The Right Kind of Fool Read online

  “Yeah. Sure. Why not,” Michael said and climbed to his feet. Loyal gave Rebecca his glove, and they started a halfhearted game of three-way catch.

  “He looks fine,” Delphy said, standing on tiptoe to peer out the window to where Loyal tossed a ball with his friends. She was thrilled to have her boy home again and could hardly stand to have him out of her sight.

  “He’s fine. Better than fine—I’d say he’s a marvel.”

  She looked at Creed over her shoulder. She was still stung by his sleeping on the floor the night before. She’d thought she was doing everything short of turning the covers back for him, and yet . . . “What do you mean by that?” She tried not to sound peevish.

  “Our son is smart, kind, brave, and a good friend. I guess I’ve been getting to know him these past weeks.” Creed stepped closer to look out the window with her. “I’m sorry I haven’t taken the time to get to know him sooner.”

  Delphy held perfectly still, feeling the closeness of him. The heat of his body just inches from her own. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. When he opened his eyes, he looked right at her.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice was whisper soft.

  “You smell good,” he said, his voice sounding gruff. He wet his lips and swallowed. “You look good, too.” He reached out slowly and cupped her cheek. Delphy leaned into his hand—he might have missed her invitation, but she wasn’t going to miss his.

  He leaned forward, and when she didn’t move away, he brushed his lips across hers. She sighed and laid one hand against his chest where she could feel the thrumming of his heart. He deepened the kiss and she welcomed it.

  When he finally pulled away—not far—she felt flushed and breathless. “I’ve missed you,” he said. “I’ve missed being a . . . proper husband.”

  “I’ve missed that, too,” she whispered.

  “Do you think . . . I mean, could we maybe . . . start again?”

  She looked deep into his eyes and saw that, for the second time in their lives, he was choosing her. She glanced out the window, to where the kids were playing ball, and the ghost of a smile graced her lips. She took his hand and drew him away from the window. This time, he knew just what she meant.

  When they finally trooped back inside for supper, Loyal sensed that something had changed in the house. There was a . . . lightness in the air. Mother and Father kept smiling at each other and seemed ready to laugh. Even Michael and Rebecca’s spirits grew visibly lighter as they relaxed and smiled.

  After supper they all sat on the front porch. Mother talked with Rebecca and Michael, signing for them all to make it easier for Loyal to follow along. Loyal even chimed in a few times since Mother could translate for him. Father just sat on the top porch step and watched, a look of deep satisfaction on his face.

  When they went to bed, Michael bunked in Loyal’s room while Rebecca got the guest bedroom all to herself. Loyal thought Father might sleep on the sofa like he usually did but was pleased to see him follow Mother to her room. Maybe his parents were finally going to act like real parents.

  All in all, the evening had been so pleasant, and Loyal had such a good feeling about his family and friends that he almost changed his mind about what he planned to do. But he supposed that one good evening at home wasn’t going to fix this situation. The sheriff still needed to know who had killed Eddie Minks, and until he did, none of them could really and truly relax.

  Loyal feigned sleep for what felt like an hour. He’d given Michael his bed and was sleeping on a pallet on the floor. He cracked his eyes open and watched the older boy intently in the pale glow of moonlight. Michael lay flat on his back, one arm stretched over his head. His mouth was slack, his eyes closed. Loyal eased to a sitting position and leaned forward so he could see the steady rise and fall of the boy’s chest. If he wasn’t asleep, it was the best act Loyal had ever seen.

  Gathering his feet beneath him, Loyal slowly stood. He tiptoed to the open window, shoes in his hand. Mother had let them go to bed in their clothes, so he didn’t need to dress. He looked out to make sure no one was around, then swung out and into the night. He was down the trellis in short order and crept to the corner of the house. He halfway expected to see the sheriff or his deputy guarding the house, but the road was empty—except for a bright slash of moonlight glowing like an arrow pointing the way. Loyal slipped across the street, jogged past darkened buildings, and was soon headed for Rich Mountain, a pillar of moonlight urging him on.

  twenty-seven

  Creed whistled as he rose the next morning and set about shaving in the downstairs lavatory. He hadn’t felt this fine since, well, since his wedding night. Delphy slipped up behind him and slid her arms around his waist, burying her face against his back. He splashed water on his cheeks and turned to wish her a proper good morning.

