell them I am not feeling well. I need a little time to figure out what to say to a boy who just lost the Father he never really knew. Can you come by tomorrow?” she asked plaintively. Meacham nodded yes and Gwen was escorted out of the morgue on the arm of Miss Halliday.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Saturday, July 23, 1955
The next morning, Meacham was at the station and stayed close to his phone. When he received a call from Gwen asking him to come over if it was convenient, he practically flew out the door, causing at least a few heads to turn.
“Woody’s proven lately that he’s made of pretty stern stuff, Gwen. But, have no doubt that he will have a rough go of it for a while after he learns that the hobo he tried to befriend was his Father. I am here to help, you know,” said Meacham reassuringly as he sat on the couch next to her.
“I wonder how his parents will handle this final act of self-absorption and degradation because that is exactly what it is, Billy. We only hear from the Grandmother on Woody’s birthday and at Christmas. Early on, after they moved away, I thought we would at least hear from her more frequently but suspect she was forbidden to do so. Something tells me that he is going to be difficult, to say the least” said Gwen, referring to Tommy’s father.
“Listen, give me the parents number and I will notify them. You are next of kin, Gwen, and have the right to make final preparations. Now if you want his parents to handle everything, that’s acceptable too; if not, I’m sure others will lend you whatever help you need.”
Gwen leaned over and put her hand on Meacham’s arm and left it there for a while, before saying “they haven’t helped since Tommy’s disappearance and there is no way I’ll accept their charity now. I’ll get you the number and then if you would pick up Woody at the Kosinsky’s, that would be helpful. Hopefully, I can find the right words when speaking to him. Rev. Carmichael is coming by this afternoon and my friend Angie will be here after her shift ends at the hospital.”
Woody was quizzical on the ride home but Meacham just mumbled something about “family business” when he dropped him off. When Woody looked back before entering the house, Meacham was still in the driveway watching him.
***
Back at the station, Meacham told the Chief about his visit with Gwen and her request that he notify Tommy’s parents. “If I remember old man Braun, he will likely try to bulldoze his way in here and take over” warned the Chief. “Not going to happen” said Meacham fiercely. “Gwen seemed pretty determined not to let him. I will personally drop the hammer on him if he does anything to upset those two after basically deserting them when Tommy disappeared.”
“Calm down, Billy. You have a call to make and it needs to be handled professionally. You can’t be of use to Gwen if you inflame the parents. We both know that, don’t we?” Meacham shrugged and took a deep breath before heading back to his office.
On the third try, the phone was answered and a gruff voice asked “Hello, who’s calling?” Meacham introduced himself and quickly conveyed the bad news in a monotone. After a brief pause, Mr. Braun barked, “Can’t be, detective, my son’s in Florida and has been for several months now. Plus, he would never go back to Parlor City after all these years.”
Meacham let Braun’s startling revelation pass and explained that Tommy’s widow had positively identified the body by a distinctive birthmark. Mr. Braun paused for a moment then peppered Meacham with questions until he was almost convinced that the hobo found by the creek could actually be his son.
No longer willing to suppress his anger, Meacham said “Let me pose a question to you, Mr. Braun. How long was Tommy in Florida and have you been in regular communication with him?”
Braun ignored Meacham’s questions and sounding like he was in charge, announced, “My wife and I will fly to Parlor City tomorrow, Detective, and will get to the bottom of this matter”. Before Meacham could respond, the phone went dead.
Meacham sat at his desk fuming and tried to sort through all that he had just heard. First, there was not an ounce of compassion for the widow of their son and not even a mention of their grandson. And then the knowledge that he knew his son had been in Florida was stunning. Could they have been complicit in their son’s disappearance and used the extensive search for him as a diversionary tactic? The more likely explanation, in Meacham’s mind, was that Tommy contacted his parents at some point after his disappearance and at least periodically relied on them for some level of support. But surely the parents were not aware of the depths to which their son had descended. Almost assuredly he had kept that from them, Meacham concluded.
With Rev. Carmichael coming to the house that afternoon, Meacham was reluctant to intrude but also knew it was imperative that Gwen be prepared for the arrival of the Woody’s grandparents. She also needed to hear about this newly-discovered information regarding Tommy’s whereabouts after his disappearance from Parlor City. Meacham knew he had to put aside his reticence to come by when the minister was there and decided to drop in after lunch.
***
When Meacham arrived at the Braun’s, the door was opened by a nurse who quickly identified herself as Angie, Gwen’s friend from the hospital. She must have noticed the pained look on Meacham’s face so Angie quickly added, “She’s doing fine for now. I am mainly here for moral support and a shoulder to cry on.”
Meacham nodded as he looked over to the couch where Gwen and Rev. Carmichael were whispering. They were turned facing each other and their hands were clasped. Meacham noticed that Gwen’s eyes were closed. Carmichael turned and saw Meacham standing behind him. He had a smile on his face that made Meacham uncomfortable, even jealous.
“Oh, Billy, I’m glad you came back,” said Gwen opening her eyes and standing up to greet him. Meacham then related his conversation with Tommy’s father but omitted the references to Florida.
