The Right Kind of Fool Read online

  His eyes flew open, and when he saw the stump, he took an involuntary step forward, tripped, and plunged into the water. He came up sputtering and there was Father, slogging through the water in his shoes to help. Loyal laughed, and Father didn’t flinch at the sound, just threw his own head back and laughed with him.

  Then Loyal grinned and pointed, jabbing the air over and over, too excited to consider what else he’d just remembered. Father looked too and gave him an answering grin when he saw the stump that looked a heck of a lot like a bear sitting in the sun. They both made for the bank and picked their way through the scrub to stand beside the remains of a tree.

  Creed had imagined twenty different reasons for the Westfall kids to hide something in a rotted-out stump. Laughing with his son over his wet shoes had been just the relief valve he needed. Now he thought he could handle whatever they found calmly. Shoot, they might not find anything. Michael could have retrieved whatever he stashed there by now. And if there wasn’t any evidence, well, Virgil didn’t need to know any of this. He took a deep breath and bent down to take a closer look.

  And saw the barrel of a gun catch the light with a bawdy wink.

  Loyal reached for it, but Creed caught his arm. He held up his other hand in a wait gesture. Should he go get Virgil to come see this for himself, or should he just fish it out and take the gun into town? Which option was worse? Because they were both bad. If he actually took a salary for being “deputized,” Virgil would surely fire him for this.

  Creed found a stick and stuck it through the trigger guard so he could lift the handgun from its resting place. Leaves and debris fell away, revealing a . . . Colt Peacemaker. Creed cursed before he could catch himself, and for the first time ever he was grateful Loyal couldn’t hear him.

  Turning to his son, Creed made sure the boy was reading his lips. “You’re my witness, Loyal, to finding this gun here. He won’t be pleased, but you’ll have to tell Sheriff White you saw me fish this gun out of the stump and bring it to town.”

  Loyal paled, and his eyes widened. He shook his head vehemently, grunting the word “no” over and over. Creed had no idea what the problem could be. He touched Loyal’s shoulder, but the boy jerked away. He patted his pockets as though looking for something, then grabbed his own stick and smoothed a spot in the dirt path. No show sheriff, he wrote.

  “Loyal, we have to turn this evidence in to Virgil. It could be important to figuring out who killed that man. Otto goes on trial Monday morning—this could tell us whether he’s guilty or not.”

  Loyal screeched in frustration, rubbed out his words, and wrote TROUBLE.

  Creed nodded. “Sure, there’s all kinds of trouble here. That’s why we’re going to turn this over to Virgil.”

  Loyal stomped his foot and reached for the gun, but Creed spun away before he could get it. “What are you doing?” he demanded. Bright tears stood in Loyal’s eyes. He began signing so rapidly that Creed wouldn’t have been able to keep up even if he knew more than a handful of signs. “Son, I don’t understand.”

  The boy hung his head, then looked up with pained eyes. He curved the index finger on each hand and hooked them together, reversing the position repeatedly.

  “I’m sorry, Loyal. I don’t know why you don’t want me to give this gun to the sheriff. Maybe you’re afraid Michael and Rebecca will get into trouble.” A tear broke free and trickled down the boy’s cheek as he nodded his head. He made the sign with his hooked fingers some more.

  Creed wanted to put his arm around his son, but he was afraid Loyal would try to grab the gun again. For just a moment he contemplated flinging it into the river. Then Loyal would be happy, and he wouldn’t have to face Virgil. But no. He couldn’t do that. One man’s life had been taken and another’s hung in the balance. “Loyal, they’re not going to get into trouble. Shoot, they might be in danger even now with whatever they know. Virgil will look out for them.” He turned and took a step toward town, then motioned for Loyal to follow. The boy came along as though headed for his own funeral.

  fifteen

  Loyal fought tears with each step. He wouldn’t break down and blubber like a baby. At least not yet. It wasn’t just the fact that he’d probably gotten Michael and Rebecca into deep trouble. No, it was that he’d thought he could trust Father. He’d known whatever Michael had hidden might be bad, but he’d never guessed it would be a gun. And the way Father acted, it was probably the gun that had been used to shoot the man he’d found. And if Michael had hidden it, that meant . . . what? That he’d seen Otto shoot the gun? But why would Otto give the gun to Michael? Maybe Otto had dropped the gun, and Michael found it. But why then would he hide it? None of it made sense. And the way Rebecca had talked about what happened made him afraid . . . Well, what if Michael shot that man, and Otto was protecting him? That would explain a lot.

