CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When I walked into the town council chambers a couple of hours later, Leo Fitzpatric
k was waiting in the front row.
“Mr. Fitzpatrick,” I said, nodding.
“Mrs. Livingston, I presume,” he said, using a joke I had heard too many times.
“Discover any bodies lately? “
“Rescue anyone from a
burning building?” I countered.
“No, but I haven’t been snooping in anybody’s office either. Just exactly what where yo
u doing in there?”
“I was ab
out to ask you the same thing.”
“Well, I’ll tell you my story when you tell me yours,” he answered. It wasn’t the answer I was looking for, but it seemed it was all I was going to get out of him. Today he was here alone as both of our sons were sitting in class over at Buzz Aldrin Elementary. Hopefully nobod
y had to pull them apart today.
“Perhaps we can
discuss it tonight at dinner.”
“I can’t wait,” he said. Somehow his
enthusiasm didn’t seem genuine.
“My thoughts exactly. I don’t really know why you were there at the bank building the same time I was, but, well … t
hank you for all that you did.”
“No problem. I was going to get a complex if a second person I found in a
n empty building came up dead.”
“Thanks to you, I didn’t. By the way, would you have any idea why Canfield might have a drawer full of
other people’s credit cards?”
Fitzpatrick’s gaze hardened.
“I can only imagine,” he responded. Aunt Maggie walked in and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me away from Mr. Fitz
patrick.
“Gues
s what?” Aunt Maggie whispered.
“What?”
“Stanley has increased the power of the TV transmitter so now we will be shown all ov
er Texas. Isn’t that exciting?”
“Yo
u betcha,” I wasn’t feeling it.
As we walked away, Maggie pulled my arm again and whispered in my ear
, “I think that man likes you.”
“Great,” I answered in disgust.
“What’s wrong with him? I think he’s kind of cute. He reminds me o
f my Jeeter when he was young.”
“Wait till you meet his son.”
The members of the town council entered and took their seats on the dais. Miss Boyle, who had been sitting straight-backed in the front row, smoothed out her crisp black pantsuit and looked down at her plain but finely manicured nails. She glanced around the room until she saw us sitting a few rows back. Her face took on a pucker, not unlike someone tasting a lemon. Tom Schull
er called the meeting to order.
“I am calling this emergency meeting of the Pecan Bayou Town Council to order,” he said, pounding the table with a wooden gavel. “Miss Boyle, we are abou
t to give our decision on permitting
access to the paranormal group out at the Johnson Tuberculosis Hospital. Is there a
nything you would like to add?”
“Yes, Mr. Schuller. As you know …” But before she could continue, Howard came barreling into the room with a stack of discombobulated papers squeezed in between various volumes of paranormal science. Howard seemed to have found his courage today, and he meant to fight our case with lots and lots of reference materials. He had dressed for the occasion with a tan corduroy jacket complete with elbow patches and a pair of weathered blue jeans. He had to be burning up in that outfit, but at least today he sort of looked like a professor. Beads of
sweat shone above his top lip.
“Sorry, folks,” Howard said, bowing repeatedly as
he backed into a folding chair.
Miss Boyle cleared her throat as if to quiet Howard in both sound and motion. “As I was saying – we are all aware of a bogus paranormal seance set to be filmed in the next 24 hours and then shown to the good peo
ple of this town through NUTV.”
“Miss Boyle,” Howard interrupted, “I’m afraid I must disagree with you on several points. First of all our investigation is not bogus, as you call
it, and we’re not holding a …”
Miss Boyle interrupted back, “Whatever you choose to call your escapades is up to you, Mr. Gunther.” Miss Boyle raised her hand to shoo him away like a pesky housefly. She looked over at Dr. Mac on the dais, who looked a bit overwhelmed by the speed of the responses coming from the two of them. Miss Boyle seemed to be looking to
the council to shut Howard up.
“Oh … yes,” Dr. Mac said as he picked up his cue, a little late. “Please, continue Ms. Boyle. Mr. Gunther, we will give you the opportunity to comment at the end of her statemen
t.”
“Thank you,” she nodded toward the council members, her angular nose bobbing up and down. “Upon checking the archives of the Pecan Bayou paper, the police blotter reveals many incidents out at this hospital involving the youth of our town. I have requested your decision to stop the filming as it will only serve to excite our teenagers and cause
God knows what else out there.”
Before she had attacked the investigation on the merits of Satan worship, but now she was talking about a negative influence on the kids? I didn’t know what was motivating Maureen Boyle, but it seemed to be driving her to come up with better and better ide
as to stop Aunt Maggie’s group.
Maggie rustled beside me. “You
r honor? May I say something?”
