The Hayloft: a 1950s Mystery Page 11

“What, do you brown-nose him?”

  “Naw, don’t have to.”

  “So what does he do?”

  Willie stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray sitting on an end table. He picked up a pack of Camels from the table, offered me one, which I refused, then took one for himself. He lit it with a lighter, also from the table. He inhaled deeply and blew smoke out through his nostrils.

  He looked at me and said, “Promise you won’t tell anyone.”

  I promised and sipped my beer while he took another drag on his cigarette.

  Willie took the cigarette out of his mouth and said, “When I was a freshman, he took me up on the catwalk above the stage. I was cutting class with the principal’s permission, what did I know? Then he had me sit on his lap and put his hands over mine on my lap.”

  I tried to keep a blank expression as I said, “Did anything else happen?”

  “Naw. He gave me a hall pass, and I went to class.”

  “Has he done this recently?”

  “Not with me. I wised up. But he liked Ralph. Maybe he did it with him. And there may have been others.”

  “Did he ever have a fight with Ralph that you can recall?”

  Willie shook his head.

  “What do you think was funny about the way Ralph died?”

  “He was too good of an athlete to die like he did.”

  A chant started over in the corner where some stag boys were sitting together.

  “One, two,

  what’ll we do?

  Three, four,

  out the door.

  Five, six,

  pick up chicks.

  Seven, eight,

  lay them straight.

  Nine, ten,

  do it again.”

  They repeated the chant, louder. Half a dozen boys got up and headed for the door. Willie got up to join them.

  “You coming?” he asked.

  I shook my head. Not only did I not want to drive somewhere with a bunch of half-drunk boys, I seriously doubted their ability to find chicks, and if they lucked out and found them, to know what to do with them.

  Dennis grabbed Willie by the arm and tried to dissuade him from going, without much success. I took one more swig of beer, put down the bottle, shouted a thank-you in Dennis’ ear, and headed for the door. I made it outside on the heels of the guys who were still chanting.

  Willie came just behind me. When he caught up to me, he said, in a belligerent tone, “You sure you ain’t coming?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

  Willie weaved his way toward the others, singing off-key: “Every party has a pooper, that’s why we invited you. Party pooper. Party pooper.”

  I climbed into my car, waited until the packed carload of chick chasers peeled out and drove away. Then I headed for home.

  CHAPTER 15

  When I drove Sylvia to school on Monday morning, it was too early to talk much. And too miserable. The cold rain, which had started on Sunday, continued unabated. October had come in with a snarl. She looked glum and I felt glum.

  I had driven to my home in Atherton yesterday, eaten Sunday dinner with my family, and played Clue with my brothers afterwards, because it was too cold and wet to go outside. My father ranted about how communists were trying to take over the country, with special emphasis on Michael Doran. I kept my mouth shut, with difficulty, partly because I didn’t want him asking me about Sylvia. Thankfully, he didn’t, because I don’t know how I would have responded.

  I visited the room I shared with Tom. It looked the same. My books were still in the bookcase. My upper bunk was neatly made. Tom slept on the lower bunk. I felt homesick for the first time. If I were going to school in Atherton, I wouldn’t have to deal with communists and Dr. Graves. And I wouldn’t be wondering how Ralph had died. I drove back to the farm, reluctantly, in the rain.

  Sylvia and I rode the short distance from her house to the school in silence. I pulled around to the back of the school and parked in the students’ parking lot.

  When she started to get out of the car, I said, “Wait. Couple things. One, I went to a party Friday night.”

  “I didn’t know about any party.”

  “It wasn’t on your radar screen. It was given by Dennis Rice.”

  “You’re right. Dennis isn’t on my radar screen.” Sylvia made a grimace. “I guess nobody is, anymore. So you know Dennis?”

  “Actually, I know Willie, his younger brother. I met him at the sock hop.”

  Sylvia smiled. “I remember that. I rescued you from him.”

