The Right Kind of Fool Page 7

  “Good,” Virgil said. “But until we get your explanation sorted, you’re going to be our guest.” He took a few steps closer and motioned Hadden to join him. “Now, if you’ll agree to cooperate, you, me, and Creed are gonna ride up to Elkins while Bud keeps an eye on things here.”

  The government man started to stand, then thumped back down in his chair. “Here now. I should be the one going with you,” he said in a thin voice.

  Fire filled Hadden’s eyes, and Creed saw Virgil motion toward Bud, who held a pair of handcuffs. But before the younger man could make a move, the door opened and Hadden’s man Otto stepped inside. Every head turned to look at the young German who grimaced and limped into the room.

  “I have come to confess,” he said. The government man bolted for the door and deposited his dinner in the street.

  nine

  Loyal counted to one hundred before scooting out his window and shimmying down the porch trellis. It was risky, but he was too curious to just sit in his room wondering what the sheriff wanted with Father. Now he stood outside the open window at the side of the sheriff’s office. It was hard to tell what was going on, with people moving around and turning their backs to him. But their body language told him most folks in the room were angry, and it sure looked like Bud was about to put handcuffs on Mr. Westfall.

  Then Otto stepped inside, and Loyal had a clear view of him when he said he’d come to confess. Loyal felt his eyes go wide. Confess to what—shooting that man? He’d thought Michael and Rebecca were mixed up in it, but he hadn’t seen Otto that day. And Otto moved slow, couldn’t run like the Westfall kids had.

  Loyal stood on tiptoe and craned his neck to try to get a better view of the room. One of the men—a stranger—suddenly ran for the door and threw up in the road. Before he could think what to do, Father was outside. He laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. Loyal looked up, fear in his eyes.

  Father gave him a squeeze. “Your mother will have a fit,” he said. “But I’d rather you were with me than out here.” He motioned for Loyal to follow him back inside. The sick man came with them, dabbing at his mouth and looking green in the face.

  When they entered the room, the sheriff was making a time out sign, which most everyone seemed to understand. “You all need to settle down,” he said. “Otto, how about me and you step into the back room?”

  “Nein. I mean, no thank you. I will say my confession for all to hear. It was I who shot the man on Mr. Westfall’s property.”

  Loyal thought the adults looked like they were playing a game of Simon Says, frozen in place until Otto uttered the key phrase.

  “Now hold on, Otto.” The sheriff was the first to find his tongue. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would you shoot someone?”

  “He was trespassing on my employer’s land.” Otto looked nervous. “I thought he was a . . . how do you say, poacher? I hoped only to frighten him.”

  Loyal had to really focus on Otto with his different way of speaking. Which meant he missed it when someone else must have spoken. Otto shrugged. “I was in too much hurry. I regret it now.”

  Everyone started talking at once, and Loyal couldn’t keep track, his eyes darting from one mouth to another trying to understand what was going on. He finally zeroed in on Mr. Westfall, who just stared at Otto, his eyes asking a question Otto seemed to understand. The young German gave a little nod and clenched one fist in a motion that spoke of strength to Loyal. Was Otto telling Mr. Westfall to be strong, or was he saying he himself was strong?

  Then all the mouths stopped moving, and everyone looked toward the sheriff. He stood with fists on his hips and fire in his eyes. Loyal guessed he must have yelled at them all to be quiet. “I’m clearing the room,” he said, and the way his face moved told Loyal he’d said it very loud. People began drifting toward the door, looking at each other and then at the floor. “Otto, you stay. Hadden, I’ll follow up with you shortly—don’t go any farther than across the street. Creed, I want you as witness. Mr. Mason, you ought to lie down somewhere. Bud, escort everyone out and guard the door.” The sheriff’s eyes landed on Loyal, and he rubbed his shiny head. “What in tarnation is that boy doing here?”

  Father laid a hand on Loyal’s shoulder. “I’ll run him on home.”

  “Doggone if you will. I need you here.” The sheriff looked Loyal up and down. “I’m betting he found his way here without help. Can I trust him to get home the same way?”