Don Schuller looked over at Maggie as he played with his ink pen. “Um, yes, you can come do
wn here to the podium, Maggie.”
Maggie rose and walked down to the wooden podium to face the Schuller brothers and Dr. MacPhee. Howard got up and readjusted the microphone for her again. “I have belonged to the Pecan Bayou Paranormal Society for five years now. We have spent many hours preparing for this investigation, and I would like to assure you that everything we do is strictly on a professional basis. We are hoping that, through our efforts, the people of this town will acknowledge the history of the hospital, as well as respect the ones who worked and died out there. Hopefully this will end the she
nanigans, not make them worse.”
Howard continued, “And if I may add something here, it seems that, at every turn of this process, we see
m to be blocked by Miss Boyle.”
Miss Boyle’s face turned fiercely towards us. “And if I may say something, not only is your investigation frivolous, satanic and dangerous, there has already been a murder associated with it.” She smirked. “What do
you say to that, Mr. Gunther?”
Fitzpatrick stood up from his folding chair, “Excuse me, but I think you are looking at the hospital site incorrectly. What Miss Boyle says does have some merit to it. If someone wasn’t experienced walking around an old building like that, he or she co
uld come to some serious harm.”
Miss Boyle raised her eyebrows and looked toward Howard and Maggie. Her triumphant look
was not missed by Fitzpatrick.
He continued. “That being said, I think the town should not only back the investigation, but use it to further interests of investors to the property. It would be an ideal spot for a medical complex, a mall, or even some sort of entertainment venue like an amusement park. All you would need to do is to put a little commercial for the prope
rty at the end of the program.”
Miss Boyle’s mouth hung open.
The Schuller brothers’ ears seemed to perk up at the idea of using the program to create a profit-making situation. The two of them nodded to each other and then began whispering.
“Am I to understand,” demanded Miss Boyle, regaining her composure, “that you would advertise a building that will ultimately attract the wrong sort of people to a crime scene? Is there no respect for the dead in this town? You would use a scene of so much death to put on a tawdry commercial to promote some half-baked get-rich-quick scheme? Mr. Canfield, for all of his fa
ults, was a person, after all.”
“That is true,” said Dr. Mac. I could tell he genuinely felt sorry for Miss Boyle and the dead Mr. Canfield. Mac always had a loving heart and tended to help out the underdog. Did M
iss Boyle seem that way to him?
“And so the whole idea of a paranormal program would do nothing to preserve Oliver’s – Mr. Canfield’s – dignity. And the idea of a commercial adve
rtisement is simply repulsive.”
I raised my hand. “Excuse me, but the discovery of Mr. Canfield’s body had nothing to do with the vi
sit by the paranormal society.”
“That is correct.” Chief of Police Arvin Wilson had slipped in sometime while I was focused on Maggie. “Mr. Canfield’s murder has nothing to do with my brother-in-law Howard and his group.” Maggie and I both turned to look at Howard. Funny how he had never mentioned he was related to the chief of police. Arvin Wilson’s lips turned up slightly, and he smiled in Howard’s direction. I’ll bet he didn’t know when he courted his lovely Alma thirty years ago there was such a wacko in the g
ene pool as her brother Howard.
“But,” said Miss Boyle, “you do acknowledge the fa
ct that this is a crime scene.”
Wilson fingered the rim of his Stetson. “Yes, part of the hospital is a crime scene, but the paranormal team has promised to utilize other parts of the hos
pital for their investigation.”
Miss Boyle continued. “What we need of the esteemed members of the council is a vote on whether or not this travesty of common decency should be allowed
out on those hallowed grounds.”
Dr. Mac nodded. “Yes, I see,” he said. “Well, I believe we are ready for a vote.” He looked over at me and Aunt Maggie and gave a slight smile. I felt reassured and thought of how he had expressed wanting to help people who were missing their loved ones. If the Schuller broth
ers agreed, it was a done deal.
“Yes, Dr. MacPhee, Tom and I both agree,” said Don Schuller. He was wearing a rather large version of a Pecan Bayou High School football jersey. His son was a quarterback on the football team, and no doubt his concerns were s
traying towards tonight’s game.
“Yes,” his brother Tom said, “Don and I have discussed it, and,” he smiled at Maggie, “we think the idea of a program out there is harmless, and we’re looking forward to it. I’ve always wondered if that place was really haunted. We’re fixin’ to g
ive you a chance to prove it …”
Maggie and I jumped as Tom Schuller continued. “… as long as it ends with a nice commercial to promote the sale of the property.” The crowd mumbled. Miss Boyle crossed her arms defiantly and turned
her gaze on Maggie and Howard.
The other Schuller spoke next, “Tom and I both believe it will be a source of positive revenue for the town, eventually.” Howard jumped, accidentally knocking his papers and books to the floor.
