aterovis_bm_reapthewhirlwind.p65

aterovis_bm_reapthewhirlwind.p65 Page 14

by Arlene Chance

  He stared at me for a minute. I could read his frustration easily in his eyes. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you? There’s no changing your mind.”

  “Yes, I’m serious and, no, I’m not changing my mind.”

  Another sigh. “Fine. I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but if you’re absolutely positive this is what you want to do, I’ll support you in any way I can.”

  “What?” His sudden about face caught me off guard.

  “I think you’ve completely lost your mind, but I’ll be there for you,” he said with just a hint of a smile. His smile broadened a bit as he shrugged and added, “Hey, what are best friends for?”

  “Scratching backs?” I said hopefully. His smile turned into a full-fledged Aidan Special Grin, complete with dimples.

  “Coming right up!”

  ***

  I called Joey’s mom that afternoon. She sounded as upset as one would expect. I had intended to just offer my sympathy, but she surprised me by asking me to come over. It wasn’t something I was looking forward to, but I knew it was something I had to do. I drove over by myself, after convincing Aidan that I was fine going alone. 156

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  She was seated on the couch when I got there, between two older women I didn’t know but assumed to be family members. For as close of friends as Joey and I had been, I realized I really didn’t know any of his family. He never talked about them. I knew his mom of course, and I knew his dad had run off when Joey was two or three, but that was it. I was introduced to the two women as Joey’s oldest and dearest friend. They turned out to be Joey’s aunts. The one on the left looked like a hungry bulldog, complete with hanging jowls and stubborn expression. The one on the right looked like a scared chicken, gangly, thin, and beady-eyed. Joey’s mom, who I had always thought looked much too young to be a mother of someone Joey’s age, suddenly looked old, although it might have been because it was the first time I think I had ever seen her without any make-up. She looked vulnerable without it. I found myself feeling very uncomfortable.

  Mrs. Taylor grabbed my hand and held onto it like it was a lifeline and she was drowning. Which maybe in a way she was.

  “When they called me last night—I just couldn’t believe it,” she said, her eyes filling with unshed tears.

  They were red and swollen as if she’d been crying a lot.

  “I kept saying that they must be wrong; that it couldn’t be my Joey. But then I had to go identify him. They called him ‘the body.’ ‘We need you to come identify the body,’

  they said. I said, he’s not just a body, he’s my son.” She almost seemed to be talking to herself. “It was Joey...”

  She broke off in a muffled sob but choked it down and continued, “Thank you for being such a good friend to my Joey.” She dissolved in sobs, still clutching my hand while I shifted uncomfortably wishing I were anywhere 157

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  but there.

  I stayed for what I thought was a decent amount of time and then made my excuses and headed for the door.

  “Will?” Mrs. Taylor called just before I escaped. “You weren’t at that party last night were you?”

  I felt my heart drop. “Well, actually I was, Mrs. Taylor, but just for a few minutes. I didn’t stay.”

  She seemed surprised. “Then I think the police are looking for you.”

  “What?” I gasped.

  “They described you and asked if I knew anyone who fit that description. I told them you did, but they said you weren’t on the list of people present when they arrived. Several people said they saw someone fitting your description go upstairs with Joey and come back down in a rush. They said you might be the last person who saw him alive.”

  “I- I left before—he was alive when I l-left,” I stammered.

  She nodded as if it was what she had expected to hear.

  “I told them you were a good boy. Tell me, Will, how was he?”

  What could I say? “Honestly, Mrs. Taylor—he wasn’t very good. He was drunk. He wasn’t himself.”

  She started to cry again.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said helplessly. “I’m going to miss him very much.”

  I turned to leave once more but she called out again.

  “Was he wearing his necklace?”

  I knew immediately which necklace she meant. I had never seen Joey without it. It was a silver chain with a small oval charm depicting a saint of some sort hang-158

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  ing from it. It had been the only thing left behind of his father’s, who had been a devout Catholic. Joey cher-ished that necklace more than any other possession he owned. As far as I knew, the only time Joey had ever been inside a church was when he was baptized as an infant, but he never took that necklace off. I tried to remember if I had seen the necklace or not. It was so much a part of him I just took it for granted that he had been wearing it, but now I tried to recall if I had actually seen it or not. I mentally walked though the painful encounter with Joey until I found what I was looking for.

  “Yes, he was,” I said. “Why?”

  “It wasn’t on him when they found him. I would have liked to have had it.”

  She turned back to the bulldog aunt and I took the opportunity to finally slip out of the oppressive home which already felt empty without Joey.

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  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Joey’s funeral was held graveside on a suitably dreary and dismal Monday morning. The clouds hung heavy with the unrealized threat of rain and the wind whipped through the gathered mourners like an angry spirit.

  Despite the inclement weather, quite a few people had shown up to remember Joey. Most of them I didn’t know, family, I guess; but I saw a few familiar faces, old neighbors and people from school. Beth was there, of course. It was the first time we had seen each other since we broke up. When she gave me a hug, it was an awkward moment that only served to confirm the realizations that I had come to over the last few weeks. It struck me how much I had changed since we had dated.