  After a few moments, she murmured, “Those kids will be hungry.”

  “They aren’t the only ones,” he said softly in her ear before releasing her with a final squeeze and a kiss.

  She began bustling around the kitchen while he finished setting his mustache and hair to rights. He found her at the stove and hooked one arm around her waist. He kissed the back of her neck where she’d hurriedly twisted her hair up. “It’s good to be back,” he said. “You, me, and Loyal. I’m sorry I stayed away so long.”

  She leaned into him and sighed. “I’m sorry, too. Do you think . . . ?” She turned to look at him, worry in her eyes. “Do you really think you’ll stay?”

  He didn’t answer at first, just kissed her forehead, her cheek, and finally her willing mouth. “I do,” he said. And she smiled in a way that let him know she understood just what he meant.

  Creed took the stairs two at a time and knocked on the kids’ doors. He heard stirring in both rooms and called out that breakfast would be served in thirty minutes. Whistling again, he went downstairs to see what might need doing around the house. There were always little repair jobs and he wanted to make sure he did them before Delphy had to ask.

  Fifteen minutes later, Creed relaxed at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, trying to distract his wife from the eggs and bacon she was tending. Michael and Rebecca appeared in the doorway looking pale and frightened. He sat up straighter, fear piercing the happiness he’d been floating on. “What is it?” he asked .

  Delphy spun around at the stove and seemed to notice the same change in the room’s atmosphere. “Where’s Loyal?” she asked, her voice sharp.

  Michael swallowed convulsively, like he was choking on his words. “We don’t know,” he blurted.

  “What do you mean?” Creed bolted from his chair and back up the stairs. He checked Loyal’s room but only saw an empty bed and pallet on the floor. He quickly searched the other two rooms upstairs before bounding back down to the first floor.

  Delphy met him at the front door. “I couldn’t find him outside. The kids say they don’t know anything.” Her shaking hand covered her mouth. “Could someone have taken him?”

  Creed pulled her against him and looked at the Westfall kids standing in the doorway. “Did he tell you anything last night?” They shook their heads as though mute. “What did you talk about?” Creed demanded.

  Michael stared at the floor as though he might read the answer there. “I guess we talked about how since I didn’t kill that man, the sheriff would have to figure out who did. And how it was bad that Otto and Dad might get in trouble after all.”

  Creed closed his eyes and rubbed Delphy’s back as she shed quiet tears. “He’s a good boy. A kind and brave boy. Just the sort who would want to help his friends figure out the truth.”

  Delphy caught her breath. “You think he knows who the real killer is?”

  “Probably not,” Creed said, “but I’m betting he’s decided to try and find out.”

  Loyal felt pretty proud of himself. Last summer he hadn’t done anything but hang around the house and help Mother in the yard and garden. This year he was doing all sorts of things. H
e smiled and stuck his chest out. Being deaf sure wasn’t slowing him down!

  He headed for the bend in the river where Eddie Minks had been killed. He’d finally taken time to really think back to that day and what he’d seen beyond Michael and Rebecca running along a path. It might have been an animal, but the more he conjured the image the more he thought it was a person. Someone had been moving in the trees above the trail. He’d seen . . . what, a hat maybe? And sunlight glinting on bright metal. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find now, but he was determined to do everything he possibly could.

  The notion that the moonlight was leading him stayed with him until the sun peeked over the mountain and drowned out the moon. By then he was standing in the cold river, remembering how the mountain had looked the day his life changed. He found the path and the stump and let his eyes move up the slope of the mountain . . . there. A gap in the trees, perfect for exposing someone who didn’t expect to be seen from the river. Loyal noted a pine nearby and began working his way toward the spot.

