Bound by Mystery Page 4

  Sharon clapped wildly when the vote passed. Dwayne groaned inside, but kept his smile. He would be expected to spend hours on this committee. The burden of a successful booth was on his shoulders.

  It was a heavy price to pay for having a chance to court this beautiful blond widow. Her husband had been killed during the invasion of Normandy. Every night at dinner, Sharon and Augie quietly said grace, then glanced at Captain Winter’s photo on the walnut sideboard and chanted together, “we will never forget.”

  Sharon was close to forgetting. He could see it in her eyes. So very close. He knew what she wanted, craved. She would hold out for marriage, he knew that. But more than sex, she wanted a good father for Augie. It wasn’t hard to figure out what her ideal replacement would be like.

  The illustrious Captain Winter had seen to it that his wife and son had insurance. Plenty of insurance. That was reason enough to court the beautiful widow. Then things changed. It had never happened before.

  Dwayne fell in love.

  He loved her innocent blue eyes, her yellow Tonied hair, her little cotton housedresses, her slim form that floated around her little bungalow house, eager to cook, to clean.

  He couldn’t recall the time when his intentions changed from wiping out her bank account to wanting to marry her. He wanted to spend his life with this adorable lighthearted woman. Wanted to make love to her, make her happy. Wanted to come home for the rest of his life to the smell of soup and good bread.

  He joined the church and attended every Sunday. When she timidly asked how his job search was going, he started looking for real and hired on as a copy editor at the local paper. It was plenty good enough. It gave him some income and gave Sharon something to tell her mother and all the other relations.

  Augie hated Dwayne. Oh, he hadn’t said so in so many words. At first there was a look of sorrow on Augie’s face. Like having to put an old dog to sleep when Sharon removed Captain Winter’s photo from the sideboard. A blaze of anger when Sharon suggested Dwayne and Augie spend more time together.

  Then disaster struck. Augie visited Dwayne’s boardinghouse for the first and only time. While he waited for Dwayne to change clothes for a day of fishing, the boy had riffled through his magazine stash and came across an envelope of photos.

  Dwayne came back into the room. He froze when he saw the boy staring at the pictures. Augie’s freckles darkened in his bloodless face.

  “I’ve got to go. I just remembered…”

  “Those aren’t mine,” Dwayne said quickly. “I swear they are not.”

  But they were. Worse, they were the ones he had promised himself never to look at again. Not the luscious beauties in Playboy and Hooker, but the ones with imaginative use of whips and chains and women who looked like they would rather die sooner than later. Not that they had any chance of breaking free of their shackles. And the dogs. He could never explain the dogs. What the dogs were doing.

  Augie’s cowlick crackled like a sparkler as he stood in stunned silence.

  “Listen, kid—”

  But the kid wouldn’t listen. He slammed through the door.

  “She won’t believe you,” Dwayne hollered after him. “You know she won’t.”

  “I hate you,” Augie called back when he reached the end of the sidewalk. “Dad never, never, never would, never would…” His voice broke off in a torrent of tears.

  “I’ll tell everyone they belonged to your father. Your sainted father.”

  Augie froze.

  “If you ever mention this to your friends, I’ll tell everyone where they really came from. From your own attic. I’ve never been to Germany, but your dad has.”

  Sobbing, Augie took off at a run.

  Dwayne looked up and down the street. None of the neighbors were out. No one had heard. He closed the door. He’d bought the photos through a Nazi memorabilia sale. They had cost him a pretty penny.

  He walked back into the living room. He had a little time to think things out. He was good at thinking. It saved him a lot of trouble. He sat on the couch and rested his head in his hands, then smiled. Boys the kid’s age would rather cut off their peckers than talk to their moms about sex. Dwayne was a student of human nature, and right now it served him well. Augie was the only one of his friends whose father had died a hero. His friends had to make do with depressing nondescript shadows of men who shuffled off to their jobs day after day. But Augie was the son of Captain Winter, the noble hero.

