The Right Kind of Fool Page 5

  She forced a smile and began to sign. I’m sorry I got angry. Your father doesn’t realize what he’s asking. You . . . She paused and looked toward the ceiling. You’re special, not like he was at your age. He doesn’t understand what you need.

  Loyal clenched his hands and shook his head. Where’s Father? he signed.

  She gritted her teeth and signed, her movements sharp. Gone to his mountain.

  Loyal stomped his foot. I’ll go, too.

  No. She made the sign twice. Not safe.

  I don’t care. Now Loyal’s motions were choppy, uneven. You don’t understand. I want to go. I will go.

  Delphy gave her head a shake. We can talk later, she signed. When we’re calm.

  Loyal formed both hands into claws facing his chest and flung them up and out. He stamped one foot, turned, and ran out of the house. Delphy ran after him but stopped when she saw he’d gone only as far as the cedar tree, where he kicked at the trunk, grunting and screeching before leaning against the far side, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Frustration filled the air, and she longed to go to him, to soothe him, but knew she couldn’t comfort him right now.

  She’d seen him get like this in those early days—when he’d suddenly been thrust into a world of silence. He hadn’t learned to read yet when he lost his hearing. The gap in time between the loss and his learning sign language had been deeply frustrating. For a child used to communicating through words to suddenly be robbed of them meant tantrums were a daily occurrence. She suspected that was when Creed began to leave them behind in his mind. What would he do up there on his mountain if Loyal acted like this?

  Biting her lip and fighting tears, she went back inside to finish cleaning up the kitchen. And what if, up there on Creed’s mountain, Loyal no longer felt the need to act like this?

  Creed had never been so glad to be by himself in his cabin as he was that evening. He’d eaten some questionable leftovers without even warming them, and now he sat on the front steps sharpening a hoe. He was alone and grateful for it. At least that was what he told himself. Being with Delphy and Loyal for several days had been good—he should probably do that more often—but he needed to keep up with his work on the mountain. And it wouldn’t do to get used to the comforts of home.

  He’d really wanted to bring Loyal with him. He could teach the boy some things and maybe he could learn some more of that hand-talk himself. But Delphy had always been overprotective and that hadn’t changed one iota. They’d argued about it plenty when Loyal first lost his hearing. Creed wanted to let the boy fend for himself, to spend time with kids his own age. But Delphy could hardly stand to let the boy out of her sight. It was another reason he’d come up on the mountain. When a man’s wife didn’t trust him alone with his own son, it got hard to stay married. And he’d been raised to stay married.

  Of course, Delphy wasn’t the only one who didn’t trust Creed alone with Loyal. If he were honest, it had been a relief when he realized she wouldn’t let him make such a devastating mistake with their son ever again.

  He took the sharpened hoe out to the garden and began chopping weeds with a vengeance. He’d go check his ginseng patches in the morning. It was still too soon to harvest, but he could make sure no one else had dug the valuable roots and double-check how many were likely for digging. Lost in thought, he jerked his head up when he heard something foreign to the sounds of the mountain all around him. Might have been a deer or a bear, but he suspected the sound was human. He’d left his rifle in the cabin, and while he doubted he’d need it, his fingers itched to hold something more threatening than a hoe. He continued working but kept his eyes on the leafy trail leading to the cabin. Soon the figure of a man emerged from the poplar and rhododendron.

  It was that Earl fella from the sheriff’s office. He was huffing and puffing as he climbed the trail. Creed guessed scouting land for the government must not require the man to walk very far or fast. He leaned on his hoe and watched.

  As Earl topped the trail, he rubbed a forearm across his sweaty brow then wiped it on his shirt, leaving a dark smear. He looked up and spotted Creed, his weary eyes brightening. “Man, I’m glad to find you. Wasn’t sure I was on the right trail.” He plodded toward the porch and flopped down. “Got any water?”

  Creed propped his hoe against the corner of the porch and fetched a bucket with a dipper. Earl scooped up some water and gulped it down. Then he dumped another dipperful over his head and slung water like a dog. “Man, that feels good. Didn’t realize you were so high up.”