  Father bent down and looked Loyal in the eyes. “Son, I need you to go straight home and stay there.” He made the sign for stay, maybe without even realizing it. “Will you do that?”

  Loyal let his shoulders slump and looked as disappointed as he knew how. Father squashed a smile. “I know. But will you promise me?”

  Loyal nodded while making the sign for promise. Father imitated the sign, then reached out like he was going to tousle his hair but stopped. Instead, he took Loyal by both shoulders and squeezed. “You’re a good boy—almost a man. I’m glad I can trust you.” The disappointment Loyal felt over having to leave was replaced by a swelling pride. A man—his father thought he was a man. Hearing that was almost worth his missing whatever was about to happen. He nodded at the sheriff and tried not to stare at Otto as he left the room and made his way home.

  Creed watched his boy go. He was grateful he’d realized he could communicate with his son more easily than he’d thought possible. He just hoped he wasn’t messing things up for the boy. Was it good to expose him to whatever was happening with the investigation? He’d long thought Delphy too protective, but he sure didn’t trust himself to do any better. Now the fact that he had the care of Loyal in this situation made the sweat pop out on his forehead. What if the boy didn’t make it back home? What if a car were coming and he didn’t know it was there until too late? Why hadn’t he considered how dangerous the world was before taking the boy on that hunting trip all those years ago?

  Virgil slumped into his chair and waved Otto into a beat-up folding chair nearby. “Take a load off. This might take a minute.” He looked at Creed. “You might as well get comfortable, too.”

  Creed forced his mind back to the task at hand. “Reckon none of us are what you’d call comfortable.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Virgil said. He put his elbows on his desk and leaned toward Otto, who was perched on his chair like it might give way beneath him. “What are you aiming at?”

  Otto looked at Creed, then back to Virgil. “I do not understand Herr White.” He paled. “Mr. Sheriff.” He shook his head. “I am not saying this correctly.”

  Virgil groaned. “It doesn’t matter. What I want to know is why you’ve come in here with such a tall tale?”

  Otto wet his lips. “Tall tale?”

  Virgil rolled his eyes. “I don’t believe you, son. Why would you say you shot Eddie Minks?”

  Otto brightened as though he’d finally gotten a handle on the question. “Because I did this thing. I shot him.”

  “Alright. We’re going to try something different.” Virgil drilled Otto with a stare. “Where’s the gun?”

  Otto flushed. He looked up and to the right. “I threw it in the river after I had done this terrible thing.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “So no one would know.”

  Virgil leaned in. “And yet here you are, ready to tell the whole town you did it. What’s changed?”

  Otto leaned in, as well. “Mr. Westfall must not be blamed. He did not do it, and I owe him a great deal. I cannot let him take the blame for what another man has done.” Otto lifted a hand and let it fall. “And so I have come to tell you. Now you will leave my employer alone.”

  Virgil eyed Creed as if inviting him to offer his two cents. Creed held his hands up. He had nothing to add at the moment. “Fine. Sounds to me like you’re taking the fall for Hadden.”

  Otto shook his head. “Falling is what caused this,” he said, thumping his bad leg. “I have not fallen lately.”

  Virgil
heaved a sigh. “Are you saying you shot Eddie because you think it will keep your boss out of trouble?”

  “Nein. I tell the truth so you do not punish an innocent man.”

  “Innocent.” Virgil crossed his arms over his chest. “I doubt any of us are innocent, least of all Hadden.” He sat silent for a minute, apparently deep in thought. “Alright. I’ve got a temporary cell we can put you in if you’re so all-fired determined to be arrested. But I’m not done with Hadden quite yet. There are a few more questions I’d like answered before we call this case solved.” He turned to Creed. “Let’s take a walk.”

  Loyal clambered back up the trellis and slipped into his room. He rarely thought much about being able to hear, but at times like this he could sure see how it would come in handy. As it was, he’d have to peek out into the hall to see if Mother had any notion he’d been gone. He stood at his closed door a moment, hoping he might feel the boards shifting if Mother were walking by. He was just reaching for the knob when the door opened. He jumped and so did Mother.

