The Hayloft: a 1950s Mystery (14 page)

I had briefly thought about asking Sylvia if
she would like to come, thinking that she needed to get out, just
as I did. Now I was glad I hadn’t. And what was I doing here? I
obviously didn’t fit in. I wouldn’t stay long. Willie was probably
the youngest one at the party, and he was sitting by himself. I
went over and sat down beside him on a folding chair.

“Nice party,” I said.

He smiled at me, a little bleary-eyed.

“I have a question for you,” I said. Might as
well take the opportunity to try and get some information. I
continued, speaking loud enough to be heard over the pounding beat
of the music, “I…I’m interested in Ralph Harrison. You said there
was something funny about the way he died.”

Willie took a drag on his cigarette and said,
“Did I say that?”

Of course, he had been in a drunken stupor at
the time, just as he was now. I tried a different tack. “You said
he taught you to walk on your hands.”

Willie’s face brightened. “Ya wanna see me
walk on my hands?”

“No thanks.” Even if he succeeded, I was
afraid he’d leave a trail of destruction in his path. “You must
have known Ralph very well. How did you meet him?” Since they were
two years apart in school.

“He was on the varsity baseball team when I
went out for JV. We both played catcher.”

“Who’s the coach?”

“Mr. Jarvis.”

One of the gym teachers.

“Dr. Graves sometimes comes to our
practices.”

“Oh.” I recalled Dr. Graves had said he
watched swimming classes too.

“Yeah, he knows a lot about baseball. He used
to play semi-pro. He would give us tips.”

“It sounds like Dr. Graves takes an interest
in sports.”

“That and he has favorites among the guys.
Ralph was one of them. I’m another.”

“What, do you brown-nose him?”

“Naw, don’t have to.”

“So what does he do?”

Willie stubbed out his cigarette in an
ashtray sitting on an end table. He picked up a pack of Camels from
the table, offered me one, which I refused, then took one for
himself. He lit it with a lighter, also from the table. He inhaled
deeply and blew smoke out through his nostrils.

He looked at me and said, “Promise you won’t
tell anyone.”

I promised and sipped my beer while he took
another drag on his cigarette.

Willie took the cigarette out of his mouth
and said, “When I was a freshman, he took me up on the catwalk
above the stage. I was cutting class with the principal’s
permission, what did I know? Then he had me sit on his lap and put
his hands over mine on my lap.”

I tried to keep a blank expression as I said,
“Did anything else happen?”

“Naw. He gave me a hall pass, and I went to
class.”

“Has he done this recently?”

“Not with me. I wised up. But he liked Ralph.
Maybe he did it with him. And there may have been others.”

“Did he ever have a fight with Ralph that you
can recall?”

Willie shook his head.

“What do you think was funny about the way
Ralph died?”

“He was too good of an athlete to die like he
did.”

A chant started over in the corner where some
stag boys were sitting together.

“
One, two,

what’ll we do?

Three, four,

out the door.

Five, six,

pick up chicks.

Seven, eight,

lay them straight.

Nine, ten,

do it again.”

They repeated the chant, louder. Half a dozen
boys got up and headed for the door. Willie got up to join
them.

“You coming?” he asked.

I shook my head. Not only did I not want to
drive somewhere with a bunch of half-drunk boys, I seriously
doubted their ability to find chicks, and if they lucked out and
found them, to know what to do with them.

Dennis grabbed Willie by the arm and tried to
dissuade him from going, without much success. I took one more swig
of beer, put down the bottle, shouted a thank-you in Dennis’ ear,
and headed for the door. I made it outside on the heels of the guys
who were still chanting.

Willie came just behind me. When he caught up
to me, he said, in a belligerent tone, “You sure you ain’t
coming?”

“Yeah.”

“Why not?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to find
out.”

Willie weaved his way toward the others,
singing off-key: “Every party has a pooper, that’s why we invited
you. Party pooper. Party pooper.”

I climbed into my car, waited until the
packed carload of chick chasers peeled out and drove away. Then I
headed for home.