Tom Schuller pounded the gavel.
“And I will also vote in the affirmative,” Dr
. Mac added, as if it mattered.
Miss Boyle stood up quietly and walked over to Maggie and me as we rose to leave
. “This is not over,” she said.
“I think the council
just agreed it is,” I returned.
“There are things you do that will b
e judged by a different court.”
“Yeah, well it’s a little too late to get on Judge Judy,” Maggie said.
A few hours later, the scent of garlic, onions, tomatoes and peppers wafted throughout the house as I stirred spaghetti sauce. Coming home from school, Zach hadn’t spoken much. Upon entering, he plopped down on the couch and took up the electric soothing of little Italian men named Mario and Luigi running through impossible video game feats. I had the feeling all of this was getti
ng to be a little much for him.
He hadn’t responded well when I told him that I had invited Leo Fitzpatri
ck and his son Tyler to dinner.
“You invite
d them? Why would you do that?”
“Tyler is going to be your buddy at the campout, and I just wanted to make su
re you guys are getting along.”
“You have to call Mr. Benny. I can’t be a buddy to Tyler.” His little voice shr
ieked upwards. “He’ll kill me!”
“No, he won’t. I had lunch with his dad the other day, and Tyler’s been g
oing through some rough times.”
“You had lunch with Mr. Fitzpatrick? Tyler’s dad? Like
a date?”
“No. Not like a date.
We just both happened to be at
the Dine-N-Dash at lunch tim
e and decided to sit together.”
He didn’t look appeased by that. He tilted his head slightly evaluating me for
truthfulness. “At the window?”
“Yes.”
“Where ever
yone could see?”
“Yes, already, but it wasn’t a date. I promise.” I cro
ssed my heart with two fingers.
“I don’t want Dad to come back and see you sitting at the diner with some other dad. He could
turn around and go away again.”
I drew in a breath and felt a pit in my stomach. Just when I had let myself forget about it, Barry’s rejection was there. Here was his son, petrified that if we didn’t do anything but wait, he would punish us by leaving again. That is, if he ever showed up. I suppose he got that attitude from me. He had seen me waiting for Barry for seven years. The only time I went “out” was with my family. There were no men threatening to take his place – until this week, that was. Somehow I had broken an unspoken code between the two of us. I had ventured out into the world. He still had his candle in the window burning for his dad. I had just doused mi
ne with a bucket of cold water.
I remembered how Tyler had mocked him heartlessly about his dad and wondered how many other comments had been hurled at him in the viciousness of childhood teasing. If it had been happening, he didn’t complain about it. I knew no matter what other kids said to him, or even what I said to him, he would never give up on his dad. I could see it in his eyes, every holiday and every birthday. He would spend a little time by the window, expecting to see his father walking down the driveway, gravel crunching at his feet, a plastic bag filled with cough drops swinging from his hand. I was pretty sure he thought it was his own little secret. Yet he would give little clues about what was on his mind by finding those times to ask questions about his missing father. What color was Dad’s hair? Did he like sports? Could he throw a football? All of those things would come sneaking out when he was trying to keep his inner thoughts quiet. So I would smile and sit him down away from the window and tell him a little about his dad. I could tell him if his dad liked sports and could throw a football, but the one thing I seemed to never tell him
was why Barry didn’t come back.
I probably did him a disservice by not telling him the awful things about Barry. What do you say to a child? “Oh, your dad was a great football player, and by the way, he skipped town, left a pregnant wife, and put our little family in some pr
etty serious debt. What a guy!”
I couldn’t even tell him whether the reason that Barry didn’t return had to do with us or with some sort of foul play that nobody had figured out yet. I wanted to hug the hurt away, but knew I didn’t have the cure that would heal this. Having other male role models in his life helped some, but they were just a facsimile of what he was actually needing. Learning to make a friend out of a bully seemed to me to be one of those jobs in the dad column, but once again I put it in mine. As the time neared for our dinner guests to arrive, I called to Zach, wh
o was still in front of the TV.
“Zach, come set the table for dinner. Tyler and
his father will be here soon.”
He groaned. “Okay Mom, just give me one
more minute.”
“All right, but not too long.” I knew by now that giving Zach one more minute was infinitely better than an all-out war over video games. No matter what was going on, he would need another minute and would come around the corner in the allotted time. I could be saying, “Zach, the house is on fire, and he would return with something like, ‘Sure thing, Mom, just one more minu
te. Let me get to the portal.’”
A minute later Zach walked in, rolled his eyes, let out a sigh and stuck his hands out. I handed him a stack of plates with silverware and napkins stacked on top. He began to set the places at the table slow
ly, his mind on something else.