“Well, Rev. Carmichael is going to manage the funeral arrangements and I will not allow them to intrude but suppose it won’t stop them from creating a scene it they so choose. You won’t believe the call I received this morning. Mayor Wattle, well ex-mayor now, offered a “free” service. He said it would be his deluxe version or something like that. Can you imagine? Of course, I turned him down.”
Uncharacteristically, Gwen was talking rapidly and excitedly then suddenly she stopped, stared straight ahead and burst into tears. Angie rushed to her side and guided her out of the room, leaving Rev. Carmichael and Meacham alone.
“ I consoled Woody, Detective, after Gwen broke the news” said Carmichael, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “He’s up in his room and it is my belief that he should not be disturbed right now.”
Meacham’s eyes narrowed and he turned away from the minister and bit his lower lip as he headed toward the stairs.
“Be careful what you say, Detective. If is often hard for a lay person to find the right words in a tragic situation like this one.” Meacham didn’t look back as he slowly climbed the stairs but had no doubt now that the minister was a very determined rival for Gwen’s affections and would utilize his spiritual role to advantage when she was most susceptible.
He reached the top of the stairs and knocked on Woody’s door. After straining to hear “come in”, Meacham opened the door and saw Woody sitting on the end of his bed, aimlessly twirling his Louisville Slugger bat. When he looked up and
saw that it was Coach Meacham, he stopped and let the bat fall to the floor.
As Meacham silently approached the bed, Woody sprang up and rushed toward him, burying his face in his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. And then what turned out to be prolonged, convulsive sobbing began. Rev. Carmichael had been right about one thing – no words needed to be spoken.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sunday, July 24, 1955
The Brauns arrived back in Parlor City with an ostentatious display as if they expected to be greeted as celebrities returning to their hometown – except that no one was waiting at the airport to fawn over them. Braun had contacted his former golf club and arranged for a tee time the day after the funeral. What should have been the solemn event that brought them back seemed almost secondary.
Eschewing the convenience of the Parlor City motel, the Brauns had booked an elegant bed & breakfast ten miles outside town – not just a room but the entire house – and had hired a driver to chauffeur them around. It was an insensitive display that made even some of their old friends cringe.
After selling his lumber business, Braun had made some shrewd stock market and real estate investments and had also turned uncharacteristically flamboyant – some would say boorish as well – in his later years. The diminutive and docile Mrs. Braun thought but never said out loud that her husband seemed to have taken on the “derring-do” personality of their dead son.
For financial acumen, Mildred Crimmons would have done well had she bumped into Woodrow Braun, Sr. that day in the revolving door at the bank instead of the aptly-named Ripley Maxwell. But then, Mildred’s motivation at that time had not been pecuniary gain.
Like many other business owners in Parlor City, Braun had been close to Mayor Wattle and had benefited from his largesse on more than one occasion when he sought to purchase some property owned by the town and sell other parcels in return. As an unwritten quid pro quo, the Mayor’s political and financial needs had been attended to – including those of former Gov. Traber.
Reluctant to be seen in public with Wattle after his ignominious resignation, Braun wasn’t alone in this regard. He decided that they should meet at the B&B after dark. Wattle would know exactly what was on Braun’s mind and, when he got the call at his lake cottage, reluctantly agreed to the rendezvous. Wattle decided that he would be deferential, that was his preferred style, but would not allow Braun to bully him. He had dodged one legal bullet by resigning over the cash payments from Hawkins but knew that more serious charges awaited him if local authorities kept digging and certain individuals started talking. Folks who had feared Wattle’s retribution in the past might even like to get some revenge. If Wattle had to sacrifice someone like Braun to stay out of jail, he wouldn’t hesitate to do so.
***
Billy Meacham was sitting in the airport parking lot. He wanted to get a look at the abrasive lout who had barked at him on the telephone when he related the somber news of his son’s humiliating death. After their conversation, Braun had made no further inquiries about Tommy, apparently accepting as fact that the body found by his grandson at the creek was indeed his son.
Meacham watched a few Mohawk Airlines DC3s take-off and land, wondering if he should pursue a new career or if it was too late to even get back in the cockpit. A few of his buddies had made the transition right after the war and seemed to be doing well. The airline was expanding and had announced the roll-out of the “Convair 240”, a 40-passenger seat aircraft that Meacham found enticing.
He observed a black Chrysler Imperial idling at the curb and guessed that it was for the Brauns. Shortly, a large man in a panama hat accompanied by a silver-haired lady, both of them with deep tans, emerged from the terminal followed by a porter weighed down with several bags. The man in the panama hat was gesticulating wildly as the driver opened the trunk. It has to be him, Meacham muttered to himself with disgust, already thinking what he would like to do if this pompous ass tried to intimidate Gwen.
***
“He’s a little odd, Gwen, but I like him”, said Angie after Rev. Carmichael had left. Gwen frowned and Angie quickly added, “Listen, honey, I know this is no time for romance and it’s probably the last thing on your mind but it is easy to see that he is sweet on you.”
