Creed watched him go, then turned to stare at Hadden. The other man shrugged, gulped the last of his coffee, and left as well. Creed shook his head. He was more confused than ever about who the murderer might be. For now, he’d go back to Delphy and Loyal and do some more pondering.
ten
Delphy was reading the same paragraph in her book for the third time when she finally heard Creed come through the kitchen door. She read the same words a fourth time—still not knowing what they said—as she waited for him to find her. He stepped into the room and slumped onto the sofa that had become his bed. Delphy stuck a finger in her novel and waited.
“Virgil planned to arrest Hadden, but doggone if Otto didn’t show up claiming to have pulled the trigger.”
“Otto? The German boy?”
“That’s the one.”
Delphy frowned. “I don’t know much about him, but I would have said he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Why in the world would he shoot someone?”
Creed blew out a breath and rubbed his neck. “I don’t think he would. Neither does Virgil. Best guess is he’s lying to protect Hadden.”
“That would be quite a sacrifice.” Delphy stuck a slip of paper in her book and laid it on a small piecrust table. “Guess Otto feels like he owes Hadden for taking him in when no one else would.”
“Not sure the debt’s that big.” Creed leaned forward and began unlacing his boots. Delphy started to rise to help him, then pressed herself back into her chair.
“Didn’t Otto and your father have dealings when the boy first showed up?”
Creed froze. Delphy knew he didn’t like to talk about Harold Raines, but she frankly didn’t care right now. She’d always wished her husband would root out the pain his father inflicted—expose it to the light of day. So, tonight she’d push a little. What did she have to lose?
“He worked for Dad briefly when he first turned up in town.” He tugged off one boot and then the other, lining them up at the edge of the sofa—as though for a quick getaway if need be.
“Why briefly?”
Creed flinched. He rubbed both hands over his face, then ran them through his hair making the perfectly groomed strands shoot out at odd angles. Delphy suppressed a smile. Creed always had been vain about his hair.
“Guess you never did hear that story,” he said at last. Then, almost to himself, “Guess I never told it to anyone.” He licked his lips and stared at the ceiling. “Otto rode the train into town. Kind of a hobo, I guess. He was looking for work, but nobody wanted to take on a German—not even one who was little more than a boy. Finally, Dad offered to let him cut and stack firewood. He did a good job, so we fed him and let him sleep out in the shed.” Creed shuddered but didn’t take his eyes off the ceiling. “It was cold that night. I assumed Dad would have given him some blankets, but when I went out to fetch him for breakfast, he’d made a nest of old feed sacks.” He blew out a breath. “Even so, he was chipper and raring to go. Dad told him he could have breakfast as soon as he finished stacking everything he’d cut the day before.” Creed finally lowered his gaze to meet Delphy’s, and there was a hollowness behind his eyes. “It went on like that for a week or so. Dad kept giving him more work—harder work—constantly pushing him. God help me but I was just glad he was giving someone else a hard time for once. I suppose I piled on, too.” Silence hung in the air, like a rain cloud ready to burst.
“What happened then?” Delphy almost whispered the words.
“He fell and broke his leg.” Creed spoke the words simply, as if it were the only logical next thing to happen. “Dad had me help splint it up and insisted Otto could keep working.” He laughed, but it sounded empty. “It was Hadden, of all people, who saw what Dad was doing and took Otto home with him. Said he wouldn’t treat a mule like that, much less a man. Of course, Otto’s leg never was right after that, so Hadden gave him the dogs to take care of. I think, at first, he did it just to spite Dad as much as anything else.”
“Lucky for Otto,” Delphy said.
“Yeah. Lucky.”
“So maybe Otto would feel like he owed Hadden that much of a debt.”
Creed stood and looked out the window without seeing. “Yeah. Wish there’d been somebody for me to owe.” Then he turned and disappeared down the shadowy hall.
Father was there when Loyal woke in the morning. Mother made sweet rolls for breakfast with cinnamon and a sugary icing. Loyal ate three, which seemed to please both parents. They were talking quietly to each other, and Loyal kept forgetting to watch what they were saying. But the main thing was that they were all together.