  “Yes, you did. But he invited me to the party. So I went. It wasn’t really my kind of party—”

  “You don’t need to apologize.”

  “Anyway, I found out some things about Dr. Graves.”

  “Dear old Dr. G. Do you know he was out to get me? Clip my wings? I guess he figured I was getting too big for my britches. But the communist conspiracy got me first.”

  “I have a confession to make.” I hadn’t started out to say this, but I figured that this was a good time to do it with the noise of the rain muting the impact of my words.

  “Don’t tell me. You’ve written a magazine called Carter Confidential.”

  “Worse. When I started here two weeks ago, Dr. Graves made me promise to report to him what you were saying and doing, on implied threat of expulsion.”

  “He asked you to spy on me?” Sylvia shrank against the door of the car with a look of horror in her eyes. “That son of a…”

  “Relax. I didn’t tell him anything important. At first, I thought he wanted to know about your father, so I quoted to him from editorials in the Buffalo Express.”

  Sylvia laughed out loud. “Gary, that was brilliant. I always suspected that Dr. G can’t read.”

  “Then I realized that he wanted information specifically on you. In fact, he asked whether you were still trying to get teachers fired. That was after you had talked to me about Mr. Plover, but I didn’t tell him anything.” I zipped my lip.

  “I knew you were trustworthy from the start. But tell me the new scoop that you have on Dr. Graves.”

  “I was talking to a…um, a boy at the party. He told me that Dr. Graves took him up on the catwalk above the stage and had him sit on his lap.”

  “Holy cow. I didn’t know he was queer. Maybe we can get him fired.”

  “Not so fast. In the first place, I’ve been sworn to secrecy. This boy’s not going to testify against him. But he did indicate that Dr. Graves also liked Ralph. I was wondering if they had some kind of a…relationship—this is hard to say—and they had a fight or something and—”

  “And Dr. Graves pushed Ralph off the balcony.”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s what I was trying to say.”

  “That sounds pretty much impossible to prove.”

  “Dr. Graves did tell me one thing. He said that he sometimes watches the boys’ swimming classes. You know, the boys swim in the nude.”

  “I know that, Gary.”

  “He mentioned your boyfriend, Sonny, specifically. He said Sonny was on the swimming team, and he had beautiful form. He liked to watch him swim.”

  When Sylvia didn’t say anything, I looked sideways at her. A tear was welling out of her eye.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “No, it’s not that. Sonny…isn’t my boyfriend anymore.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “He just finished basic training. He has a few days’ leave before he starts advanced infantry training, so he came home. When I didn’t hear from him, I called his house. He told me…he doesn’t want to see me anymore. Because of my father. He says he’s not going to Korea to risk his life for any commie bastards.”

  Tears were flowing freely down Sylvia’s face. I didn’t know what to do. I pulled a relatively clean handkerchief out of my pocket and handed it to her. She took it and used it to dry her tears. It took
a few minutes, but she pulled herself together and even gave me a bleak smile.

  “I didn’t mean to go to pieces in front of you. I’m all right now.”

  “It looks like the rain has stopped for a minute. This might be a good time to make a run for it.”

  ***

  Once inside the building, Sylvia went upstairs to her homeroom while I headed toward the cafeteria. As I passed the administration area, I glanced in and saw Dr. Graves standing in front of a file cabinet. He was here early. Unfortunately, he also saw me.

  “Blanchard,” he said. “Just the boy I want to see. Come on in.”

  I reluctantly walked through the doorway that separated the students’ turf from the principal’s turf and went to the counter. Dr. Graves closed a file folder he had been perusing, replaced it in the file drawer, and slid the drawer shut. He motioned for me to come around the counter and led the way into his private office. I sat at his command while he went to his desk and also took a seat. He took off his glasses, picked up a pencil, and started drumming it on the desktop.