  As the sun crept higher, the gnats got bad. There was practically a cloud of them in front of his face, and the infernal insects preceded him up the mountain. He swatted at them a few times but gave up when he realized they were mostly staying out in front of him. If he were a bullfrog, it would be his lucky day.

  Reaching the tree, the cloud of insects finally lifted. He looked around until he found the gap he’d seen from the water. He began to search every inch of the ground and surrounding trees. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he figured . . . and then he saw it. It was just a twig, but the end of it was worn and frayed like it had been chewed on. Loyal picked it up and sniffed it. Sassafras. Just like the twigs he’d seen Sam chewing at the Hacker place. Just like the one he’d found in his room after Sam spent the night. He guessed it wasn’t what the sheriff would call “hard evidence,” but he was excited just the same.

  Now all he had to do was find Sam and see what he knew about the day Eddie Minks got shot. Of course, Sam might even be the one who fired the second gun, so Loyal would need to be extra careful.

  “Julia’s been after me to quit sheriffing, and I think I just might go ahead and do that.” Virgil looked like he hadn’t caught up on any of the sleep he’d been missing. “I arrested Earl on suspicion of fraud and ran him up to Elkins last night. When I got back to the house, there was a quilt and a pillow on the sofa. I took the hint but can’t say as I got much rest.” He sighed. “Nor did I get much breakfast.”

  Creed could sympathize with him—even though he and Delphy were on the mend, Loyal running off was a setback all around. And telling the sheriff the boy was missing—again—had been worse than taking a beating. But Creed knew he didn’t have a choice. “I think he’s trying to figure out where that other bullet might have come from.”

  “Like father, like son,” Virgil said, dragging his hands over his face. Creed tried not to show the spark of pride he felt in thinking that his son was taking after him. “Thing is, when I picked up Earl he finally talked. Turns out he and Eddie were supposed to meet somebody out there at the bend in the river. Except Earl was sick—hungover, if you ask me—and Eddie went by himself. Earl wouldn’t tell me who they were meeting, just said it had to do with a land deal and he figured holding on to the name was the only leverage he had left. Says he’ll tell us who it was if we cut him a deal.”

  Creed swallowed hard. “Any notion who it could be?”

  “I went through that book of Eddie’s with a fine-tooth comb and there are a couple of good candidates, but I keep circling back to Clyde Hacker. He talked like he might actually sell his land. I wonder if those boys of his think that’s such a good idea?”

  Creed stared at his shoes. “Clyde said something about giving Sam and Glen a way out of this place. But I guess I can see how they might prefer to keep the family business going rather than starting over somewhere else.”

  “What I was thinking. Those boys would never go against their daddy, but they might find another way around him.” Virgil picked up a thick ceramic mug and slurped his coffee. It put some color in his cheeks. He stood and stretched his shoulders back like a bird stretching its wings. “Alright then. I’ll get Bud to go over to your place and keep an eye on the Westfall kids. You and me are headed back out to the mountain. We’ll start at Hadden’s place and work our way to the Hackers.”

  Creed nodded. Though he was anxious to find Loyal, there was also a part of him that hoped the boy might actually find a clue. That maybe Loyal would crack this case wide open as they said in the detective stories. Wouldn’t that be something? He’d been so afraid of doing more damage to the boy for so long. Finally seeing how he could hold his own was liberating. Maybe it wasn’t about pushing like his own father had done, but simply encouraging the boy’s natural abilities. He thought maybe that was what a father ought to do and he was eager to try it out.

  twenty-eight

  Loyal sat in the dappled shade of the forest near a dancing stream. He was hot, tired, and maybe a little bit lost. He dipped a hand in the chilly flow and lifted it to his lips. The water tasted cool and delicious. He took off his shoes and waded into the shin-deep water, reaching down to scoop some up and splash his face. He wondered what the creek sounded like. He’d heard people describe water as being musical or roaring. He knew what music felt like. And he’d felt the roar of a storm or a train thrumming in his chest, but this wasn’t like either of those. He sat on a rock and tried to feel what the water sounded like.