He looked up as he washed down the last bite of roll with sweet milk. Mother was frowning but in a way that made it look like she was thinking rather than unhappy. “I’ll need to stick around until everything’s sorted out,” Father said. He looked uncertain. “Will that be alright?”
Mother nibbled her roll and managed a smile. “Of course it will. I just . . .” She darted a look at Loyal. “It’s easy to get used to something like that.” She stood suddenly and began clearing the table. Father reached out and laid his hand over one of hers. “Delphy, I—” he stopped, looked from one to the other of them, and removed his hand—“I guess I’d better check in with Virgil this morning. Loyal, you want to come with me?”
Loyal leapt to his feet, nodding as hard as he could.
Mother opened her mouth, then pressed her lips into a tight line. Finally, she said, “Keep him safe.”
Father winked and kissed her hard and fast on the mouth. She flushed and gave him a shove, but it looked like she meant it in fun. Loyal didn’t know if it was watching his parents together or the notion of stepping into town with his father, but a sense of well-being washed over him, and he thought he could almost be glad something terrible had happened if it meant his family would be together like this.
“Come on then, son. Let’s get out of here before your mother changes her mind.” He winked again—at Loyal this time—and they headed for Main Street.
As they walked along, Loyal wrestled with what he should tell his father about the Westfall kids—as well as how he would tell it. He figured it was important that they’d been there that day and whatever Michael hid might be important, too. He was pretty sure he could find that old stump again. He was tempted to slip away and go there by himself to see what it was—Father would be easier to get away from than Mother. But something told him it would be wise to have someone with him. He was still pondering when they arrived at the sheriff’s office.
“Virgil, you need me today? I figured that man from Washington could help you out and I was thinking of taking this boy fishing.” Father pantomimed casting a rod and reeling the line back in. Loyal grinned as big as he could to let the men know he thought this was a fine idea.
The sheriff looked like he’d rubbed coal dust under his eyes, and his clothes were wrinkled. He gave them a weary smile. “Shoot, I might just throw in the towel and come with you. Mr. Mason has taken to bed with a bucket handy. I don’t expect much help from him, which suits me fine.”
He stood to pour himself a cup of fragrant coffee. “Want some?” he asked Father, who shook his head. Then the sheriff eyed Loyal and pointed at the coffeepot with raised eyebrows. Loyal felt a laugh bubble up inside but tamped it down since sometimes people looked at him funny when he made sounds. He smiled and shook his head no.
“Suit yourself,” Virgil said. “Julia should be here soon with breakfast for me and Otto. I’d be grateful if you’d let me run a few things by you while I wait.”
“Sure,” Father said, settling into a chair and fishing his pipe out of a pocket. “We’re in no hurry.” He clamped the pipe between his teeth but didn’t fill it. Loyal had the notion it helped him think. Maybe he should get a pipe for thinking, too.
“Had a long talk with Otto last night,” Virgil said at last. Loyal kept his eyes pinned to the two men. He didn’t want to miss a word. “There are too many things that don’t add up.” He rubbed
both hands over his face, hiding any additional words.
Father shifted his pipe. “You mean other than the fact that it would take him all morning just to walk out there, much less walk back?”
“Yeah,” Virgil said. “That’s just the beginning. He said he tried to scare Eddie off and accidentally killed him. Now, let’s ignore the fact that you’d have to be a pretty terrible shot—which Otto isn’t—to aim over a man’s head and shoot him in the chest. The harder question is why Eddie was shot twice.” He held two fingers up.
Father took his pipe out of his mouth. “Maybe Otto’s first shot hit Eddie in the arm, then the boy got scared and fired again?”
“Weak but plausible. The problem is, Otto didn’t know Eddie had been shot twice. Came as a real surprise to him. Flustered him pretty good.”
Father frowned. “I guess a fellow could be so rattled he’d shoot twice without realizing it.”