  Augie strutted. Augie was a leader. Augie stood a little taller and was a little smarter than his classmates.

  Dwayne eyed the boy’s fishing pole standing alongside his by the door and perfected his story. The poor lad had forgotten it. He had been that excited when he caught all the fish this morning. Dwayne smiled, guessing that Augie wouldn’t go home until sundown.

  Whistling, Dwayne headed to the grocery store and bought three pounds of catfish. When he got back to his house he rewrapped it in newspaper—the most likely thing he would have used if they had been caught fresh. He picked up Augie’s pole and walked over to the Winters’ house.

  “Dwayne! I was just going to send Augie over to get you and invite you to supper. Come right on in. You’re just in time.”

  “Augie ran off and left this evening when his friends wanted him to play a game of work-up. Guess a baseball trumps having to clean fish any time. But he forgot his pole and his share of the fish.” He thrust the bundle at Sharon.

  “Augie!” She turned to her son. “I can’t believe you would shirk your responsibilities. It’s not like you. Apologize right now!”

  “Sorry.” He mumbled and didn’t look at Dwayne.

  Sharon frowned then went off to finish making supper.

  Augie and Dwayne sat stiffly on the edge of the sofa. Sharon’s wood floors shone from a recent coating of Johnson’s Wax. A faint odor of lemon oil permeated the air. A mahogany table held a lamp with a fringe shade. Handmade white doilies had been placed on the backs and arms of the matching maroon frieze-covered furniture. Satin and velvet pillows softened the corners. The room was the epitome of propriety.

  Sharon called from the kitchen. “Tell Augie all about what you’re going to do this year as community leader. Honestly, I think it’s just wonderful of you to spend so much of your time helping others.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Sharon.”

  Augie said nothing and sat staring at the wall with his hands pressed between his knees. During supper he kept his eyes on his plate and spoke only when he had to.

  “Deviled eggs,” Dwayne said. “I can’t remember the last time I had deviled eggs. From your own chickens, I assume.”

  “Yes.” Sharon gamely tried to stimulate a little conversation and frowned at her son who normally had exemplary manners. “My hens have always been excellent layers. In fact, at one time I had enough left over to sell. But I had a bad fright and stopped doing that. Tell Dwayne about the cellar, Augie.” She smiled. “It’s always been one of his favorite stories.”

  “Can’t remember it.”

  Sharon frowned, then told it herself, but her heart was no longer in it. “Well, I always cleaned my eggs in the cellar. It’s very cool there. I wiped each egg with a little vinegar water and candled them to make sure I hadn’t picked up an old one with a chick already started. My eggs had the reputation for being the cleanest, freshest in town.”

  “Had the reputation?”

  “Yes. Silly me. I kept my canning down there too. Vegetables. Fruits. I loved seeing everything put by for winter. Anyway, one day when I was down there a jar hissed and exploded. It scared me half to death. I thought it was a snake. I fell against the wall and a whole shelf of beans came tumbling down. There was glass all over.”

  “It’s a wonder you didn’t cut yourself.”

  “I know. I won’t let anyone go near there now. I keep it padlocked and store my cannin
g in the pantry.”

  “What if a tornado does come someday?” Augie asked. “What if we need somewhere to go?”

  “Well, the key is by the back door where it’s always been. The cellar is there if we are ever in any real danger. But in the meantime I don’t want you near the place. Just because it wasn’t a snake that time doesn’t mean it won’t be next time.”

  “Enough about snakes and exploding jars,” Dwayne said, smiling at Augie. “What say we have a little game of catch?”

  Sharon beamed. “Go on now, honey. You’ve looked a little peaked lately. I think you need a little more fresh air and exercise.”

  Augie didn’t look either one of them in the eye. He simply rose, shot Dwayne a look of disgust and left to get his glove.

  Dwayne insisted they play in the front yard so all the good neighbors could see how Mrs. Sharon Winter’s exemplary suitor had thoughtfully entered her son’s life. It was an hour before full twilight. The odor of burning leaves scented the evening air. Across the street, Mr. Weidman watched them toss the ball.