Gwen just smiled and let it go. Angie had a heart of gold but she definitely lacked discretion at times even when she meant well. Gwen was not oblivious to the qualities of the Reverend and she had fleetingly entertained the thought about what kind of father he would be to Woody. The poor boy had struggled after the disappearance of his father and, in a most bizarre coincidence, had first befriended the hobo from a distance and then discovered his body. He would need a lot of nurturing and steady supervision as he approached his teens. Certainly, someone like the Reverend would have a calm, mature influence.
When the phone rang, Gwen looked up as Angie picked up the receiver. “Yes, she’s here Mr. Braun. Let me see if she can talk.”
And then Angie held the phone away from her ear and both of them could hear the cacophonous voice of Tommy’s father demanding to know why she might not be available. When the booming stopped, Gwen thanked him for coming and explained that Rev. Carmichael was coordinating everything. No, a eulogy had not been planned, she calmly explained. “Well, you will have to take that up with the Reverend, Mr. Braun, but I will not object if you want to say a few words at the cemetery.”
After gruffly saying “I will”, Braun hung up without saying good-bye. Gwen held the phone by her side for a moment before hanging it up and saying to Angie, “my goodness, he is just as obnoxious as ever.” And in a moment of release, they both burst out laughing.
***
When Wattle arrived at the B&B, Mrs. Braun was gone, having been invited to play cards with a group of ladies from her garden club. Before accepting, she had asked but had been forbidden to visit Gwen and her grandson. “You’ll see them both at the funeral and then there will be something at the house afterwards which we had better attend,” he explained. His wife did not demur.
Braun was a bear of a man, well over six feet tall with a fringe of grey hair surrounding a massive head. His nose had expanded over the years, making his small eyes almost beady. In his younger years, he had been known as a prodigious arm wrestler who liked to challenge the largest man in the room – and usually won. He had discovered that it was a useful intimidation technique even when his challenge wasn’t accepted.
After a few drinks, Braun would invariably launch into a rendition of his family history, how his great-great grandfather had ventured from a remote village in Southwest Germany not far from the Black Forest, landed at the Port of Baltimore and made it up the river on a raft pulled by oxen to Parlor City where, his wife being taken ill, they disembarked. After a generation of farming, his grandfather had started a tree farm which his father had nurtured into a lumber business which Woodrow had expanded dramatically. And it was all to be passed down to succeeding generations for them to glorify the Braun family name.
But the dream had collapsed when Tommy rebelled, secretly married the nursing student and then ultimately disappeared. Braun was angry and bitter with what fate had delivered to him and he brought these intense feelings with him back to Parlor City.
Braun had put out a bottle of expensive Scotch in the dark, oak-paneled library. It was a cozy, inviting room but Wattle knew the meeting would be anything but sociable. If Braun started blustering, Wattle would remain calm. In his many years as Mayor, he had learned – some would say mastered – the art of being seemingly deferential yet determined at the same time. Many people over the years had been deceived by his feigned modesty and unimpressive physical appearance into thinking that he could be duped or overpowered. Wattle had used this misjudgment, along with an uncanny ability to read people, to survive for years.
“So Adelbert, guess I don’t have to call you Mr. Mayor any more, although I must say that I wish you were still pulling the strings. Here, try one of the
se Optimos and put away that skinny thing. Did you know that Babe Ruth smoked this very brand almost up to the day he died?” Wattle shook his head no and stuck the panatela back in his mouth.
So tell me, straight out, was there anything in those files seized from Hawkins that should concern me” said Braun in an uncharacteristically gregarious voice. The stilted, practiced delivery confirmed to Wattle that he had to be on guard.
“There may have been a mention made in one or two documents as to your political support, as I recall, but nothing incriminating. But, of course, if they probe too deeply into other un-related transactions between us before Hawkins arrived in town, it could be problematic for a number of folks – including us” said Wattle.
“Damn it, Wattle. Are you telling me there are records of our official land transactions that reference our other dealings? How can that be?” Braun was leaning forward in his chair, spittle forming in the corners of his mouth, and Wattle noticed that they were no longer on a collegial first name basis. Braun took a large gulp of scotch but never took his penetrating glare off Wattle.
“Not everyone is as circumspect as us” said Wattle, buttering up Braun and maintaining a calm exterior while feeling a tightening in his stomach. “But there can always be a weak link in any chain and if the DA finds it, we could have some trouble, that’s all I’m saying” Wattle said calmly, puffing slowly on his cigar.
Braun’s mind was racing as he tried to recall events of years past and all the key people involved. When he sold the lumber business, there had been a falling out with his bankers but his primary contact at Parlor City Savings, Stanley Ward, had died a year ago. He had been a nemesis for years, scrutinizing every Braun deal as if he suspected something nefarious was happening. It came back to him that he had once asked Wattle to intervene with the bank president when Ward had gotten too curious about certain cash withdrawals related to some land deals with the City. Okay, Ward was dead but the memory of the man still made Braun uneasy.
The Parlor City Boys Page 22