  “What brings you all this way?” Creed asked, crossing his arms.

  “I was hoping you’d listen to me better than that sheriff down in Beverly. I don’t think he’s taking my partner being killed near as serious as he should.”

  “Sheriff’s a friend of mine. Always seemed to me he listened real good.”

  “Yeah, that’s because you’re not an out-of-towner here to change things.” He emphasized the word as if they were all heathens afraid of innovation.

  “Virgil embraces change just fine,” Creed said. He thought to mention the ballistics business but decided that might be giving something away. “What have you got to say that he’s not hearing?”

  Earl slicked his wet hair back. “He’s not pushing people hard enough. It’s like he doesn’t understand how important it is to find out not just who shot Eddie, but why.”

  “Virgil’s been doing a fine job for almost a decade now. I’m betting he knows more about how to handle folks around here than you do.” Creed wasn’t sure what this fellow thought he could—or should—do.

  “Thing is, I’ve reported this to the home office, and they might send a man out here to look into things.” Earl started cracking his knuckles one by one as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. “I’d hate for them to think things weren’t being handled right and decide to take over the investigation.” He shrugged. “That’d be embarrassing for your friend.”

  Creed couldn’t get a read on this fellow. First, he didn’t think Virgil was doing a good job, and then he suggested he wanted Virgil to look good for whoever the Feds might send.

  “Virgil can handle whoever shows up. And if they did take over the investigation, seems like that’d be taking things serious enough.”

  Earl stood and moved back and forth, head down, kneading his fingers. “You don’t want those federal boys messing around in your business, trust me. Virgil needs to turn up some answers and quick.” He stopped and glared at Creed. “Seems like if you really were his friend, you’d be down there helping him, not up here hiding out.”

  Creed jerked his head back a notch. “I’m not hiding out. Virgil didn’t need me anymore. Anyway, I’ve got work to do.”

  “Yeah, well, if it had been someone you knew who got killed, I bet you’d still be down there doing everything you could to figure things out.”

  Creed wet his lips and picked up his hoe. “Reckon it’s time for you to leave.”

  Earl eyed the hoe and raised both hands. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Hope you rest easy up here on this mountain where you don’t have to worry about anybody else’s troubles.” He headed back toward the trail. “Just remember there’s a man dead before you lay your head on your pillow tonight.”

  Creed watched him go, then kicked the water bucket, making it slosh. He still didn’t know what the man had been playing at, but when he accused Creed of hiding . . . well, he might have been closer to the truth than Creed cared to admit.

  seven

  Loyal was still angry with Mother, but he knew that if he ever wanted to leave the front porch, he’d better get on her good side. So he did all his chores without being asked and even pulled the push mower out of the shed and began trimming the patch of yard in front of the house. He liked watching the whirling blades slice through the grass, making it spin and fly through the air. There was a rhythm and satisfaction to making the plot smooth and pretty.

  He’d just finished and was standing back to admire his w
ork when Michael slouched down the street with Rebecca a few paces behind. The older boy’s posture straightened when he spotted Loyal. He waited for his sister to catch up, then jerked his head toward Loyal. “Look, it’s your deaf boyfriend. Bet he talks worse than you.” He threw his head back and laughed.

  Rebecca ignored her brother and smiled at Loyal. She approached the picket fence and admired the yard with its abundance of late-summer flowers. “Your yard sure is pretty,” she said.

  Without considering that she didn’t know sign, Loyal fanned his fingers and touched his thumb to his chin. She cocked her head and wrinkled her brow. He licked his lips, focused on forming the word mother with his mouth and voice. He rarely spoke, but everyone at school had learned to do so, and he could do it if he needed to. Something about Rebecca made him want to talk to her any way he could.

  Her eyes lit up. “You can talk!” Loyal shrugged.

  Michael butted in. “I was right. He talks worse than you. You two can stand here making noises at each other, but I’m going on into town.” He stuck his chest out. “I’ve got business.” Rebecca rolled her eyes and turned her back to her brother. He waited a beat as if expecting her to follow, then swatted at the air and continued on his way.