  Dwayne threw the ball to Augie who caught it easily. But when it was his turn to throw it back, Augie threw it wide and Dwayne had to go into the yard next door to retrieve it. He apologized to the elderly man pushing a reel mower around the yard.

  Old Man Snodgrass chuckled and picked up the ball. “Guess he doesn’t know his own strength.”

  “Guess not,” Dwayne said gritting his teeth.

  “Comes from not having a father around. The Captain would have made him fetch it himself. No coddling of that boy when the Captain was alive. None.”

  Dwayne went back to the game. When it happened the third time he saw the light. He didn’t go after the ball. Not this time. He went after Augie. “All right, so this is how it’s going to be, kid. You go after that ball or I’ll make you sorry you didn’t.”

  Augie stared at his shoes. His glove pressed firmly against his side. “Can’t make me,” he said just loud enough for Dwayne to hear and no one else.

  “Think I can’t, boy? Think I can’t?”

  ***

  Two days later, Dwayne went over to Sharon’s house early in the afternoon. She didn’t answer the door so he went around back and hollered. Then he spied her out in the chicken yard gathering eggs. “Here, let me help you. Where’s your boy? He should be doing this for you. In fact, there are a lot of chores around here he should be doing.”

  “I think he’s with Kenny and his dad. Or maybe just riding their bikes around town. And I think they were going to the extension office to pick up some material on fair booths.”

  “He should be doing more to spare you so much work.”

  “He’s been through so much. I think he should be free to play.”

  “Perhaps you’re right. Childhood goes by in a flash.” He picked up her bucket and they started toward the house. Their path led them past the storm cellar.

  He stared. The pin was away from the hasp on the padlock. Kenny Tillhook’s bike lay next to the alley. He and Sharon went through the back door into the mud room. The cellar key was missing from the peg.

  No need to guess who had it and where they were. He knew. Augie and Kenny were inseparable. Such good, good friends and he knew how things went between young boys with strong bonds. Augie would soon tell Kenny about the photos. And Kenny, the little prick, would tell his father. Kenny’s father had been the community leader for the Seekers Not Slackers before him. For fifteen years, in fact. Three of those years Kenny’s father had won the state leadership award.

  Up ’til now Dwayne had figured there was a strong chance that no one would believe Augie. Would pass it off as the rant of a child who didn’t want to see his mother marry or have any kind of intimate relationship. But with Kenny Tillhook’s dad backing up Augie’s version? Jesus, his goose was hooked. He mumbled something about a deadline and left to destroy the photos immediately. He hated that. They had given him many hours of pleasure.

  ***

  Dwayne’s heart nearly stopped as he fumbled through the magazine rack, then looked under the chair and the sofa. He looked all through the house. The photos were gone. Simple as that. No need to wonder who had taken them. Score one for the little shit ass.

  Excited, he sat in his high-backed chair. He loved high stakes. He loved to think. It was what had saved him two times before. The planning, the anticipation of complications. It was a chess game. Challenging your opponent—making this or that move. Augie’s first move was a real humdinger. Bold and unexpected. But what could the boy hope to gain? Perhaps he had set fire to them. He had to find out first before he did any more planning.

  It was now Augie’s word against his.

  By the time they finished supper the next evening, with Augie replying to questions with monosyllables, he knew the boy had a weapon of his own. Sharon would never marry a man her son didn’t like.

  Augie would have to go. The problem was when and how.

  Sharon cleared the table and came back with lemon pie with a meringue that must have been three inches high. Augie picked at his pie, eating only the occasional forkful.

  Dwayne eyed the silent boy. His first step would be to establish himself as a mature, caring adult and the kid as a spoiled brat.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t take the photography project,” Dwayne said. “Kenny’s dad is the leader. You and Kenny could have taken it together. You’ve shown a definite interest in photography.”

  Augie turned ghost-white. His mouth trembled and he hunched over his plate.