  The current whispered across his skin, making gooseflesh rise on his arms and legs. He closed his eyes and . . .

  His eyes flew open. He hadn’t heard anything, but he’d felt a presence. Sam Hacker stood on the far side of the creek, twig twitching between his lips as he considered Loyal. He plucked out the bit of sassafras and tossed it in the water so that it sped away on the current.

  “Seems like you’re a fur piece from where you belong.”

  Loyal frowned, then realized Sam meant far. He held both hands up and moved one away from the other, then pointed at Sam with his eyebrows raised.

  “You asking if I’m far from where I’m supposed to be, too?” Loyal could see him jerk with a short laugh. “Farther than you know.” Sam cocked his head to the side as he stared at Loyal. “What you huntin’?”

  All at once, Loyal realized that if it had been Sam who’d fired the killing shot that made him dangerous. Loyal had imagined the shooting being an accident, but now, looking into the man’s dark, piercing eyes, the notion that someone might do such a thing on purpose hit him full in the face, and he knew then and there that evil was a tangible thing.

  Sam shook his head. “I been watching you. You’re smarter than folks give you credit for.” Loyal felt a spurt of pride. “Although maybe not as smart as you think.” Then a bolt of fear hit Loyal and he felt deeply foolish. “Last I knew, you and the rest of ’em were headed to Elkins to talk to that judge.” Sam narrowed his red-streaked eyes. “Hadden and that German boy didn’t come home.”

  Loyal began to think that coming out here on his own had been stupid.

  Sam rubbed his eyes. “Guess that means one of ’em did it.”

  Loyal released a pent-up breath. Maybe Sam wasn’t suspicious of him after all.

  “Come on then.” Sam motioned for Loyal to follow. “Ma took a shine to you and them other two kids. I reckon she can feed you, and then I’ll run you on home afore you get into trouble.”

  Loyal tried a smile, still uncertain as he waded out of the water to put his shoes back on. Maybe if Sam really was the killer, he could find another clue. Something that would take the heat off Mr. Westfall and Otto. He wasn’t sure what that might be, yet that was how it went in the Hardy Boys books.

  He trailed along after Sam while wracking his brain for a way to get the man to confess to shooting Eddie Minks. Sam wasn’t even suspicious of him—probably because he was deaf—and if he could set everything to rights, he’d be a hero and
Father would be proud of him. He smiled, picturing how good that would feel.

  As they walked, he sniffed the air and noticed a sharp, stale smell rolling off of Sam. At school he’d once smelled something like that when a classmate’s father showed up unexpectedly. There had been whispers about his being drunk. Loyal was so caught up in trying to tell if Sam had been drinking that he nearly stepped on a ginseng plant before he realized what it was. He stopped and must have made a noise because Sam turned back and looked almighty pleased when he saw the plant at Loyal’s feet.

  “That’s a nice one,” he said, leaning close and squinting. He found a stick and began working it around the plant to loosen the root. Loyal tried to remember if this was part of one of Father’s patches. He thought it was but couldn’t be sure. So many places in the woods looked a lot alike, and as familiar as this spot was, he couldn’t say if it was where Father had shown him the plants he planned to harvest.

  Sam tugged the root from the soil. He brushed off the bulbous growth that was as big around as his thumb and grinned. “You’ve got a good eye on ya there.” He rubbed his own eyes. “I’ve always had puny sight. Say, you know where there are more of these?”

  Loyal clenched his jaw. He wasn’t supposed to lie, but Father also told him how important it was to keep the location of his plants a secret. And Sam clearly meant to dig them up. He settled for a shrug. Sam appeared to chew the inside of his cheek. “Tight-lipped, are ya?” Then he laughed. “Guess you are at that. Come on.”

  They continued on their way, and even though Loyal spotted another ginseng plant with its crown of berries, he made a point of not looking right at it. This must be Father’s patch—the one where they’d found half a dozen plants that looked ready for harvest come fall. Sam hadn’t even planted the seeds from the root in his pocket.