  No matter which way he looked at it, he didn’t see how Michael and Rebecca could stay out of trouble. Loyal’s stomach heaved, and he nearly tripped over nothing. He felt like throwing up. More than anything he wanted Father to stop and puzzle this out before going to the sheriff. But Father was walking so fast, Loyal could barely keep up. Father acted like he didn’t even remember Loyal was with him.

  He considered falling behind so he could slip away to go warn Michael and Rebecca. Which would be awful. He’d have to tell them it was his fault they’d been found out. He kept trotting behind Father. He guessed it would be better if he tagged along to find out what the sheriff was going to do. He could always slip away later. Adults had a way of forgetting he was around—especially when something serious was happening.

  Creed was relieved when he saw Virgil waiting for them outside the old courthouse building. He didn’t want to have to give him the gun in front of anyone else. Virgil saw them coming and took a step their direction. Creed moved close, shielding the gun between them. “Can we talk somewhere private for a minute?”

  “Based on what you’ve got hanging from that stick, I think that’d be best,” Virgil said. He motioned toward the Odd Fellows Hall, and they stepped inside, Loyal trailing behind them like a starved puppy.

  “Don’t tell me that’s the murder weapon,” Virgil said as soon as the door was shut behind them.

  “Can’t say if it is or isn’t.” Creed deposited the ugly piece of hardware on a table. “Turns out Loyal did know one or two things he hadn’t shared yet.” He darted a look at his son, who glowered at him. “But it’s my fault he didn’t get a chance to tell anyone.”

  Virgil laced both hands over his bald head as though trying to keep it attached to his body. “I’ve got a roomful of people across the street waiting to hear from your boy. This right here is a whole lot more than any of us bargained for.” He dropped his arms and sagged into a chair. “And durn if I want to discuss it in front of Earl or that feller he dragged in here to talk with his hands.” He stared at a knot in one of the floorboards. “Alright. I’m gonna go over there and tell them the boy’s sick and the interview’s being delayed until tomorrow. Here’s hoping no one was looking out the window when you walked up.” He stood and moved toward the door, then turned back to glare at Creed and Loyal. “You two don’t move even an inch from this room. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Once the sheriff was gone, Creed risked a look at Loyal. The boy’s face was a thundercloud. He sat down on the floor where he stood and drew his knees up to his chest. He glared at Creed and then rested his forehead on his knees, dismissing his father as effectively as if he’d left the room. Creed sighed and sat in the chair Virgil had vacated. Maybe he should’ve just kept minding his business up there on the mountain. Getting tangled up with people was every bit as complicated as he’d remembered.

  Creed pulled out his pocket watch. It had been a good twenty minutes since Virgil left them. Not long and at the same time forever. Creed guessed the sheriff was having a time convincing his audience that Loyal’s questioning would have to wait. The boy hadn’t moved since sitting down. Creed could almo
st imagine he was asleep, except that every line of his body exuded tension. He’d let Loyal down in some way he didn’t quite understand. He wanted to touch him—to talk to him—but was afraid he’d make things worse. He wished Delphy were here except that she’d likely skin him alive.

  Finally, the back door of the hall eased open and Virgil stepped inside. He looked like a man who’d just come from a henpecking. Creed halfway expected to see blood and bruises, but all he noted were the dark circles under Virgil’s eyes and the slump of his shoulders.

  The sheriff pulled out another chair and straddled it, bracing his arms across the back. He blew out a mighty gust of air. “I’d lock you up for obstruction of justice if I thought it’d help,” he said at last. He glanced at Loyal. “But I guess I can understand what you’ve been thinking. Now tell me about that,” he said, motioning toward the gun with his chin.

