The Hunt Chronicles: Volume 1

by Leo Bonanno

  “I can’t say Reevan. I promised them I wouldn’t tell anyone. I promised!”

  “Oh, so they’re up to something together, are they? What is it Maddie? Come on, out with it!”

  “I’m sorry Reevan. I can’t say. I can tell you this though; Wilson was on to them and would have none of it. He threatened to fire them both if he caught them again. Well, they didn’t stop and then I found out and I promised them I wouldn’t tell.”

  “Damn it, Maddie! What the hell are talking about?” I screamed.

  “I can’t tell you! They’re my friends! I promised!”

  “I can’t believe you! Do you hear yourself? A man is dead, Madeline. What are you thinking?”

  “Sorry, Reevan. Go dig somewhere else.” With that, she brushed past me and walked out. I pursued, but it wasn’t any good. The others had conjugated in the dining room, all asking questions. Where this and why that? Who and what did what how and when? When there was another knock at the door, I rolled my eyes, plowed through the crowd and answered it.

  Walters flew in so fast his shockwave nearly knocked me onto the floor. Sills was right behind him, as well as another police officer. “McCune!” Walters cried. “Donald McCune!” Donald stood up straight and turned around sharply, looking up at one of the few men in the state of Connecticut who was taller than he was. “Name is Walters…Detective Walters. You’ve got some explaining to do, buddy.” Donald looked utterly bewildered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Out.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Thinking, mostly. Walking and thinking and sobering up.”

  “Oh, so you admit to suckin’ back on Grandpa’s Cough Medicine, do ya?” My brow twitched as I held back a one would have been a most inappropriate chuckle.

  “It’s no secret,” Donald replied. “That doesn’t pass for news around here.” Something was wrong with Donald. He may have been tired, but he seemed to be…floating, like he had come to some incredible revelation that made everything else in the world pointless. His tone of voice was quiet, but not without feeling.

  “Would you mind coming down to the station with us, Mr. McCune?” Sills asked.

  “Why can’t he stay here? We’re all still here?” Maddie asked.

  “We’d rather not let Mr. McCune out of our sight until we get some answers.”

  “Tough tamales! You’re not taking him!” Richard screamed. Donald backed away from the officers towards his siblings. Cheryl stepped in front of Donald.

  “I’m not asking you, pal, I’m telling you. He’s coming with us one way of another, and I’ll be happy to bring you in on obstruction of justice if you don’t step aside!” Walters’ face was red. He wasn’t joking, but Cheryl did not budge. Richard stepped up next to her. Donald continued to back up, now too far out of the herd for his own good. The lions always go for the one that’s all alone Little Reevan said.

  What happened next happened so quickly it remains nothing more than a blur to this day. Sills plowed between Richard and Cheryl, forcing Richard against the wall to the left. The push had knocked Cheryl to the right, leaving Detective Walters a clear beeline right to his prey. Walters rushed in. Donald turned to run but Walters grabbed the back of his collar. In less than a second, Donald was shoved up against the wall next to his brother, and I heard the handcuffs click home.

  Cheryl shrieked, as did Nona. “Donald McCune, you’re under arrest for the murder of Wilson McCune,” Walters proclaimed, breathing heavy. Sills let go of Richard and headed to his partner. Richard tried to follow but the nameless officer grabbed him by the shoulder. When Richard turned to face him, the young man just nodded, signaling the next move Richard made would determine where he was sleeping that night.

  Sills led Donald out the door, who all the while was crying out “What the hell is going on?”, and when they were far enough outside, the nameless officer released Richard and followed. Thomas went up to Richard and placed his hand on Richard’s shoulder.

  Walters looked at each one of us but focused on Cheryl. She had her hands over her mouth. The others and I were standing around stunned at the speed at which everything just occurred. “I am sorry, ma’am.” He turned on his heels and left, shutting the door behind him. The rest of us stood there in silence for what seemed like forever as Donald McCune sat in the back of a cruiser on his way to the station.

  “What the hell just happened?” Maddie asked. “How did they get here so fast?”