  What are you doing? she signed. I was coming to say good-night.

  Loyal bared his teeth and used his index finger to make a brushing motion. Mother rolled her eyes and made a go on gesture. Loyal grabbed his pajamas and scampered downstairs to the lavatory where he quickly finished his bedtime preparations. Mother caught his arm as he started past her and turned him to face her.

  I know you wanted to go with your father, she signed. I want you to stay safe.

  Loyal nodded. It’s okay. Do you think he’ll come home soon?

  Mother made a face and shrugged. It was obvious she didn’t want to talk about Father’s comings and goings. Good night. I love you. Then she gave him a quick kiss on the forehead that he didn’t have time to duck. He made a face of his own and acted like he was going to wipe the kiss away, then grinned and rubbed it in. She laughed and gave him a swat.

  Alone in his room, Loyal closed the door and lay with his head at the foot of his bed so he could catch any breeze coming through the open window. He’d read about night sounds—hooting owls, distant train whistles, howling coyotes, and chirping crickets—and wondered what it would be like to hear all of that. Or better yet, to hear Father tromping up the porch steps and through the front door. He almost thought he could remember such a sound from when he was very small . . .

  Rebecca could hear all of that. He wished he could tell her what he’d seen at the sheriff’s office. It was obvious she and Michael knew plenty about the murder of that man. He’d told Rebecca he saw them running away, but he hadn’t known how to get her to understand that he’d also seen Michael hide something. Or to tell her that he still had her comb found beside the dead man. He would have just given it to her, but it was still in his sock drawer. He stood and fetched it out, tracing the cool curve of it with his fingers.

  Had the Westfall kids seen Otto shoot the government man? And if so, where had Otto gone? He moved slow with his bad leg, and it hadn’t taken Loyal long to find the body. Surely he would have seen Otto. He thought back to that day and remembered how he’d glimpsed something higher up the mountain. A fleeting something flashing in the sunlight.

  A chill swept through him. What if Otto had been hidden on the mountain, watching his every move? The notion that a murderer had been peering at him from the trees made Loyal’s stomach feel funny. Did Otto know Rebecca and Michael had been there, too? Had he confessed because he figured the kids wouldn’t let their father go to jail for something he hadn’t done? But that made him wonder why the Westfall kids hadn’t told already.

  Loyal rolled over, trying to find a cool spot on his pillow. None of this made sense. He needed to talk it all over with Father. He drifted off hoping both parents would be there come morning.

  Creed followed Virgil not much more than a block to the Odd Fellows Hall on Main Street. Although membership in the organization had dwindled, the building with its stamped metal sheathing and false front remained a point of pride for many in the town. Apparently, Hadden was a member, and from the way Virgil walked in like he owned the place, Creed guessed the sheriff must be a member, as well.

  Hadden sat at a table to the side of the long, narrow room. A cup of coffee sat in front of him, and he was reading a copy of the Randolph Enterprise. He lowered the paper, folded it, and set it on the table. He crossed his arms.

  “Appreciate you sticking around,” Virgil said.

  “I’m saving you a trip to my home. I hope you appreciate that.”

  Virgil grunted and pulled a chair over near Hadden. “Could have gone ahead and locked you up. Then I wouldn’t have needed to cross the street.”

  Hadden turned his attention to Creed. “We could use some new members here. Have you ever thought of becoming an Odd Fellow?”

  Creed laughed. “Guess I’m odd enough without joining a group to prove it.”

  Hadden dismissed him with a wave. “You’d have to come into town with more regularity. I suppose if a wife and child aren’t reason enough, I can’t expect a fraternal organization to tempt you.”

  Creed clenched his fists and took a step forward. Virgil stood and grabbed another chair, shoving it toward Creed. “Here you go. Take a load off.” He looked pointedly at the chair. Creed shook his hands out and sat. He’d never much liked Hadden and decided he wasn’t going to change his opinion anytime soon.

  Virgil sat back down. “So, what’s your man Otto about?”