CHAPTER 15

When I drove Sylvia to school on Monday
morning, it was too early to talk much. And too miserable. The cold
rain, which had started on Sunday, continued unabated. October had
come in with a snarl. She looked glum and I felt glum.

I had driven to my home in Atherton
yesterday, eaten Sunday dinner with my family, and played Clue with
my brothers afterwards, because it was too cold and wet to go
outside. My father ranted about how communists were trying to take
over the country, with special emphasis on Michael Doran. I kept my
mouth shut, with difficulty, partly because I didn’t want him
asking me about Sylvia. Thankfully, he didn’t, because I don’t know
how I would have responded.

I visited the room I shared with Tom. It
looked the same. My books were still in the bookcase. My upper bunk
was neatly made. Tom slept on the lower bunk. I felt homesick for
the first time. If I were going to school in Atherton, I wouldn’t
have to deal with communists and Dr. Graves. And I wouldn’t be
wondering how Ralph had died. I drove back to the farm,
reluctantly, in the rain.

Sylvia and I rode the short distance from her
house to the school in silence. I pulled around to the back of the
school and parked in the students’ parking lot.

When she started to get out of the car, I
said, “Wait. Couple things. One, I went to a party Friday
night.”

“I didn’t know about any party.”

“It wasn’t on your radar screen. It was given
by Dennis Rice.”

“You’re right. Dennis isn’t on my radar
screen.” Sylvia made a grimace. “I guess nobody is, anymore. So you
know Dennis?”

“Actually, I know Willie, his younger
brother. I met him at the sock hop.”

Sylvia smiled. “I remember that. I rescued
you from him.”

“Yes, you did. But he invited me to the
party. So I went. It wasn’t really my kind of party—”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“Anyway, I found out some things about Dr.
Graves.”

“Dear old Dr. G. Do you know he was out to
get me? Clip my wings? I guess he figured I was getting too big for
my britches. But the communist conspiracy got me first.”

“I have a confession to make.” I hadn’t
started out to say this, but I figured that this was a good time to
do it with the noise of the rain muting the impact of my words.

“Don’t tell me. You’ve written a magazine
called
Carter Confidential
.”

“Worse. When I started here two weeks ago,
Dr. Graves made me promise to report to him what you were saying
and doing, on implied threat of expulsion.”

“He asked you to spy on me?” Sylvia shrank
against the door of the car with a look of horror in her eyes.
“That son of a…”

“Relax. I didn’t tell him anything important.
At first, I thought he wanted to know about your father, so I
quoted to him from editorials in the
Buffalo Express
.”

Sylvia laughed out loud. “Gary, that was
brilliant. I always suspected that Dr. G can’t read.”

“Then I realized that he wanted information
specifically on you. In fact, he asked whether you were still
trying to get teachers fired. That was after you had talked to me
about Mr. Plover, but I didn’t tell him anything.” I zipped my
lip.

“I knew you were trustworthy from the start.
But tell me the new scoop that you have on Dr. Graves.”

“I was talking to a…um, a boy at the party.
He told me that Dr. Graves took him up on the catwalk above the
stage and had him sit on his lap.”

“Holy cow. I didn’t know he was queer. Maybe
we can get
him
fired.”

“Not so fast. In the first place, I’ve been
sworn to secrecy. This boy’s not going to testify against him. But
he did indicate that Dr. Graves also liked Ralph. I was wondering
if they had some kind of a…relationship—this is hard to say—and
they had a fight or something and—”

“And Dr. Graves pushed Ralph off the
balcony.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what I was trying to
say.”

“That sounds pretty much impossible to
prove.”

“Dr. Graves did tell me one thing. He said
that he sometimes watches the boys’ swimming classes. You know, the
boys swim in the nude.”

“I know that, Gary.”

“He mentioned your boyfriend, Sonny,
specifically. He said Sonny was on the swimming team, and he had
beautiful form. He liked to watch him swim.”