  “Augie, I didn’t know that,” Sharon said. Delighted, she beamed at Dwayne. “There’s an old camera that belonged to his dad in the attic. A German brand. A Leica, I believe. Augie, why don’t you use it?”

  Augie rose and abruptly pushed away from the table.

  “Augie…” Sharon called after him as he rushed out of the room. “Augie, honey, are you sick?”

  With an apologetic glance at Dwayne, she rose and ran after her son, who had locked himself into the bathroom.

  “Augie, let me in.” She listened. “Are you throwing up?”

  “Go away.”

  “There’s no shame in being sick, honey. Honey?”

  Silence.

  “You’re ashamed of being sick when Dwayne is here, aren’t you? Her voice softened. She walked back into the dining room. “I’m so sorry, but my son is very sick and I’m afraid having you here is just making everything worse.” Her lovely face tightened. “He’s so proud of being the man of the house since his dad died. Now he’s afraid of showing any signs of weakness. I just have to pry information out of him.”

  Dwayne leapt to his feet and held out his arms. She came to him at once. He kissed her temple and patted her back. “Poor little birdy. So many burdens. All by yourself.” He wanted to say more and then checked himself, warning himself to be careful, careful and not overdo.

  “Call me tomorrow if you think he needs to see a doctor. I’ll go on home. You know best and if my being here upsets him right now…”

  “Oh, darling, you understand everything without my having to look for words. Thank you, thank you.”

  “You get him on up to bed and we’ll talk more later about helping him feel a little more secure in making the transition into puberty and understanding what it means to be a man.”

  “Oh, would you?”

  He squeezed her hand.

  ***

  She didn’t call until the next afternoon. “No doctor needed but he doesn’t even want to get out of bed and that’s not like him at all.”

  “If he isn’t up tomorrow, I would put my foot down.”

  Silence on the line. “Really, I don’t think…”

  “I do.” He tried to keep his voice gentle, understanding. “I don’t just think, Sharon, I know. The boy needs a firmer hand.”

  “No.�
�

  “Yes, darling. Even the neighbors are talking about it. They say Captain Winters would never let Augie do some of the things he does. They say he’s spoiled. He’s gotten out of hand.”

  “No, they don’t say such cruel things. I know they don’t. Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Weidman. They’ve all had nothing but praise for the way he has carried on since his father died.”

  “To your face, maybe.”

  Silence. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Had he gone too far? “Sweetheart, all he needs is a man in his life. A role model. When he is feeling better, why don’t I take him fishing again? Or even camping. That’s the kind of thing I have in mind. Just a few more manly activities.”

  “If he wants to.” Her voice was hesitant.

  “It will be great for him.” Yes, camping, he thought as he returned the phone to the cradle. Lots of things happened while camping. He would wait a few days before he called her. Let her make the first move.

  It didn’t even take a week. On a sunny blue-skied morning two days later, dressed for the great outdoors, he knocked on the door of the Winters’ house. He knew this outing had been forced on Augie so he was startled when the beaming boy let him inside.

  “He’s here,” Augie shouted.

  Smiling, Sharon stood behind her son. “Augie asked Kenny and his dad to come along. I knew you wouldn’t mind.” She turned and called to the persons on the couch. Kenny Tillhook bounced over to the door. “Dad used to be an Explorer scout. Didn’t you, Dad?” John Tillhook rose and reached for an enormous backpack made for woodland hikes. He was a swarthy man who fairly reeked of fitness.

  Dwayne froze. What he knew about hiking could be summed up in three words. He hated it.

  ***

  It was even worse than he thought it would be. Even though it was an overnight trip, Dwayne hadn’t planned on sleeping there. In fact, all he had planned was a hasty descent with Augie’s little body over his shoulder. That, he had planned in meticulous detail. Just a slip in the creek. The boy had been that eager to fish. Just a slip. A little crack in his head. Just a little time spent in the swollen stream while Dwayne was off in the woods looking for firewood.