  Rebecca looked at Loyal, mimicking the sign he’d just made. “This means mother?” she asked. “She grows the flowers?”

  Loyal nodded as he reached out to adjust her fingers a little until it looked right. She smiled, and it was blinding. “Show me father.” He did, then moved on to brother, sister, family, and finally she asked for the sign for friend. Loyal hooked his index fingers together, flipped the position of his hands back and forth, released and then re-hooked his fingers. “Oh, like your fingers are hugging.” Rebecca repeated the sign. “I like that one.” She eyed Loyal intently. “Can we be friends?” she asked, hooking her fingers and holding her hands between them.

  Loyal said yes as he raised his fist and moved it like a nodding head. He also smiled almost as big as Rebecca. He had plenty of deaf friends at school, but not many hearing friends. Well, none really, and he liked Rebecca a lot.

  They were quiet and still for a moment, just admiring the flowers. Rebecca tapped him on the arm, and he turned to her, eyebrows raised. “I talk funny,” she said. “I guess you can’t hear it, but kids make fun of me sometimes. My brother does all the time.”

  Loyal furrowed his brow and tilted his head to the side.

  “I have a lisp,” she said. Loyal didn’t even know what that was. He guessed you had to be a hearing person to understand. He smiled and shrugged, lifting his hands in the air.

  She laughed. “I guess you don’t care since you can’t hear it.” Her smile softened. “And when I’m with you, I don’t care either.”

  They stood there quietly for a moment, smiling at each other. Loyal hadn’t realized a hearing person could understand him so well without sign. He wondered if it was just because no one else had ever cared enough to try.

  Virgil sent Bud up the mountain to fetch Creed later that week. Creed didn’t much want to go back to town. Didn’t much want to be caught up in this mess over a dead man he didn’t know, but since Loyal was involved, he went regardless. He didn’t want Virgil or anyone else putting his son on the spot, questioning him or pressing him for information. He remembered how his own father had always been pushing him. Do more. Try harder. Always have the right answer ready. The man was never satisfied, even after Creed worked his tail off to become sheriff. His dying words for Creed were to make sure his grandson—then almost two years old—turned out better.

  Well, Creed had messed that up, too. He sure wasn’t going to let anyone else make things worse.

  Virgil had his bald head bent over a stack of papers. His free hand worked across his shiny pate in circles as though rubbing it helped him think. He flung his pen down and stood when Creed came in.

  “I’ve gotten twenty-eight calls from Washington, D.C.”—he dragged out the D and C—“since you went and turned up Eddie Minks’s body. Now they want me to fill out all these forms like that’s gonna help them more than me getting out there and figuring out who did it.”

  “Guess Earl informed his superiors,” Creed said.

  “He didn’t exactly rush to do it, but it’s done now and they’re planning to send an investigator down here to help me ‘resolve the issue.’” Virgil rubbed his head some more. “All they’ll do is slow me down. That’s why I sent for you. I need someone who can actually help.” He glared at Creed. “Which I thought you were going to do before you ran back up the mountain without a word to me.”

  Creed held his hands up. “Figured you were done with me once we found that slug. I’ve got work to do.”

  Virgil shook his head. “Why somebody with a good-lookin’ wife and a boy at home wants to be up on that mountain is beyond me.”

  Creed hardened his jaw. “Maybe it’s not for you to understand. Maybe I’ll just go back up there so I don’t have to deal with people like you sticking their noses into my business.”

  Now it was Virgil’s turn to hold up his hands. “You’re right. I crossed the line. Your family’s your business.” He braced his hands on his belt. “But I sure could use someone with brains and common sense, not to mention experience, if you’re willing to stick around awhile.”

  Creed felt like a dog letting its hackles fall. He shook out his neck and took a breath. “You said Earl didn’t hurry to report his partner’s death. You got any idea why he might’ve waited?”

  Virgil perked up. “No, but I did think it was almighty strange. You got any ideas?”

  “Well, he came up the mountain to see me the other day. Said he’d reported the murder and seemed plenty anxious for you to solve the case before anybody else showed up. Seemed to think I could hurry you along.”