  He looked at me for a few seconds without speaking. If he were trying to intimidate me, he was succeeding, but I returned his look. Then he silenced the pencil and said, “You’re a smart boy.”

  I assumed he wasn’t looking for an answer, so I just sat there trying to appear at ease.

  “This whole thing with Mr. Doran is unfortunate,” he continued.

  I still didn’t respond. What was he driving at?

  “It’s unfortunate that we have communists in a nice rural American town like Carter. A town that epitomizes the heartland of America.”

  He paused again as if waiting for me to say something. I determined to remain silent until he got where he was going.

  “But we will weather the storm. We beat the Nazis and the Japs, and we will defeat the communists. We will win because we live in a free country that is superior to any other form of government. One facet of that freedom is that anybody accused of a crime is innocent until proven guilty.”

  I wondered if there would be a quiz when he finished.

  “Being the child of a lawbreaker does not make one a lawbreaker.”

  I was beginning to see the light.

  “Therefore, Sylvia is deemed innocent of any crime and has a right to continue her education here at Carter High.”

  I wanted to point out that Mr. Doran had neither been convicted nor even accused of any crime. But the coward in me kept me quiet.

  “But there is such a thing as guilt by association. I know that you have been driving Sylvia to and from school. You’ve also been eating lunch with her.”

  Here it comes.

  “I had a long talk with your father before I admitted you to Carter High. We touched on many subjects, including the communist conspiracy. We were in remarkable agreement about that. I wonder what Thomas Blanchard would think if he knew you were consorting with the daughter of a known communist.”

  I gathered that my spying days were over. The game had changed. Now the objective was to isolate Sylvia.

  ***

  I ate lunch with two boys from my math class. They were not political and accepted me without question. I glanced at the table in the far corner several times. Sylvia was there, with Barney and Ed and a couple of girls. I was conspicuous by my absence. At least, that’s the way it looked to me.

  While I was driving Sylvia home, I explained my need to get some math questions answered at lunchtime. She accepted my explanation without question, not even making the argument that Barney was the best student in my math class.

  Not feeling very satisfied with that, I tried to come up with a good reason I could use to convince her that she should be taking the bus to school. During the few minutes of our ride together, I couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t make me look like a heel. I would have to call her later. I dropped her at her house. She invited me in, but I declined.

  I was planning to go to the farm and vegetate, out of the rain, and hope that my problems would disappear. I drove a block with that in mind. Then I suddenly turned into a gas station, made a U-turn, and headed back up Main Street. I timed it so that I passed Sylvia’s house after she had gone inside, but before she could make it upstairs to her room and look out the window.

  There was only a short time that I would be able to talk to Sonny before he would be off defending his country. I might learn something. If I didn’t, I would drop all non-school-related activities and do exactly what Dr. Graves wanted me to do, so that I could graduate from high school and get out of here.

  I continued on Main Street past the high school for a mile and then turned left into a relatively recent housing development. I had looked up Sonny’s address in the telephone book and then verified the street with Sylvia, so that I knew I had the correct Erskine, but without telling her what I was thinking of doing.

  The house was a two-story, wooden structure with a fresh coat of paint. It was typical of the small houses built just after World War II, when there was a big demand for new housing. Soldiers returned from the war, and everybody started spending the money they had hoarded. There had been nothing to spend it on during the war, what with so many things being rationed. My parents still had leftover ration coupons that had been doled out to them sparingly. Coupons that enabled them to buy gasoline and essential food items, in addition to other necessities.

  I parked on the street and sat in the car while I reviewed what I wanted to say. This was not going to be easy. I forced myself to open the door, get out, and run up the asphalt driveway, trying to stay as dry as possible as the rain continued to pelt down. I rang the doorbell and got wetter and wetter until a middle-aged woman wearing a housedress and glasses opened the main door and then the outer door, which held a screen during the summer, but now had a storm window in it.

  “Come in out of the rain,” she said, holding that door open.