  Creed licked his lips. “Loyal saw the Westfall kids hide it in an old stump along that trail beside the river.” Virgil raised his eyebrows. “It was right before he found the body. Then he came and got me. He didn’t tell me about . . . that”—he waved a hand at the gun—“until last night.”

  “I knew I should have hauled you two down here right away. Why didn’t Loyal say or do anything before now?”

  “I think he’s worried about getting his friends into trouble. He didn’t know what Michael hid. Didn’t know it even mattered. Probably wouldn’t have even remembered it if I hadn’t asked him.”

  Virgil sighed and stood. “Well, we’re going to ask him some more questions right now.” He fished in his breast pocket and pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil. “He can write his answers for now. I should make you leave the room and get Bud in here, but I guess the boy ought to have a parent present. We’re just going to do this informally, so I have an idea what direction to go next.” He turned to Loyal, still sitting with head bowed. “Now get him on up here and let’s talk.”

  Creed approached his son like he was sneaking up on a half-wild dog he hoped to tame. He crouched down and laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Loyal jerked away from him without looking up. Creed started to speak, remembered it wouldn’t do any good, and tried to hook a finger under his chin instead. Loyal spun away, turning his back and clamping his arms more tightly around his knees.

  “Now, Loyal, we’ve got to do this.” The words were mostly for Virgil and maybe a little bit for himself. He tried to pull the boy’s arms away, but Loyal just grunted and folded in on himself like a turtle. Creed cast a helpless look at Virgil. “Seems he’s not interested in talking to us.”

  Virgil took a step closer. “I don’t care what he’s interested in. This has gone on too long already. I need some answers, and he’s going to give them to me. That trial starts in four days and this could change everything.”

  Creed felt a spurt of anger and frustration. “Give him time. This is rough on him. Let me take him to his mother, and you swing on by in an hour or so. I bet Delphy can help draw him out and she can translate, too.”

  “Doggone it, Creed. I’ve given you enough rope to hang yourself twice over. I’m not cutting you any more slack. Get that boy straightened out or I will.”

  Creed surged to his feet and stood nose to nose with Virgil. “The heck you will. He’s my son and I’ll handle him.”

  “You mean like you’ve been handling him?” Virgil’s face turned red, and veins stood out on his forehead. “Like you’ve handled him all his life? Seems like you’ve been pretty hands-off up until the last month or so. I’m starting to think involving you in this business might be the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

  “You’ve got no right to comment on how I’ve fathered Loyal. That’s between his mother and me. And if you don’t want my help, I’ll be glad to leave you to solve this murder on your own.”

  “Gonna run back up on the mountain and hide some more?” Virgil sneered. “Guess I’ll have time to talk to the boy then, when you abandon him all over again.”

  Creed sucked air in through his nostrils, balled a fist, and drew back before he realized what he was about to do. He stepped back from Virgil, breathing as hard as if he’d run all the way into town. He shook out his hand like he was trying to sling something off. He spoke in a low voice. “Virgil, I’ve called you friend for a long time, but those are words I’d sooner expect to hear from an enemy.”

  The fire went out of Virgil’s eyes, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got a hangover headache and haven’t touched a drop. Between that and Earl hounding me about interviewing your boy, I’m feeling as ornery as a bee-stung bull.” He shook his head, slow and easy. “I’m sorry, Creed. I’ve got no right to butt into your life like that.” He sighed. “But I do need to talk to Loyal. You really think Delphy might could help us?”

  Creed let the tension fall from his shoulders. “I’m sorry, too. I know I’ve made a mess of things, not telling you about Loyal finding the body on his own. I just didn’t want him to end up in the middle of this mess. It’s hard, wanting to keep him safe.”

  Virgil chuckled. “I guess most boys his age got a knack for getting into trouble. We sure did.” He leaned around Creed to get a look at the boy. His face drained of color, and Creed turned to see what he was looking at.

  Nothing.