  “The guard,” Thomas answered. “The guard at the gate must have saw Donald arrive and called for the others.”

  “Can they just arrest him like that?” Nona asked. “He didn’t do anything but get a little drunk. How can they do that?” All of a sudden, all eyes were on me again, as if my eyes held the answers to all of their questions. I said nothing.

  “I don’t believe it,” Thomas finally announced. “I don’t believe any of this. This can’t be happening.”

  “I don’t know what to believe anymore. It’s all so complicated.” Nona’s voice trembled. I looked over at Cheryl, who hadn’t budged, seemingly paralyzed with shock. She looked up at me, and it was then I realized what had happened.

  “Cheryl?” I asked. Her eyes started to water. She then exploded into an eruption of tears and sobs. She began rambling incoherently, blurting out everything she had told me earlier. She blubbered about Donald coming home drunk and how he damned his father. When she was finally done replaying the scenario, the rest of the people in the room were crying too.

  “Oh my God,” Richard muttered. Then he looked at me. “He did it, didn’t he? Oh my God.”

  “Now wait just one minute,” I announced using my official professor tone, drawing all of the teary eyes in the class to the front of the room. “We still don’t know about the other staffers, do we? Walters was in and out so fast, he didn’t mention anything about them. Maybe he hasn’t gotten around to meeting with all of them yet and he’s using Donald as an excuse to look busy. I know it looks bad, but I refuse to believe anything until everyone’s cards are on the table.” My tone returned composure. The air was filled with the sound of deep breaths and sniffles.

  “So, what do we do now? How do we help Donald?” Cheryl cried. I ran my fingers through my thinning hair and scratched the back of my skull. Then I looked back at her and smiled.

  “Now,” I said, “we make some calls.”

  I went to the kitchen and stuck my head in the sink. I turned on the water and let the coolness wash over the back of my neck. It was heavenly.

  The others followed me into the kitchen and crowded around me like I was going to pull the murderer out of the sink drain. “Who are you going to call?” Cheryl asked.

  “I’m going to call Walters at his office and find out about the other staffers. If he isn’t finished with them yet, I’m going to raise hell on the grounds of circumstantial evidence.”

  “Well, what should we do?” Asked Thomas.

  “You and Cheryl go down to the station and keep an eye on Donald. Make sure he keeps his friggin mouth shut!” I ordered with a finger digging into Thomas’s chest. “Make sure any statements you give are thought out before you open your mouth. People like your father always have a lawyer on retainer. Call him and get him there too. Remember, you don’t have to answer any questions, and neither does Donald. Everybody just shut your yaps, got it?” They nodded. “I said you got it, Paul Bunyan?” I repeated.

  “Yes.” Thomas replied, finally waking up. He and Cheryl turned and left the kitchen.

  “Nona, why don’t you do something about a meal? By the time they get back, everyone is going to be starving.”

  “Will they come back with Donald, Reevan?”

  “I hope so. Richard, you alright?”

  “Yeah,” he said, staring at the floor. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “I said I was fine. What do I have to do?” I thought about it and decided
it was too risky.

  “You do nothing. You’re upset. Frustration will get us nowhere right now. I suggest you go back to your room and cool down.”

  “But Reevan, I-”

  “I said go.” I pointed a dripping finger towards the hallway. I listened as he left the room, dragging his feet behind him like an angry child. I locked eyes with my sister. She stared at me for several moments and then smiled. “You’ve got a plan, don’t you?”

  “I believe I do,” I replied.

  Maddie and I went back to her room and locked the door. We sat next to each other on her bed. I looked her straight in the eye and asked, “Do you think he did it? Do you think Donald killed his father?”

  “I didn’t think so at first,” she said, “but he was so drunk, Reevan. I’ve never seen him act violently when he drinks. He usually gets a little tipsy and swears a little, but that’s all. I just don’t know what to think anymore. This family, this house is going to hell in a hand basket. What do you think?”