  I felt like a completely different person.

  There was one person in attendance who particularly caught my attention because of his seemingly odd behavior. He stood in the back and off to one side as if he didn’t want to be seen. He cried through the whole service and left as soon as the last prayer was said.

  The service itself was mercifully brief and poignant.

  Dad was the officiating minister and he focused on the tragic end of a promising young life. He kept staring at me as he said that phrase. It didn’t take a genius to fig-160

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  ure out what he was trying to say.

  I didn’t go back to the house afterwards; instead, I drove directly from the cemetery to Avant Guard. Today was my first day at my new job.

  Nikki started talking before I was even all the way through the door. “The first thing we need to talk about is the one-man show,” she said. “Do we need to cancel it?”“I—uh ”

  “I mean we’ve lost a lot of time and I’m assuming you didn’t paint any masterpieces while you were in that coma.”

  “No, I mean—I ”

  “Will, I’m kidding. Don’t bug out on me here. But seriously, we are getting pushed for time. We need to have at least fifteen to twenty paintings for a one-man show. The show is scheduled and the invitations have been sent, so we’re locked in unless we just cancel it altogether. That only gives us three weeks. That means you need to do at least a painting a day. Think you got that in you?”

  “What ever happened to hi, Will, welcome to your new job? How was your weekend—something like that?” I said weakly, feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

  “Hi, Will! Welcome to your new job! How was your weekend? Think you got that in you?”

  I laughed. “Hi Nikki. Thanks for the warm welcome.

  My weekend was horrible and, yes, I think I have it in me.”

  Nikki frowned. “Why was your weekend horrible?”

  “My best friend died. That’s why I was late coming in th
is morning. It was Joey’s funeral.”

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  “Oh my God! That was your friend on the news?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m so sorry, Will.”

  “Well, we’d grown apart lately. Actually we had a huge fight just before he died.”

  “It’s still hard to lose someone who was a friend. Were you friends long?”

  “Since we were kids.”

  “Do they know what happened yet?”

  “If they do they’ve not told me. I know they think alcohol was involved. He was really drunk when I left him so I guess he could have fallen in and drowned.”

  “How sad! What a waste. Are you sure you’re up to starting work today?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It helps me to keep my mind off of things, you know?”

  She nodded. “Sure thing. Then let’s get to work.”

  We went over my responsibilities, which for the most part consisted of standing around and doing nothing while I waited for customers to wander in. She showed me how to work the cash register and how to read a potential client by asking them leading questions and then steer them toward the kind of art they would be most interested in. The only thing I didn’t learn was how to do Derrick’s little appearing trick. Once she was confident that I was ready, Nikki retired to her office.

  It was some time later when I noticed a well-dressed couple heading for the front door. I felt my palms begin to sweat as I anticipated my first customers. I stepped forward to greet them wishing I could pull Derrick’s trick since that seemed to put the salesperson in the dominant role right from the start.

  “Hello, welcome to Avant Guard,” I said smoothly, 162

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  or what I hoped was smoothly. “If I can be of any assistance, please let me know.” I hoped I sounded more sincere than Derrick had the first time we’d come here.

  “We’re looking for Will Keegan,” the man said while the woman looked carefully around.

  Uh oh. That didn’t seem like the kind of thing potential customers said, especially considering it was my first day here.

  “I’m Will Keegan,” I said hesitantly.

  The man reached into his jacket pocket and produced a badge. “I’m Detective Grafton and this is my partner, Detective Bernhardt. We’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”

  I looked closer at them and wondered how I could have mistaken them for a couple. They practically screamed law enforcement. Both wore no-nonsense expressions and business attire in dark, muted tones. Detective Grafton was middle-aged, with graying brown hair and a craggy, clean-shaven face. His bushy eyebrows hooded his dark eyes making him look slightly sinister. Detective Bernhardt was younger, in her thirties maybe, with a round face, pleasant if unremark-able. She had her light brown hair pulled back into a bun at the base of her neck. “Am I in trouble?” I asked, instinctively directing the question at Detective Bernhardt. I sounded guilty even to myself.

  Detective Grafton gave me a sharp look. “I don’t know, are you?”

  Detective Bernhardt stepped forward. “Were you at the party held at David Kemp’s house this past Friday night?”

  “Briefly,” I said tightly. Could I be arrested for flee-ing the scene of a crime? Was I a material witness? I 163

  JOSH ATEROVIS

  wasn’t even sure what a material witness was. I suddenly wished I had paid more attention to the police shows my mom liked to watch on TV.

  “Is there somewhere we can speak a little more privately?” Bernhardt asked.

  “Nikki?” There was a note of panic in my voice. Authority figures had always scared the pants off of me.

  I’d been sent to the principal’s office once when I was in the 5th grade for something Joey had done and I’d gotten blamed for. I cried all the way there and was so hysterical by the time I got there they had to call my mom to come pick me up. I was feeling a bit like that now.

  Nikki came out with a huge smile, obviously thinking I had gotten in over my head with some customers.