  Virgil narrowed his eyes. “You probably could. That fellow’s been turning up here twice a day to ask if there’s been any progress. Have I found any new clues? Who’s my prime suspect? Finally told him if he didn’t leave me alone, I’d never get anything done.”

  “Guess he’s upset about his friend,” Creed said.

  “That’s just it. I’ve dealt with more than one killing over the years, and nobody’s ever acted like this one. Shoot, if Maxine over at the motel hadn’t sworn Earl was there when Eddie must’ve been killed, I’d say he’d make a fine suspect.” Virgil drummed his fingers on the desktop. “He’s just too . . . anxious. Nervous.”

  Creed nodded his head. “I noticed that, too. Like he can’t make up his mind how to feel about his buddy getting killed. One minute he talks like he didn’t think much of you, and the next he’s worried about your looking bad. Double-minded that way.”

  Virgil snapped his fingers. “That’s the word for it. Makes me wonder what his angle is.”

  “What about Eddie?” Creed asked. “What’s his story?”

  “A gal in the office he works out of gave me the particulars from his employee file. He doesn’t have any family that they know of. Been contracting with them for almost a year, doing this land-acquisition work. Gal kept saying his work was marked ‘satisfactory.’ Guess that means he wasn’t great, but he wasn’t terrible either.” Virgil had been ticking the facts off on his fingers. “And that’s about it. Listed an address in Pennsylvania.”

  Creed chuckled. “Well, not to sound like Earl, but do you have any suspects?”

  Virgil frowned. “Hadden Westfall’s the only one so far.”

  “And he’s got an alibi. Guess that checked out?”

  “Talked to the secretary over there at the engineer’s office. She said Hadden was there sure enough. She saw him arrive around eleven in the morning and leave after four. Takes a good hour to drive up there, so unless we’re way off on when Eddie was killed . . .”

  “What about the engineer? What’d he say?” Creed asked.

  A slow smile crept over Virgil’s face. “You trying to catch me out on not being thorough? I left a message for Gordon Shil
oh to call me—he’s the one in charge. I expect he’ll confirm what the secretary said, but you can’t be too careful.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got everything covered. What was it you needed me for again?”

  Virgil laughed and slapped his hat on his head. “We’re going to talk to the Hacker boys.”

  Creed groaned. He didn’t have anything against the Hackers, but he didn’t seek them out either. Rough as cobs, every one of them. “Alright then. What you gonna take ’em so they don’t run us off?”

  Virgil reached under his desk and pulled out a paper sack. He winked. “Got me some conversation starter right here.”

  When Delphy heard voices out front, she headed for the door to peek outside. Loyal must have company, though she couldn’t think who . . . Ah-ha. The Westfall kids. She saw the older boy—she couldn’t remember his name—sauntering off as Loyal and . . . Rebecca—that was her name—engaged in conversation. She watched for a moment, reveling in the sight of her son and a young lady communicating with each other. It made her heart swell. She gave them a few moments before pushing open the door.

  Rebecca turned toward her, cuing Loyal to do the same. She smiled so big it almost hurt. “Rebecca, what a treat! Won’t you join us for luncheon?” As she used the more formal word for the noon meal, she saw Loyal roll his eyes. She stifled a laugh. Boys. He and Rebecca exchanged a look that did her mother’s heart good.

  She ushered them inside and fed them from the garden—buttery corn on the cob, slices of deep-red tomatoes, green beans with streak o’ lean, and golden biscuits with the strawberry jam she’d made earlier in the season.

  Humming to herself, she pulled out cloth napkins and adjusted the jar of black-eyed Susans she’d set in the middle of the table that morning for no reason. She wanted to laugh at her son, who was clearly confused by all the fuss. Much as his father would be. That last thought sobered her. When they married, she’d assumed they’d have lots of children. She’d even thought she was pregnant about a year before Loyal lost his hearing, but it had been a false alarm. And then, when Creed brought their boy home so sick and the fever left him deaf . . . well, suffice it to say they hadn’t tried for another child after that. Thinking back on those dark days, she wasn’t sure whose choice it had been—hers or Creed’s?