  “I’m not making a decision until I find out about the other people that live on this property. Do me a favor and leave me for a while. The less you know about what I’m going to do, the better off you’ll be.” She stood up, looked down at me hesitantly, and then headed for the door.

  “Okay,” Maddie said and left the room. After she shut the door, she screamed through it, “There’s a phone book in the nightstand.” Next to Maddie’s clock rested a telephone. I reached for it with one hand as I pulled open the nightstand drawer with the other. I plopped the thick book on my lap and began flipping through pages as I pulled the receiver to my ear. I focused on the blue pages, the government listings, but I wasn’t looking for Detective Walters with the Wellington Police Department. My finger trickled down the page and stopped at the C’s.

  “Bingo,” I mumbled to myself, my finger hovering above County Coroner.

  On the Grand List of fine entertainment there lies the greatest of minds. William Shakespeare, Charles Dickens and Aristotle are just a few. Aesop and O’Henry side by side on a library shelf. Dumas and Hugo share the spotlight as well. Great actors, singers, dancers, speakers, writers; they are the heart and soul of the word entertainment.

  However, we each have our own list, separate from the Grand List but just as important and reliable. My list contained Aesop and O’Henry, Dickens and Poe, as well as two others that were the only ones I really needed after dialing the County Coroner’s office. Step aside Lewis Carroll, ciao bella Bulfinch; come on down Yosemite Sam and Foghorn Leghorn.

  “Coroner’s office,” a small, nerdy voice said after it picked up the phone.

  “Howdy!” I bellowed into the phone, instantly feeling ridiculous. Walters may have been southern but he wasn’t Yosemite Sam southern. Then again, I didn’t really know him well enough to make the call, so what the hell. Caution to the wind, I went for the gusto. I could always hang up and deny the whole thing. Foghorn Leghorn bring it home!

  “Excuse me?” The voice said.

  “Excuse you? Why the hell should I, boy?”

  “Oh, Detective Walters, it’s you. You sounded a bit muffled there. You feelin’ okay?”

  “Feeling fine, sa!” Sa being the southern equivalent of Sir. “Thank you kindly. I just got a question or two and then I’ll leave you to your business.” I was settling into the role by then. The twang began to flow naturally.

  “What do you need?”

  “I need some details on that there McCune body.”

  “Oh yeah, McCune. Well actually Walters, that one just came in. I haven’t finished my examination completely.”

  “Don’t dance around the hen house, boy! Gimme what you got!”

  “Dance around the what?”

  “Come on now, give it to me! Start with the nails. Watcha got under there; Skin? Blood?” I heard the phone jostle in the nerdy man’s hands. Paper was rustling. The young man’s breathing started to hasten under the pressure.

  “Well, that was relatively easy. There was nothing under his nails.” I went blank. I was prepared for something, I just didn’t know what.

  “What do you mean, nothin’?”

  “I mean nothing, Detective. Nada, zip, zilch. Nothing of interest anyway. No blood, no skin other than his own, no loose threads or fibers. Just the usual nail gunk, dirt and etcetera.”

  “But wouldn’t the man have tried to fight his attacker? Claw and scratch?”

  “We both know the answer to that question.” I assumed the answer was yes. “Mr. McCune’s muscle mass in his arms is almost nonexistent. Besides flipping someone the bird, this guy couldn’t fight off a kitten.” Some more pages rustled as I sighed heavily. “Oh, but there is one thing…”

  “What?”

  “Frankly, I’m surprised your guy at the scene missed it.”

  “What? Missed what?”

  “He must have thought that the nails would have given you guys a cut and dry case.”

  “What the hell did he miss, pencil neck?”

  “Oh, sorry, sorry. Well I noticed it when they wheeled him in. Mr. McCune suffered hemorrhages around his eyes. You see, that happens when-” and I faded out to somewhere else. My mind floated back in time to the last time I was in Wilson’s room.

  Okay, the examiner is sitting on the bed, picking at Wilson’s fingers. Check. The window is opened and Wilson’s chair is under it. Check. The pill and the glass. The wet spot. The dresser. The open drawers. The clock. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed now. I can feel the aura of his dead body behind me. I’m staring at Wilson. I’m in bed with a dead man. I’m in bed with a dead man. I’m in bed and

  “Oh my God, you’re right.”