  “These are detectives,” I told her and watched the smile vanish. “They want to talk to me about Joey.”

  “Use my office,” she said immediately.

  I led the two detectives to the office where they quickly took over, telling me to have a seat and rearranging Nikki’s furniture so that they were facing me.

  “How do you know we want to talk to you about your friend, Joey?” Bernhardt asked as soon as we were seated.

  I blinked. “Why else would you want to talk to me about the party?”

  She smiled. “Fair enough. Ask a dumb question—”

  “We’re going to be taping this conversation if you don’t mind,” Grafton interrupted, “and I’ll be taking some notes as well.”

  Detective Bernhardt produced a small tape recorder and started recording, reciting some preliminary data like my name, the date and the case they were 164

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  working on.

  “Did you speak to Joseph Taylor on the night in question?” Grafton asked.

  “Joey? Yes ”

  “Do you know what time it was?”

  “No.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “I wanted to talk to him, that’s the whole reason I was there. I’m not really into parties.” I knew I was giving them more information than they really needed, but I was nervous and having trouble organizing my thoughts. “He was drunk. He suggested we go upstairs, so we did.”

  “What happened when you got upstairs?”

  “We talked.”

  “Where and about what?”

  “Joey took me in a bedroom; he seemed to know where he was going. We talked about—our friendship.”

  “Was it an argument? Did you raise your voice at any time?”

  “I—yeah, we had an argument.”

  “Over what?”

  I felt my already flushed face blaze. I was getting quite dizzy. “I-I—uh, recently told Joey that I was—um—

  gay—and he didn’t—take it well.”

  “Did it become physical?”

  I started. “What do you mean?”

  Detective Grafton looked up from his notepad. “Were any punches thrown?”

  “I—uh—hit Joey.”

  “Why? Did you feel threatened?”

  I opened and closed my mouth a few times but nothing came out.

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  “Look, kid, you’d better tell us everything. We’re going to find out eventually anyway and it’s better if it comes from you.”

  “It’s not like that,” I said quickly. “It’s just—Joey—

  tried to force himself on me,” I managed to choke it out then rushed on, “He was really drunk or he never would have done anything like that.”

  “Is that why you hit him?”

  I nodded. “I kneed him in the balls then hit him with my cast,” I told them, indicating my broken arm as if I was presenting Exhibit A in court.

  The two detectives looked at each other, exchanging meaningful glances. “And then what happened?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I mean I ran out. Ran back downstairs.”

  “And then you left?”

  “After I got sick in the bathroom.”

  Grafton flipped the notebook closed. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Keegan. If we have any more questions we’ll be getting in touch with you.”

  “That’s it?” I asked in surprise.

  “You were expecting more?” Bernhardt said with a sardonic smile.

  “Just—I mean, why were you asking me those questions? How did Joey die?”

  They exchanged glances again, this time they almost seemed to be having a discussion without words. Finally Bernhardt sighed. “When the coroner checked your friend over there were some unexplained injuries; a slightly dislocated nose and some bruising in the groin area. Our job was to explain those injuries. You’ve just helped us do that. As long as he was alive when you left him—”

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  “He was!” I asserted firmly.

&nb
sp; “—then the official finding will cite the cause of death to be accidental drowning. We have to write our report up, but I expect that after you left he somehow managed to get downstairs and onto the pool deck without anyone seeing him. Everyone agreed that the yard was pretty much deserted and considering the amount of drugs seized at the party that isn’t really as hard to believe as one might think. Then in his drunken state, which is supported by other statements and his blood alcohol levels by the way, he fell into the pool, maybe hit his head and drowned. The medical examiner confirms that he had enough alcohol in his system to stun a bull elephant.”

  Detective Grafton seemed eager to leave. “Once again, Mr. Keegan, thank you for your time and cooperation.

  You’ve helped us close this case.”

  I nodded uncertainly and walked them out. I returned to work with an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. Something didn’t feel right about this whole thing.

  ***

  The next several days were uneventful except for the everyday business of living, work during the day and painting at night. Aidan and I were cautiously making an attempt to rebuild the trust I had broken and in turn, piece our friendship back together. It was a slow process. We were sleeping in our own rooms after that first night, but he would sit next to me while I painted, sometimes reading or doing homework, sometimes just watching, sometimes talking to me softly. The pictures I had taken had turned out great, so I had plenty of material to work from and it was a welcome escape from my thoughts. 167

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  Not a day went by that I didn’t think about Caitlin, but on Aidan’s advice, I waited for her to call me. The next move had to be hers.

  A week went by, then two and still I hadn’t heard from Caitlin. I did, however, have fifteen paintings finished that I was very pleased with. I was at home painting when she finally called. I was alone for a change; Aidan had gone out with some friends from school. I’d received a half-hearted invitation, but he’d known before he asked that I would stay home to paint. I was in a place where I couldn’t stop when the phone started ringing. Eventually it stopped then immediately started up again. With a sigh, I dropped my paintbrush in the water well and grabbed up the insistently bleating instrument, stabbing the talk button as if it was the phone’s fault I was being interrupted.

 

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