Pawing Through the Past

by Rita Mae Brown

  When the sheriff looked down at the dog looking up, he paused as if to say something but didn’t. He stared at Harry instead, who whistled for Tucker. She instantly obeyed.

  “I didn’t do it.” Dennis set his jaw.

  BoomBoom folded her arms across her chest. “Sheriff, he’s not the type.”

  “Then who is?” the sheriff snapped back. “I have seen little old ladies commit fraud, fifteen-year-old kids blow away their parents, and ministers debauch their flocks. You tell me, who is?”

  “If none of you are going to stand up for me, I’ll tell everything I know about our senior year,” Dennis taunted the others.

  “You bastard!” Bittner lunged forward, reaching Dennis be-fore Cynthia could catch him. With one crunching uppercut he knocked Dennis off his feet.

  Rick grabbed Hank’s right arm as the young officer pinned the other one.

  “He’s a liar. He doesn’t know anything about anybody,” Hank snarled.

  Bob Shoaf confirmed Hank’s opinion. “Right, Rablan, make up stories to save your own ass.”

  Dennis, helped to his feet by Cynthia, sneered. “I’ll tell what I want to when I want to and I’ll extract maximum revenge. It was never my idea. I just happened to be there.”

  “Be where?” Rick asked.

  “In the showers.”

  “Let me get this straight.” Rick motioned for Jason, the young officer, to unlock the handcuffs. “You’re talking about today? Or 1980?”

  “He’s scared out of his wits,” Pewter whispered.

  Dennis looked around the room and his bravado seemed to fade. “I don’t remember anything. But someone planted that rope in my van.”

  “Fool’s blabbing about the rope before it’s tested.” Market Shiflett was disgusted with Dennis.

  “Can I go home?” Chris sighed.

  “No,” Rick curtly answered.

  Harry, next to Fair, said, “What did happen my senior year?”

  Susan, on her other side, whispered, “Those that know are rapidly disappearing.”

  “Yeah, all part of the in-group clique.” Harry felt dreadful, half-queasy over the deaths and the lingering presence of in-tended evil.

  “All men,” Susan again whispered.

  “So far,” Fair said. He was worried for all of them.

  * * *

  41

  “Now what’s the story.” Rick folded his hands on the wooden desk with the slanted top, and leaned forward.

  Cynthia remained in the gym checking everyone’s hands for residue from firing the gun. She also checked their purses and pockets for surgical gloves. As lunchtime approached Rick de-cided the class of 1980 could enjoy their lunch as planned. Susan, in charge of the food, was rearranging tables with help. It would be a somber group that ate barbecue.

  Rick meanwhile commandeered a classroom down the hall. Then he intended to interview the senior superlatives since they were the ones dying off, the men, anyway.

  Market was number one on the list.

  “I heard it second—no, thirdhand.” Market coughed behind his hand. “I didn’t think about it—even then—because Charlie was always bragging about himself. But . . .”

  “Just tell me what you heard,” Rick patiently asked.

  “You know about senior superlatives?”

  “Yes.”

  “I heard that on the day the class of 1980 elected theirs, which would have been mid-October, I think, there was the usual round of excitement and disappointment, depending on whether you were elected or not. But what I heard was that Charlie Ashcraft, Leo Burkey, Bob Shoaf, Dennis Rablan, and Rex Harnett pinned down Ron Brindell and raped him.” Market grimaced. “They said if that faggot was going to be elected Most Popular they’d make sure he was popular. Or words to that effect. But Ron never reported them and he seemed on friendly terms with those guys. Just another one of those high-school rumors, like Charlie getting a girl pregnant.”

  Rick sighed. “Adolescent boys are terrified of sex and their own relation to it. Their answer to anything they don’t understand is violence.”

  “I don’t remember feeling all that violent,” Market replied. “But I can’t believe Ron would stay friendly with them after something like that.”

  “Depends on what he thought he had to do to survive. It’s hard for many men to understand what it’s like to be the victim of sexual violence,” Rick said.

  “I never thought of that.” Market wondered what else he never thought of by virtue of being a man, a straight man.

  “We worship violence in this country. Turn on your television. Go to the movies. I can tell you it makes my job a lot harder. Anyway, who told you this?” Rick returned to his questions.

  “I wish I could remember. As I said, I dismissed the story and I never heard any more about it. I don’t think the rumor made the rounds or it would have lasted longer. Damn, I wish I could remember who told me.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Maybe Ron wasn’t a homosexual. Maybe he was just effeminate.” Market thought a moment. “Must be hell to be a gay kid in high school.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No. Well, Ron Brindell killed himself. His parents died shortly after that. From grief. He was their only son, you know. All that misery. I can’t imagine killing myself.”