  “What? Hello? Who is this? Where is Detective Walters?” The jig is up Little Reevan screamed, rattling my brain from the inside. You slipped out of character. You would’ve been kicked out of drama club for that…if you were in drama club. I had to think fast. What to say…what to do…I couldn’t hang up, could I? He’d know it was all a scam. What to say…what to say…in the name of Yosemite and Foghorn and Bugs and all that the Warner Brothers stood for, what was I to say?

  “That’s all, folks!” I blurted in a panic, slamming down the phone. My heart was pounding. Though fear enveloped my body, I distinctly remember a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. Hemorrhaging around the eyes. That meant something. I had seen it that morning in McCune’s room, but I was too creeped out to let it register. I had two more calls to make. The first was to the Wellington Courthouse. The second was to Detective Walters.

  “Well, what did he say?” Maddie was jumping up and down like a teenager at a rock concert. “Well?”

  “He said no.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Not a one?”

  “Not a single one.”

  “Not a single what?” Nona asked. Maddie and I were sitting in the dining room while listened from the kitchen. She had crept up on us by then and made us both jump. Someone put a bell around her chubby neck.

  “None of the others are suspects,” Maddie said.

  “How can that be? Not a one of them? Don’t tell me they all had alibis.”

  “Well, oddly enough, yes, they all did. Apparently yesterday was a stableman’s birthday and-”

  “Oh my gosh, it was Gus’ birthday? I can’t believe it. How old is he now, Maddie? Seventy-two? Seventy-three? Did you get him anything? I can’t believe I forgot!”

  “I know,” Maddie replied. “Seems like yesterday we were throwing him a birthday par-”

  “Ladies, please!” I shouted. They clammed up.

  “So what does Gus’ birthday have to do with anything?” Maddie finally asked.

  “Apparently Gus had a surprise birthday party. They tricked him into going back by the stables and then sprang it on him. After they revived him, they started the party.” Maddie’s eyes got wider.

  “The sheds are towards the other end of the estate. No wonder we didn’t hear anything last night.”<
br />
  “Precisely,” I said. “How come neither of you knew about this party?”

  “It’s nothing new,” Maddie explained. “We rarely get included in anything the others do. Their too scared of saying the wrong thing and then one of us telling Wilson.”

  “But they couldn’t have all been there last night. And the ones who were couldn’t have stayed all night,” Nona said.

  “That’s true and false,” I said, cracking my knuckles. “No, they weren’t all there last night. One worker by the name of Susan Wicketts was not there.” Maddie and Nona’s eyes glowed with delight, apparently pleased by the thought that they could swap Donald for a coworker in prison. “Sorry girls, Susan apparently came down with the flu three days ago and has been staying in one of the cottages, bed ridden. And before you ask, yes, Detective Walters did go to check her out. Poor thing looked like she had a purple water balloon crammed into her mouth from what I heard. There is no way she killed anyone.”

  “What about the others? They all probably left at around one or two a.m. Any one of them could have done it.”

  “I don’t think so. No one really knew how much of a party animal old Gus has become. I guess all you have to do is fuel him up with a couple of tequila shooters and he’ll run all night. That party didn’t rap up until nearly three or four, and even then they would all have been too drunk to walk across the lawn, never mind kill someone.”

  “It’s possible one of them slipped away from the party, isn’t it?”

  “Possible, but not likely,” I said. “Why bother? No one out there had a motive to kill anybody in here. Most them never even met Wilson in person; they were hired by the Stable Master or Landscaper, or one of the other supervisors.”

  “Well I don’t think that-”

  “Unfortunately Nona,” I interjected, tired of the conversation, “it doesn’t matter what you think, or what I think or Maddie thinks. Walters described them all as non-suspects and Donald is all the police have. We’re back to square one.” Nona got huffy and stomped back into the kitchen. She was in there for less than two minutes before I heard weeping emanate through the halls.