  “Perhaps he shot that fellow and is feeling guilt-stricken over it.”

  Virgil heaved a sigh. “You know that’s almost as likely as you winning a popularity contest around here.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, I’m popular in certain circles.”

  “Circles of hell maybe,” Creed said under his breath. Virgil’s mouth quirked, though he didn’t look at Creed.

  “You going to let that boy take responsibility for something he didn’t do?”

  Hadden stood and paced a few steps, hands clasped behind his back. “Since you asked, I honestly would rather he didn’t.” He shook his head. “Still, I don’t know why he’d lie.”

  “Don’t you?” Virgil said.

  Hadden frowned at him. “I know you want to believe I shot that man, but I didn’t.”

  Virgil leaned in. “How about you give me that explanation for leaving your meeting early. You know, the one you didn’t care to share in ‘present company.’” He jerked a thumb at Creed. “And I’m not giving you a choice about this company.”

  Hadden rubbed the back of his neck and frowned at Creed. “Is this confidential?”

  “Sure,” Virgil said. “Right up until one of us has to testify in court.”

  Hadden snorted. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” He sat back down and paused as though ordering his thoughts. “There’s a woman.” Virgil raised one dark caterpillar of an eyebrow but didn’t speak. Creed leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. Seemed like he might as well get comfortable. “She’s, uh, separated from her husband.” Now Virgil’s other eyebrow joined the first. “It would be . . . difficult for her if word got out that we were . . . seeing one another.”

  “I can see how that might be the case,” Virgil said. “Is her reputation worth more than your hide?”

  “Like I said, I would hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “Reckon you might give me her name just in case it does?”

  Hadden grimaced. “Bridgette Henderson.”

  Virgil whistled. Creed guessed he knew the woman.

  “She can vouch for you?” Virgil asked.

  Hadden nodded. “Although, as I mentioned, I would rather she didn’t have to.”

  “Yeah, well, I’d rather I didn’t have to investigate the murder of Eddie Minks and find the real killer before that federal investigator lying down on a cot in my back room feels healthy enough to tell me how incompetent I am.”

  Hadden ran a hand through his thick hair. “I can’t imagine that Otto
did it.”

  Creed felt like it was high time he did something other than listen. “Who can you imagine did it?” Virgil shot him an inscrutable look.

  “One of the Hacker boys? Maybe Sam or Glen.”

  “We already talked to their daddy,” Virgil said. “With that family anything is possible, but they don’t look good for it.” He squinted and rubbed his head. “Anyone else likely to be upset about one of those communities moving in around here?”

  Hadden shrugged. “Businessmen I’ve talked to aren’t thrilled. There are concerns about what it might mean for a ‘self-sustaining’ community that doesn’t need any of our local services to come barreling in.” He gave a smug laugh. “But I’ve been saying it will take a while for those folks to become self-sustaining, and that puts local businesses in a fine position to meet their needs until then.”

  “And when they don’t need you anymore?” Creed asked.

  Hadden grinned. “Oh, I’d be surprised if that ever really happens. I’d say the idea is more than a little pie in the sky. And when it fails, the people who have been taken in by the idea will need all sorts of services. Which I’ll be more than happy to help provide.”

  Virgil furrowed his brow. “So why then are you opposed to selling them your land?”

  Hadden waved a dismissive hand. “Like I said, I’m not opposed to the idea, but I do intend to get a good value.” He leaned toward Virgil. “Which is why I have no reason to kill Eddie Minks. I’ve been negotiating directly with his superiors.” He furrowed his brow. “Although that does raise the question as to what the two of them were doing on my land—there really wasn’t any need for them to be scouting it.”

  Virgil got a faraway look on his face and fell into a long silence. Creed finally cleared his throat. “I ought to be getting on home.”

  Virgil startled and looked around as though he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. “Right. Me too. Hadden, I’d just as soon you didn’t leave the general area until we get this sorted out. We’ll keep Otto in the temporary cell in my office—no need to involve the county jail at this point.” He slapped his knees and stood. “We’ll talk more later.” Then he turned and walked away.