  Loyal was gone.

  sixteen

  Loyal stood at the back corner of the house trying to catch his breath. He was pretty sure Father and the sheriff hadn’t seen him slip out and he hadn’t passed anyone on the way here. All he needed was to grab a few things from his room. And fast. This would be the first place Father looked for him.

  He climbed the porch trellis and slipped in through his open window. He laid a flannel shirt out on the bed and dug in his top dresser drawer. He came out with a partial box of matches, some twine he’d been using to practice tying different knots, a first-aid book his great-aunt had mailed him the Christmas before, a clean T-shirt, and a Baby Ruth bar he’d been saving. As an afterthought, he fished out Rebecca’s hair comb and added it to the pile. Then he rolled it all up, tied the sleeves around the package, and used the extra sleeve length as a handle. He scurried back out the window and was on the ground in moments.

  Heading through the trees behind the house, Loyal quickly made his way to the river, then followed it toward the Westfall house. It would be faster to take the road, but he’d surely be seen if he went that way. The only person he saw along the river was an old man fishing from the opposite bank. He ducked into the trees and was pretty sure he’d made it past without being seen.

  When he finally saw the massive Westfall house on its knoll above the river, he was exhausted, scratched from doing battle with brambles, and hungry. He’d eaten some blackberries along the way, but they were doing little to keep his stomach from grumbling. He was tempted to eat his Baby Ruth but decided he should save it. Plus, he needed to hurry. He had to find Michael and Rebecca and get them to understand that they all needed to disappear before the sheriff came to arrest them for murder.

  He looked all around before circling the house and approaching it from the rear. With Otto locked up in jail in Elkins, he hoped there wouldn’t be anyone to see him from this angle. He made it to some kind of fancy squared-off bushes and was trying to figure out how to get inside when someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. It was Michael. His eyes were wild and filled with terror.

  “What are you doing here? Are you spying on me?” Michael fisted Loyal’s shirt in his hand and gave him a shake. “What do you know?” Loyal could tell Michael was screaming, which made him think his father must not be at home. Good.

  Rebecca came running from the back door and pushed Michael away from Loyal. “Leave him alone.”

  “He’s a spy. Although why they’d send someone who can’t hear I don’t know.”

  Rebecca shot Loyal a pleading look. “He’s not a spy.” Then she smiled. “He’s my friend.”

  Michael sneered. “Th-py, th-py, th-py. You can’t eve
n say it right.” He eyed Loyal. “Who sent you?”

  Loyal frowned. He’d meant to add paper and a pencil to his supplies, but in his hurry he’d forgotten. Rebecca noticed the bundle in his hand. “Are you running away?” Loyal nodded. “Does it have something to do with the dead man?” Loyal nodded again, letting his urgency show on his face. Rebecca worried her lower lip. She looked at Michael. “Something must have happened. I think he’s come to warn us.”

  Loyal grabbed Rebecca’s arm and nodded some more. He was amazed by the way she understood him. It gave him the confidence he needed just then. He made sure they were both looking at him and held up his hand like a child shooting a pretend gun.

  Michael furrowed his brow. “Yeah, yeah, he got shot. That’s nothing new.”

  Rebecca’s jaw tightened, and she looked into Loyal’s eyes like she was reading something written there. She gasped softly. “Did they find the gun?”

  Color drained from Michael’s face as he took a step back. Loyal nodded slowly. Michael staggered to the side porch and thumped down on the step. “I knew I should have thrown it in the river.” He buried his face in his hands. “I thought I’d need to put it back sometime in case Dad noticed it was gone.” Then he looked up and glared at Loyal. “But your father came asking about it before I could do it. Now Dad knows the gun’s missing. He asked me about it, and I told him I’d seen Otto messing around in his office, but I don’t think he believed me.”

  Rebecca looked at Loyal. “Can they tell who shot the gun?”

  Loyal shrugged. He didn’t know how all that stuff worked, but as important as the gun seemed to be, he figured Father and the sheriff expected it to tell them something.

  “But you wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t think we might be in trouble,” Rebecca said. Loyal reached out and took her hand, gave it a little tug. “You think we should run away, too.” He nodded.