  “Self-hate.” Rick offered Market a cigarette, which he refused. “All manner of things derail people: greed, lust, obsessions, sex, revenge, and self-hate. Then again I sometimes wonder if some people aren’t born sorrowful.” He inhaled. “Market, we’ve known each other for a long time. I don’t mind telling you that we’re sitting on a time bomb.”

  “Because everyone’s gathered together?”

  “Yes.”

  “But two murders took place before the reunion.”

  “That they did—with Marcy Wiggins’ .38.”

  “Guess it was too good to be true.” Market stopped. “I don’t mean good that Marcy killed herself, but her gun . . . we all let our guard down.”

  Rick nodded in agreement. “Our first thought was a crime of passion. Bill had discovered the affair with Charlie, shot her, and made it look like suicide, taking the precaution to have her write a confession in her own hand. But Dr. Wiggins happened to be at the Fredericksburg Hospital that day. She could have been murdered by someone else but I don’t think so. All indications were suicide.”

  “But her gun—”

  Rick interrupted. “I know. I have a thousand theories and not one useful fact but I am willing to bet you a hundred dollars of my hard-earned pay that our murderer is sitting in the gymnasium right now. For whatever reason, this twentieth reunion has triggered him.”

  “Jeez, I just want to get out of here.”

  Rick frowned. “A normal response. I’m not sure I can let you all go. Not just yet, anyway.”

  As Market left the room, Rick thought about bringing in Dennis next. However, having Dennis in the gym would disquiet the others. Maybe he’d get more information from them if they stayed agitated. He decided to call Hank Bittner next.

  Market walked back into the gym. Cynthia kept everyone on a short leash. No one could rush up to Market. He sat down at the end of the table, his grim visage further upsetting the others. Market was usually so cheerful.

  Walter Trevelyn asked Cynthia, “Are we trapped in the gym or what?”

  “Once Rick finishes his interviews, he’ll make a decision.” She kept checking hands.

  “I think we should forget the reunion,” Linda Osterhoudt, who’d looked so forward to this reunion, suggested. “How can we go on? At least, I can’t go on.”

  BoomBoom put down her barbecue sandwich. “If we cancel our reunion then the murderer wins. He’s spoiled everything.”

  “I’d rather have him win than me be dead,” came the sharp retort from Market.

  Others spoke in agreement.

  Mike Alvarez dissented. “I came all the way from Los Angeles. If we stick together what can he do?”

&nb
sp; “I have something to say about that.” Mike’s attractive wife spoke up. “We came all the way from L.A. and it would be perfect if we could live to go all the way back—soon.”

  He declined to reply.

  “We could market this,” Bonnie quipped. “You know, like those mystery party games? We’ll create one, Murder at the Reunion. If you get a lemon, make lemonade.”

  “Baltier, how insensitive,” BoomBoom chided.

  Hank Bittner returned, telling Bob Shoaf to go out. Bob glared at Dennis, who glared right back. Then Bob turned on his heel and left to join Rick Shaw.

  Chris sat, avoiding eye contact with Dennis. Market moved and sat on the other side of Chris, as if to reassure her.

  Rick returned with Bob Shoaf, who didn’t seem as upset as Market had been on his return to the group. Rick still wasn’t ready to pull Dennis out of the room.

  BoomBoom started to cry. “All my hard work . . .”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake.” Harry smashed her plastic fork down so hard it broke. “This isn’t about you.”

  “I know that but I wanted it to be so great. It’s your hard work, too, and Susan’s and Mike’s and Dennis’s. I bet he didn’t get any pictures either.”

  “Yes, I did. Up until the murder.”

  “How long will it take you to develop them?” Cynthia inquired.

  “If I take the film to my studio I can be back in an hour.”

  “You’re not going to let him go?” Hank Bittner was incredulous.

  “There’s not enough evidence to book him,” Cynthia answered.

  “He left the scene of the crime!” Hank exploded.

  “I didn’t do it.”

  The room erupted again as Rick shouted for quiet. “We’ve got your names and addresses. We’ve got the hotels where you’re staying. We’ll get in touch with you if we need to. I have no desire to make this more uncomfortable than it has to be.”

  “Are you going to book Dennis?” Hank insisted.

  “No, I’m not, but I’m going back with him to his studio,” Rick stated.

  Dennis bit his lip until it bled, realized what he had done and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  As Rick and Dennis left, Cynthia remained. BoomBoom stood up, then sat down abruptly as Susan pulled her down. They whispered for a moment.

  Mrs. Murphy followed Dennis and Rick out to the squad car.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” Dennis demanded.

  “Look, Dennis”—Rick put his hand on the man’s shoulder—“I know you’re scared. I don’t know why you’re scared and I wish you’d tell me. Think a moment. You have to live in this county. Whatever it is that frightens you can’t be as bad as ending up dead.”

  “I didn’t do it.” Dennis stubbornly stopped, planting his feet wide. “I did not rape Ron Brindell.”