“Maybe. Or maybe Otto didn’t spend enough time thinking his story through before he turned up here to confess to something he didn’t do.” Sheriff White tapped an index finger against a stack of papers on his desk. “Plus, Bud went back out there and found a cartridge. It was .44 caliber, although just the one. Otto doesn’t often carry a gun, but when he does it’s a .22 rifle. Hadden, on the other hand, had been bragging about getting ahold of a Colt Peacemaker that fires that very caliber.”
Father pulled out some tobacco and filled his pipe. “I’m getting the feeling you might have another kind of fishing in mind for me today.”
The sheriff leaned back in his chair. “Maybe if you and the boy went out there to the Westfall place for a friendly visit, you could ask after that gun of his. He might be more willing to talk to someone who only used to wear a badge.” He nodded at Loyal. “Your boy knows those kids of Hadden, doesn’t he?”
Father looked at Loyal with his eyebrows raised, and Loyal realized he didn’t really know the answer to the question. He wanted to explain that it was mostly Rebecca that he knew. Instead, he just nodded his head.
Virgil looked at Loyal with an expression of . . . what? Admiration maybe? “Reads lips real good, doesn’t he?”
Father smiled, and this time Loyal felt certain that what he saw was pride. “He sure does. Smart as a whip.” He reached out and squeezed Loyal’s shoulder. “Knows how to read lips, and he can talk with his hands.”
Virgil got a thoughtful look, but before he could say anything else, his wife, Julia, came through the door with a basket of food. And then Loyal and Father were out the door and on their way to the Westfall place.
Deep in his bones, Creed knew that Delphy would not approve of his taking Loyal along on this visit. And while he thought she was overprotective of Loyal, he wasn’t altogether sure it was a good idea himself. Virgil had implied it would make the visit feel innocuous to have the boy along—as if they were just stopping by so the kids could get together. But he was going to ask about a gun, for Pete’s sake, and Hadden was no fool. Creed glanced at the boy trotting along beside him. He was smart knowing two languages. Creed used to think hand-talking was just a way to show, word for word, what people were saying. Now he was beginning to realize it was a lot more nuanced than that. And what you did with your face was almost as important as what you did with your hands. He decided he’d learn more, but first they’d see to this business with Hadden. And hope to goodness Delphy didn’t find out.
Though the Westfall place was nearly three miles outside of town, Loyal had no trouble keeping up. Smart and strong, Hadden thought. They followed the river for a ways before veering onto a road that led up a wide valley.
Creed noticed the sky hanging low and heavy up ahead. Curls of fog and cloud swathed the mountaintops and crept down through the trees as though coming to meet them. Loyal pointed and gave him a quizzical look. Creed shrugged. “Maybe it’ll rain and cool us down,” he said, earning a smile from the boy whose hair was stuck to his sweaty neck.
As they approached the Westfall place, Creed admired how Hadden had built his big brick home on a rise that gave him a good view of the river below, with a mountain behind the house to protect it. Which meant if Hadden was watching, he’d see them coming for a long time.
Loyal grabbed Creed’s shirt and jerked. He pointed across the fields. A hawk had burst from the mountain mist and swooped down on something. There was a short struggle, and then the bird took to the air again, a snake dangling from its claws. Loyal made some excited gestures with his hands, and Creed wanted to understand but honestly he had no idea what the boy was trying to say. He wrinkled his brow and shook his head, then shrugged and held his hands up in an exaggerated way. Loyal began to laugh, and Creed flinched at the strange, overly loud sound. Loyal immediately stopped and looked at his shoes.
Creed reached down and tapped Loyal on the shoulder. “How do you say, ‘I’m sorry’?”
Loyal slowly lifted a fist to his chest and circled it there. Creed imitated the motion, looking deep into his son’s eyes. “You laugh all you want. I like to hear you laugh.” A small smile eased the look of hurt in Loyal’s eyes. Creed made the motion again. “I’m also sorry I don’t understand what you’re saying with your hands. I’d like to learn more.” Now his son’s eyes lit up. He pointed at himself, pinched his fingers together like a crawdad’s claws, held them at his temples, and moved them toward Creed like he was taking information from his own head and putting it in Creed’s.
