The Hayloft: a 1950s Mystery Page 5

  “What’s soporific?” Natalie asked.

  “Something like sophomoric,” I said.

  “I’ve been trying to get him fired for three years,” Sylvia said, ignoring both of us. “You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to get a teacher fired. Because of tenure, you have to jump through a million hoops. Dr. Graves didn’t want to hear about it. Neither did the school board. However, there was a school board election in July. Finally there’s a member who’s willing to support me.”

  “It sounds like a worthy goal,” I said, although I had never considered trying to get a teacher fired. “But what do you want us to do?”

  “Nat, I would like you to think back to your experience in freshman science class. Write down what you remember about the class, what you learned, and why you haven’t taken a science class since.”

  “You want me to write an essay?” Natalie asked, opening her eyes wide.

  “Precisely. About three hundred words should do it.”

  Sylvia turned to me as Natalie started grumbling, and said, “Gary, you were a reporter at Atherton. I would like you to interview freshmen who are currently taking Mr. Plover’s class and find out if his teaching methods are the same as they were three years ago. I’m sure they are, but we need supporting evidence.”

  “I’m not doing any newspaper work here.”

  “This isn’t for the newspaper. This is to present to the school board.”

  I knew that Dr. Graves wouldn’t stand for me presenting anything like this to the school board. I said, “I’m keeping a low profile.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll present it to the school board. All you have to do is gather some information.”

  “I don’t know any freshmen.”

  Sylvia looked irritated. “Mr. Plover’s room number is 105. Hang out beside his door when a class lets out and collar students. You’re big, and you look authoritative. They’ll talk to you. I don’t have to tell you not to breathe a word of why you’re collecting the information. But remember: we’re trying to make a better school.”

  I had more objections, but nothing Sylvia wouldn’t bulldoze over. I said, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sylvia smiled and said, “That’s more like it.” Her tone softened. “Sorry, Gary, I didn’t mean to sound like a general. But this is important to me. And you were such a big help on nim, I know you’re the right person to do this. But what can we do for you?”

  “Find him a girlfriend,” Natalie said, giggling.

  That hurt, since Natalie was my number one pick in that area.

  “Did you have a girlfriend at Atherton?” Sylvia asked.

  “I didn’t go steady. I…played the field.” Actually, I hadn’t dated all that much, but I wasn’t going to admit it. Nobody at Atherton had stimulated my hormones like Natalie. I said, “Maybe there is something you can do for me.”

  “Name it,” Sylvia said.

  “Well,” I said, wondering where to start. My relationship with the girls had strengthened, and I was ready to divulge my secret. Or at least one of my secrets. “I haven’t been completely honest with you. You see…Ralph Harrison was my cousin. And I’m staying with his mother and father.”

  “My God,” Natalie said. “Your cousin. Now that you mention it, you do look like him.”

  “It’s been what—six months since he died—and I’m kind of over the worst of it,” I said, not wanting things to get too soppy. “But I’d like to find out more about how he died.”

  “I didn’t realize that you and Ralph were related,” Sylvia said, making it sound like an apology for not knowing everything. “We were given the party line on how he died. Nobody saw it happen. He was alone in the auditorium. He fell off the balcony. His head hit the back of one of the seats. He broke his neck and the seat.” She recited the facts in a singsong voice, as if she didn’t necessarily believe them.

  “Why would he be alone in the auditorium?”

  Sylvia shrugged. “You were alone in the auditorium a little while ago.”

  “I was waiting for you.”

  “Maybe Ralph was waiting for somebody,” Natalie said.

  “I guess that’s possible. But who? A girlfriend?” Ed had mentioned a girl named Ruthie.

  “He was going steady with Ruth, I believe,” Sylvia said. She looked at Natalie.

  Natalie hesitated and then said, “Ruth Allen. Ruth is a junior now. She’s on my cheerleading squad. Did you go to Ralph’s funeral? She was there. A lot of the members of our class were there.” She shuddered. “That was the first funeral I ever went to.”

  “I was sick,” I said. “I had the measles. I had spots all over me. I wanted to go, but I wasn’t allowed to even get out of bed.”

  “There were a lot of people at the funeral,” Sylvia said. “Ralph was very popular. He played football and basketball, and he liked to party.”

  “I wonder if anybody talked to Ruth,” I said.

  “There was a police investigation,” Sylvia said. “They probably talked to her. They talked to all of us who knew him.”

  “Come out on the stage,” I said. “I want to look at the balcony.”

  When we were on the stage, I pointed into the shadows toward it. “The balcony isn’t all that high. Do you think somebody falling off it would get killed?”

  “If he landed on his head,” Natalie said. “But he looked okay. I mean, the casket was open. He didn’t have any visible injuries. He just looked like he was asleep.” She shuddered.

  “I’d like to talk to Ruth,” I said.

  “I can introduce you,” Natalie said.

  “No you can’t,” Sylvia said. “Remember that you two haven’t met.”

  I had an idea. I said, “Why don’t I show up at cheerleader practice this afternoon, pretending that I’m writing a story for the Carter Press? That will kill two birds with one stone. I can introduce myself to you, Natalie, and then we will have officially met. It’s too difficult to remember to ignore you, anyway. Then you can introduce me to Ruth.”