  Rick paused a minute as this was an unexpected response. “I believe you. Why are you so frightened? That was twenty years ago. I believe it happened. I believe you. Why did you run away today? The only thing I can figure is you ran away from the others who were in on it. Or you think you’re next.”

  He mumbled, “I don’t know. It’s crazy. People don’t come back from the dead.”

  “No, they don’t, but there’s someone in that gym who loved Ron Brindell. A girlfriend who wants retribution for his suffering. Another man perhaps. He could have had a lover. None of you knew. The man’s come back for his revenge after all these years. He could be married and have children. How would you know? We called Ron’s cousin in Lawrence, Kansas, to see if she had any ideas. She said they were never close. She lost contact with him after high school. Right now, Dennis, you’re my only hope.”

  Dennis hung his head as Mrs. Murphy scampered back to tell Pewter and Tucker. “I don’t know anything.”

  The cat could hear the shouting from the gym and she wasn’t halfway down the hall. She loped to the open double doors to behold all the humans on their feet, everyone shouting and screaming. BoomBoom was the only person seated and she was in tears.

  Tucker ran over to greet Mrs. Murphy. Pewter, wide-eyed, remained on the table. The commotion mesmerized her. She wasn’t even stealing ham and barbecue off plates.

  The only people not fighting were Harry, Susan, Fair, Bitsy, and Chris. Even E.R. was yelling at people.

  “I thought we were a good class.” Susan mournfully observed the outbreak of bad manners and pent-up emotion.

  “Maybe we should go down to Miranda’s reunion,” Harry said.

  “And ruin it?” Fair bent over and brushed the front of his twill pants. “I say we all go home. No one in their right mind would stay for the dance tonight.”

  “Jesus, guys, what am I going to do with all the food that’s been ordered? It’s too late to cancel it. Someone’s got to eat it.”

  “I never thought of that.” Harry briskly walked back to the center of the melee. “Shut up!” No response. She stood on the table and yelled at the top of her lungs. “Shut up!”

  One by one her classmates quieted, turning their faces to a woman they’d never had reason to doubt.

  BoomBoom continued sobbing.

  “Boom.” Susan reached her, patting her on the back. “Wipe your eyes. Come on. We’ve got to make the best of it.”

  With all eyes on her, Harry took a deep breath, for she wasn’t fond of public speaking. “We’ll solve nothing by turning on one another. If anything, this is a time when we need one another’s best efforts. As you know, the sheriff has released us. Before we scatter to the four corners of the globe, what are we to do with all the food Susan has ordered and you’ve paid for? Remember, we have the supper in the cafeteria tonight before the dance. We can’t cancel it. We’ve paid for it. What do you want to do?”

  “Let the class of 1950 have it,” Hank said.

  “They’ve organized their own dinner,” Susan informed him.

  “Can’t we send it to the Salvation Army?” Deborah Kingsmill asked.

  “I’ll call them to find out.” Susan left for her car. She’d left the cell phone inside it.

  “We could eat our supper and go. It seems obscene to have a dance under these circumstances,” Linda Osterhoudt said. “And it seems obscene to waste all that food if the Salvation Army won’t take it.”

  Others murmured agreement.

  “Shall we vote on it?” Harry asked.

  “Wait until Susan comes back,” Bonnie Baltier suggested.

  “Even if we vote on it, it doesn’t mean the majority rules.” Market shook his head. “You can’t make people come and eat.”

  “Well, we can count heads. And we can divide up what’s left among those who choose to come back for supper.” Harry turned as Susan reentered the room. “What’d they say?”

  “Thanks for our generosity but they’ve only got six men in the shelter right now.”

  “Okay then, how many are willing to come back for supper in the cafeteria? No dance.”

  Feet shuffled, then a few hands were timidly raised. A few more moments and more hands shot up.

  Fair and Harry counted.

  “BoomBoom, surely you’re coming.” Susan handed her another tissue.

  “I am,” she weakly replied.

  “You’re coming, Cynthia?” Harry smiled as the deputy raised her hand.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Thirty.”

  “Thirty-one.” Fair finished his count.

  “How’d I miss one?” Harry wondered.

  “You didn’t. You just forgot to count yourself,” he said.

  “Okay then. We’ll see you all tonight for supper, six o’clock in the cafeteria. Bring coolers and stuff so you can carry food back home.” She put her hand on the edge of the table, swinging down, her feet touching the floor lightly.

  “Graceful—for a human,” Mrs. Murphy noted.

  “Where’s Chris?” Susan didn’t see her.

  “The minute Rick said we were free to go she shot out of here. Just about the t
ime everyone started yelling at everyone else,” Harry said.

  “Can’t blame her. She’ll probably never talk to us again.” Susan sighed.

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Fair smiled at Susan.