When Sylvia didn’t say anything, I looked
sideways at her. A tear was welling out of her eye.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s not that. Sonny…isn’t my boyfriend
anymore.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“He just finished basic training. He has a
few days’ leave before he starts advanced infantry training, so he
came home. When I didn’t hear from him, I called his house. He told
me…he doesn’t want to see me anymore. Because of my father. He says
he’s not going to Korea to risk his life for any commie
bastards.”

Tears were flowing freely down Sylvia’s face.
I didn’t know what to do. I pulled a relatively clean handkerchief
out of my pocket and handed it to her. She took it and used it to
dry her tears. It took a few minutes, but she pulled herself
together and even gave me a bleak smile.

“I didn’t mean to go to pieces in front of
you. I’m all right now.”

“It looks like the rain has stopped for a
minute. This might be a good time to make a run for it.”

***

Once inside the building, Sylvia went
upstairs to her homeroom while I headed toward the cafeteria. As I
passed the administration area, I glanced in and saw Dr. Graves
standing in front of a file cabinet. He was here early.
Unfortunately, he also saw me.

“Blanchard,” he said. “Just the boy I want to
see. Come on in.”

I reluctantly walked through the doorway that
separated the students’ turf from the principal’s turf and went to
the counter. Dr. Graves closed a file folder he had been perusing,
replaced it in the file drawer, and slid the drawer shut. He
motioned for me to come around the counter and led the way into his
private office. I sat at his command while he went to his desk and
also took a seat. He took off his glasses, picked up a pencil, and
started drumming it on the desktop.

He looked at me for a few seconds without
speaking. If he were trying to intimidate me, he was succeeding,
but I returned his look. Then he silenced the pencil and said,
“You’re a smart boy.”

I assumed he wasn’t looking for an answer, so
I just sat there trying to appear at ease.

“This whole thing with Mr. Doran is
unfortunate,” he continued.

I still didn’t respond. What was he driving
at?

“It’s unfortunate that we have communists in
a nice rural American town like Carter. A town that epitomizes the
heartland of America.”

He paused again as if waiting for me to say
something. I determined to remain silent until he got where he was
going.

“But we will weather the storm. We beat the
Nazis and the Japs, and we will defeat the communists. We will win
because we live in a free country that is superior to any other
form of government. One facet of that freedom is that anybody
accused of a crime is innocent until proven guilty.”

I wondered if there would be a quiz when he
finished.

“Being the child of a lawbreaker does not
make one a lawbreaker.”

I was beginning to see the light.

“Therefore, Sylvia is deemed innocent of any
crime and has a right to continue her education here at Carter
High.”

I wanted to point out that Mr. Doran had
neither been convicted nor even accused of any crime. But the
coward in me kept me quiet.

“But there is such a thing as guilt by
association. I know that you have been driving Sylvia to and from
school. You’ve also been eating lunch with her.”

Here it comes.

“I had a long talk with your father before I
admitted you to Carter High. We touched on many subjects, including
the communist conspiracy. We were in remarkable agreement about
that. I wonder what Thomas Blanchard would think if he knew you
were consorting with the daughter of a known communist.”

I gathered that my spying days were over. The
game had changed. Now the objective was to isolate Sylvia.

***

I ate lunch with two boys from my math class. They
were not political and accepted me without question. I glanced at
the table in the far corner several times. Sylvia was there, with
Barney and Ed and a couple of girls. I was conspicuous by my
absence. At least, that’s the way it looked to me.

While I was driving Sylvia home, I explained my need
to get some math questions answered at lunchtime. She accepted my
explanation without question, not even making the argument that
Barney was the best student in my math class.

Not feeling very satisfied with that, I tried to come
up with a good reason I could use to convince her that she should
be taking the bus to school. During the few minutes of our ride
together, I couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t make me look
like a heel. I would have to call her later. I dropped her at her
house. She invited me in, but I declined.

I was planning to go to the farm and vegetate, out of
the rain, and hope that my problems would disappear. I drove a
block with that in mind. Then I suddenly turned into a gas station,
made a U-turn, and headed back up Main Street. I timed it so that I
passed Sylvia’s house after she had gone inside, but before she
could make it upstairs to her room and look out the window.