  “I doubt if Ruth will tell you if she had an assignation with Ralph in the auditorium,” Sylvia said.

  “Even if she just tells me what she told the police, I’ll be happy.”

  “Since you’re a reporter, why don’t you really write a story about the cheerleaders for the Press?” Natalie asked. “I’d like to get some publicity for the squad. The football players get all the glory.”

  “I can’t do that,” I said, quickly. I’d better explain. “Er, I’m concentrating on my studies this year. I don’t plan to do any actual writing. Just pretend.” It sounded lame.

  “How many people know that you’re Ralph’s cousin?” Sylvia asked.

  “You two and Dr. Graves. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it quiet for the time being.” And Ed Drucquer. But I didn’t mention him.

  “Any particular reason?”

  “I’m trying to keep a low profile, remember?” And I had a hunch I’d find out more about Ralph’s death if people didn’t know I was related to him.

  Then I remembered something else. Dr. Graves had stopped me in the hall yesterday and asked me how I was doing. Then he had asked me whether there was anything I wanted to tell him. The way he said it made me realize that I’d better come up with something. Fast.

  I said, lightly, “It’s show and tell time. I’ve told you about me. But I don’t know anything about you two. Tell me about your, ah, families.”

  “Not much to tell,” Natalie said. “I have two parents and an older sister who’s in college.”

  “What does your father do?”

  “He owns an Oldsmobile dealership.”

  “I have one older brother,” Sylvia said. “And the usual number of parents. My father is chief editorial writer for the Buffalo Express. My mother is a nurse.”

  “So your dad writes the editorials.”

  “He writes some and assigns others to members of his staff.”

  My aunt and uncle had the Buffalo Express delivered. I would have to
start reading the editorials.

  “What about your family?” Sylvia asked.

  “I have two younger brothers. My father works for the mayor of Buffalo, but I’m not exactly sure what he does. Something to do with politics.” That sounded intelligent. “My mother is what Good Housekeeping Magazine calls a homemaker. She has the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval.”

  “How is your father doing?” Sylvia asked.

  “My father?”

  “You said he was sick.”

  I remembered the story I had made up to explain why I was here. “Well, he’s…getting better.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be going back to Atherton?”

  “Uh, no, I don’t think so. I can’t be changing schools every five minutes. And I like it here.” That was less of a lie than it would have been a few days ago.

  “Sylvia says you play basketball,” Natalie said. “That’s good. We need all the help we can get. And you write. Do you write anything besides news stories?”

  “I write limericks. A buddy and I wrote limericks about members of our class at Atherton. We published a book and sold it in the cafeteria for a nickel a copy, proceeds to the class treasury.”

  “Were they dirty?” Natalie asked.

  “Of course not.” My tone of voice suggested otherwise. However, it wasn’t writing limericks that had gotten me into trouble.

  The girls smiled. Sylvia said, “Write a limerick about Nat.”

  “Right now?”

  “Well, how long does it take you?”

  “Okay, I’ll give it a try. But remember that views expressed in limericks don’t necessarily represent those of the management.”

  I had written a limerick on the spur of the moment for Dr. Graves, so why not Natalie? I hemmed and hawed for a minute and then said:

  “There is a young lady named Nat,

  Who’s neither too thin nor too fat.

  She’s cute as a kitten

  And keeps the boys smitten,

  But a kitten turns into a cat.”

  “Not bad,” Sylvia said. “And your fingers never left your hands.”

  Natalie said. “To keep you two from ganging up on me, write one about Sylvia.”

  For some reason, I didn’t want to. “There are no rhymes for Sylvia. It’s like orange.”

  “You can’t get out of it that easily,” Natalie said. “Make it Syl.”

  This one took me a little longer. Just when the troops looked as if they might get restless, I came out with:

  “There is a young lady named Syl,

  Who races and never stands still.

  You can look anywhere,

  But you’ll find she’s not there.

  She’s already over the hill.”

  Sylvia glanced at her watch and said, “I’ve gotta run.”

  Natalie and I laughed.

  “Me too,” Natalie said, standing up.

  “See ya later, alligator,” Sylvia said.

  “After a while, crocodile,” Natalie added.

  “Not too soon, baboon,” I chimed in.

  “After a laugh, giraffe,” we all finished.

  CHAPTER 8

  There was a large garage in the back of the school where buses were maintained. I figured the janitors might hang out when they weren’t janitoring elsewhere. In addition, I had found out that Mr. White, the janitor who had discovered Ralph’s body, doubled as a bus driver. He was probably a mechanic, also.

  I headed toward the garage during my brief lunch period while wolfing down a sandwich from a brown bag I had brought from home. I was surprised at how large the garage was. It had the capacity to hold several buses at once. There was even a hydraulic lift. The air smelled of grease and oil and all the odors mechanics loved.

  Two men were sitting, side by side, on a workbench, their legs dangling in the air, eating their own sandwiches and drinking from cups of thermoses that had been retrieved from metal lunchboxes. They wore gray coveralls, which hid some of the dirt that went with their jobs.