Creed laughed. “Does that mean teach? You’ll teach me?” He slapped Loyal on the back, and they covered the remaining distance to Hadden’s front porch.
This was way better than fishing. Loyal wouldn’t have thought it, but discovering a dead body—as awful as it had been—seemed to mean Father was going to be around a lot more. While he felt sorry for that poor man, he sure was glad to be going places with his father.
As they approached the house, Loyal saw Rebecca standing at an upstairs window. She gave a little wave before ducking behind the curtain. Mr. Westfall himself opened the door as they stepped up onto the wide porch with its fancy pillars. “Virgil not in the mood to come himself? It’s not often you and I have the chance to socialize.”
Loyal frowned. He might not be able to hear, but he could read the scorn rolling off the man standing in front of them. Father hooked his thumbs in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He looked almost devilish with his grin and narrow mustache. “Is that how it’s going to be? Well then, let’s cut to the chase.” He raised one hand and pointed at Mr. Westfall like a kid pretending to have a gun. “We’re here to see that fancy Colt Peacemaker of yours.” He mock-fired his finger pistol.
Mr. Westfall tensed all over. “My gun collection is none of your business. Virgil should have the courtesy to do his own dirty work.”
Father held his hands up. “True enough. But if you show me the pistol, me and Loyal can get to fishing and you won’t have to mess with Virgil today.”
Acting put upon, Mr. Westfall opened the door wider and waved his arm as though ushering them inside. “Let’s get this over with.” He led them down a hall and must have said something because Father made a face.
Loyal looked up the grand staircase and saw Rebecca peeking down at him. She grinned and motioned for him to come up. Father was a few steps ahead by now, and Loyal supposed it would be all right to go to his friend since this was her house. Seeing the men turn into a room at the end of the hall, he scampered up the stairs.
Rebecca led him onto a sort of upstairs porch that overlooked a garden and barn, where the Westfalls’ automobile was parked. There was an outside staircase leading up to a third floor or maybe the roof. They sat on the bottom step.
“Michael’s acting strange,” Rebecca began. “I’m worried about him.”
Loyal signed Strange how? before he realized Rebecca wouldn’t understand. But then she nodded, imitated the sign for strange, and kept talking. “He’s always been kind of”—she scrunched up her mouth—“hard to get along with. But lately he har
dly talks to me at all, and last night he said that if I ever told anyone about that day at the river . . .” She stopped and looked around. “Well, he said he’d make me sorry.” She looked down and then met Loyal’s eyes again. “He scared me.”
Loyal noticed that she moved her hands in a way that was almost the sign for scared. He made the sign; she nodded her head and repeated it correctly this time. He looked at her and shaped the words Do you know sign language?
“Are you asking if I can talk like you do?”
Loyal felt his eyebrows shoot up. He nodded. She smiled and gave his shoulder a little push. “No, silly. It’s just kind of obvious.” Loyal shook his head. No one else seemed to think his hand movements were obvious, unless they’d learned sign language. Still, it was nice to be understood.
“Hey,” Rebecca said, “want to see something?” He nodded. She reached in the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a little notebook with string tied around it. She undid the string and handed it to him. “I found it when we were running away that day. It was just lying there along the trail. I don’t know why I stopped to pick it up, but it has some nice pictures in it.”
Loyal thumbed through the book. There were tiny drawings of flowers and the river, one of a bird perched on a fence post. He guessed they were pretty good. Other pages had names and numbers written on them. Some of the names seemed kind of familiar . . . maybe people his parents knew?
Rebecca sat up straighter and glanced toward the door. She grabbed the book and scooted away from Loyal, which made him realize just how close they’d been sitting. And how sorry he was that she’d moved.
The door popped open, and Father stood there. “Loyal. We need to go.” Loyal could feel the urgency. He jumped up and hurried after Father. They marched downstairs and left the house without seeing Mr. Westfall, although Loyal did see Michael standing at a window, watching them with narrowed eyes and clenched fists. As they strode away from the house, Loyal turned back and saw Rebecca at her window, waving at him. He waved back and hoped Michael wouldn’t give her any more reasons to be scared.
The Right Kind of Fool Page 8