  I did, gratefully. Then, giving her my best smile, I said, “Hello, you must be Mrs. Erskine. My name is Gary Blanchard, and I’m working on a story for the town newspaper. I’d like to talk to Sonny.”

  She looked at me suspiciously and said, “A reporter for the Carter Press was here yesterday. And a photographer. They took his picture and everything.”

  I should have anticipated this. “Yes, well I’m actually working for the Carter school paper. I’m sorry; I misspoke. We’re trying to keep up with some of our graduates, particularly the grads who are doing important things, like Sonny is.”

  Her look softened a little, and she said, “Come on in. Sonny’s upstairs. I’ll get him. Hang up your wet jacket.”

  I was in an entryway, which doubled as a coat closet. I took off my jacket, hung it on a hook, and went through the next doorway. This area doubled as the entrance to the living room and the landing at the bottom of the stairs.

  Mrs. Erskine called up the stairs. “Sonny, there’s someone to see you from the high school paper.”

  “Who is it?” a muffled voice called back.

  I repeated my name for her, and she yelled it up the stairs.

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Well, get yourself down here anyway. Show some manners.”

  I heard the sound of footsteps over our heads, and then a young man appeared at the top of the stairs. He came down them in a hurry, his army-issue boots sounding like machine gun fire on the wooden steps. I got a quick look at him and saw that his hair was shaved down almost to fuzz. He was tall and solidly built, and he had a strong face with patriotic eyes in a head shaped like a snub-nosed bullet.

  He grabbed my hand in a vice-like grip and said, “Your name’s Blanchard? Do you go to Carter?”

  “I’m new,” I said, trying to keep from wincing. “Just transferred from Atherton.”

  “Well, sit down and tell me what’s happening at the school. I hear we beat Atherton in football.”

  I followed him into the living room and sat on a couch covered with a patterned design while he sat on an easy ch
air facing me. Mrs. Erskine went out to the kitchen to get us drinks. We talked about the football team, and he asked me about various people. I knew some of them. He didn’t mention Sylvia, and I didn’t either. He had played football and swum for Carter. Mrs. Erskine returned with our drinks.

  I opened my spiral notebook and pretended to take notes. I asked Sonny about life in the military. He seemed to have survived basic training in good shape. He said the worst thing about it was being confined to base for the first few weeks. The food wasn’t bad and he tried to get near the front of the chow line, eat fast, and go back for seconds. He had gained weight, but he looked hard.

  He said he wanted to get into the airborne unit and jump from airplanes. That wouldn’t have been my choice, but he looked serious and I had no doubt that he was. Although he talked readily, I wasn’t sure how to approach the subject I was interested in.

  I asked him a couple of questions about being on the swim team and then said, “Dr. Graves told me that you were a really good swimmer. He said he like to watch you swim.”

  “Yeah. Dr. G was a great athletic supporter. Get it?” He chuckled.

  I got it all right. Especially since that was one of the phrases that got me into trouble at Atherton. I noticed that Sonny called him Dr. G, like Sylvia did. “So you were buddies with him?”

  “I wouldn’t say we were buddies. After all, he was an officer, and I was an enlisted man. And the grunts don’t fraternize with the officers.”

  I decided I’d better get to the point. “I heard a story about Dr. Graves. I heard that he likes to take boys up on the catwalk above the stage and have them sit on his lap.”

  His muscles tensed, and I thought he was going to spring out of his chair at me. He said, “Who the fuck do you think you are? Talking like that about Dr. G. You better get out of here.”

  I thought that was a good idea. I stood up and edged past Sonny as one might edge past a crouching leopard. As I got to the entryway, Mrs. Erskine came into the living room. “Thanks for the coke,” I said to her.

  “Did you get the information you needed?” she asked.

  “I believe I did,” I said. “Thanks for your time, Sonny.” I remembered to grab my jacket before I made a hasty exit into the rain.