  They glanced up as I approached and stopped talking. I addressed the older one, because his white hair made him look like a White, saying, “Mr. White?”

  He nodded and the younger one said, “That’s his name; don’t wear it out.”

  “My name is Gary Blanchard. I’m a cousin of Ralph…Harrison.” I figured knowing that would make him more likely to talk to me, since he shouldn’t have anything to hide. “I just started here at Carter.”

  Mr. White nodded and took a swig of whatever was in his thermos. He was going to make me do the talking. The younger man slid off the workbench and walked away.

  “I understand that you’re the one who found Ralph in the auditorium.”

  Mr. White nodded again. I remained silent, hoping he would say something. He looked at me with his blue eyes, set in a face the color and consistency of white bread dough, and said, “I went in to clean up after the assembly. Didn’t see nuthin’ out of place at first. Then I saw a boy—Ralph, as it turned out—laying on his back across a couple of seatbacks. I said to myself, ‘That ain’t right,’ and went over to investigate. He was in a unnatural position, you know what I mean? Then I saw that one of the seats was broken. But I didn’t know he was dead until I got up close to him. Poor guy. He was right below the balcony and I knew immediately what had happened. He must have been goofing off up there.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Oh, about 2:30. Half hour after the assembly ended.”

  “Did you see anybody else in or near the auditorium?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about in the balcony?”

  “Couldn’t have been nobody there. I would have heard them. Any sound in that place carries. It’s got good acoustics.”

  “But what if someone were hiding in the balcony and not moving?”

  “Police searched it after they got there.”

  “Okay, but you had to leave the auditorium to tell Dr. Graves about Ralph. A person would have had time to leave while you were gone. Or before you got there in the first place.”

  “What are you driving at, young fella?”

  “Somebody else could have been with Ralph when he fell.”

  Mr. White appeared to think about that statement. Then he said, “Like I told Dr. Graves and the police, I didn’t see or hear nobody. And I got to get to work.”

  Mr. White slid off the workbench. Standing, he came up to just above my shoulder. He walked over toward a bus that had its hood up. The interview was obviously over. I called a thank you after him and headed toward my next class.

  ***

  When school let out, I walked over to the football field. The team was already there, practicing for the game on Saturday. The game was important enough that the jocks had been let out of school early. An offensive team, headed by quarterback Joe Hawkins, was running plays against a defensive team composed of second-stringers, since the first string played both offense and defense in a game. Joe was a commanding presence on the field, and he had a strong passing arm. I could understand why a girl would fall for him. That didn’t make me feel good.

  The cheerleaders came out and started practicing nearby. Natalie, as head cheerleader, drilled the varsity cheerleaders who were practicing in uniform. Their black skirts fell well below their knees. They wore black sweaters with big red C’s on the front. When they practiced jumps, their skirts flew up in back, and I was able to see their black pants underneath. I would have preferred white.

  When the cheerleaders took a break, I walked over to Natalie, who had seen me and was a few steps away from the others. I said, “Shake hands with me, so it will look like we’re meeting for the first time. She smiled her winning smile and pumped my hand. She was a good actress, and even though her smile was put on, it still affected me.

  “Which one is Ruth?” I asked.

  “Ruth is the redhead with freckles.”

  I picked her out instantly. She was a big girl, built like a brick shithouse. I’m not
sure where that expression came from, but it meant she was stacked in all the right places.

  Natalie called Ruth over to us and said, “Ruth, this is Gary. He’s new here. He’s writing a story for the Carter Press.”

  “About what?” Ruth asked.

  “A general story about the school and its history, athletic program, cheerleaders,” I said, trying to make it as broad as possible.

  “Did Ed ask you to do this?”

  “Ed?”

  “Ed Drucquer. He’s in charge of all the school news written for the Carter Press.”

  “Do you work with Ed?”

  “I’m on his staff.”

  How was I going to get out of this one? “I talked to him a little. We’ll talk some more.”

  “Why do you want to talk to me, in particular?”

  It was time for the truth. “Because you knew Ralph Harrison.”

  She looked at me, stone-faced.

  “I heard about Ralph’s accident when I was at Atherton. It was big news. I’d like to know more of the details.”

  “It was all in the papers.”

  This was going nowhere. “May I talk to you, say, after practice?”

  “I have to take the school bus home.” Her voice was too high-pitched for her body.

  “Why don’t I drive you home? Where do you live?”

  Ruth looked apprehensive.

  Natalie, who had been lurking nearby, said, “Gary’s a good guy. Sylvia told me all about him. And he’s really interested in anything to do with Ralph.”

  Ruth finally nodded and said, “Okay.”

  Sylvia’s seal of approval carried a lot of weight. “Great,” I said. “I’ll be over watching the football practice.” Actually, I wouldn’t have minded watching the cheerleaders—and especially Natalie practice, but I couldn’t be too obvious about it.

  ***

  Ruth didn’t say much as we walked toward the parking lot together and I wondered whether I was going to have to pry words out of her. Compared to the voluble Natalie and Sylvia, she was about as talkative as a Greek statue.