“Hey, Mom,” he said as he placed the silverware crookedly on a napkin. “I was just wondering. Does Gran
dpa still look for Dad?”
A leaf of lettuce escaped from the bowl as I toss
ed the salad. “You bet, champ.”
“Good,” he said, a qui
etness creeping into his voice.
“You going to be okay with T
yler coming over here tonight?”
“No.”
“Come on, we have to try.
”
“You don’t understand, Mom. Tyler is a mean boy. He’s been mean since
the day he started at school.”
“Well,
maybe he just needs a friend.”
“A f
riend to beat up all the time?”
“No,” I corrected him. “ A friend to find out why he’s so angry all the tim
e. Maybe he misses his mom.”
That made him think a minute, but then a scowl came over his face as the doorbell chimed. As Fitzpatrick came in the door, he handed me a bottle of Riesling. “This is for our supper tonight. Thank you so much for inviting us.”
“We’re just glad you could come,” I said. The boys eyed each other, reminding me of the predatory
animals on the nature channel.
Shortly after sitting around the table, all three of my fellow diners dug into the spaghetti dinner. I surmised that Tyler and his dad didn’t get a whole lot of home cooking, or else they were just downrigh
t hungry. They scarfed it down.
“So are you looking forward to the campout tomorrow night, Tyler?” I asked when it
seemed he had come up for air.
Tyler was scooping more pasta into his mouth. “Sur
e,” he said through a mouthful.
“So with your … situation … Benny watches ou
t for Zach?” Fitzpatrick asked.
“Sometimes. My dad goes wi
th Zach when he’s not on duty.”
“And
he’ll be on duty on Halloween?”
“Oh, yes,” I replied. “Will he ever. Between the Scouts in the woods, the protection of the crime scene, the paranormal investigation and then all of the other pranks that go on at Hallowee
n, he’s pretty over-scheduled.”
“I bet. Did they ever find out who murdered that guy, Canfi
eld?”
“No, not yet.”
“It’s all pretty strange how I ran into him.” Fitzpatrick twirled his spaghetti. I expected him to
continue, but he did not.
“You saw Mr. Canfie
ld before he died?” Zach asked.
Fitzpatrick looked at me checking to see if he could reveal his part in the day of Canfield’s death. Unseen to Zach,
I quietly nodded in agreement.
“Oh, that.” He sat back for a minute and looked up. “Well, I was out walking around the hospital, scouting it out for my investment client from Dallas, when I turned a corner and there he was. He about jumped out of his skin when he saw me. A guy like Canfield probably needed to watch his own back for all the p
eople he’s swindled out there.”
“Wow,” Zac
h said, with Tyler echoing him.
“I’ve heard some things about that but really no details. Do you know of any incidents where he
took someone’s money?” I asked.
“Um … I don’t know. I jus
t wouldn’t trust him,” he said.
“Well, thank goodness you gave the council an idea on how to sell that old eyesore. You saved the day and my aunt’s investigation show. I thought it would be canceled, especially with all tha
t stuff Miss Boyle was saying.”
“It’s amazing to me how heated up she gets
about all of that hocus pocus.”
“Yes, I know.”
I noticed Zach and Tyler had both finished their meals. “Mom, can Ty
ler and I go play video games?”
“It’s all right with me, how about y
ou?” I gestured to Fitzpatrick.
“Leo, please?” said T
yler. “Uh, I mean, please Dad?”
“Sure.”
Tyler jumped up, knocking Zach sideways and hitting him in th
e cast.
“Sorry,” Tyler said. The two bo
ys rushed off to the next room.
Fitzpatrick folded his napkin in his lap. His eyes darted to me. “Tyler’s still getting used to calling me Dad. His mother always called me Leo in front of him. I’m hoping the campout this weekend
will help things along a bit.”
I nodded. “Yes, I wonder how Zach would react if Barry came back into our lives. He probably wouldn’t
know what to call him, either.”
“I promised Benny I would serve as sort of a second in command. It doesn’t help that the Texas Piney Woods seem to have brought out the hay fever in me. I’ll probably be sneezing and coughing all night. It must have affected Canfield too – I heard him coughing
all throughout that old place.”
“I just can’t believe you were out at the old hospital on the day that Canfield was killed. You’re probably the
last person to see him alive.”
“Correction. I’m probably the last person to s
ee Canfield before his killer.”
“Yes, you
’re right.” I laughed uneasily.
“Besides, I saw Benny Mason pull u
p and walk off into the woods.”
“You did?”
“Yes, but I never
saw him inside where we were.”
“Did you tell my father this?”
“No. I didn’t know I needed to. We did have quite a conversation ending with the ev
er-popular ‘Don’t leave town.’”
“You need to tell him this,
right away, for Benny’s sake.”
I recited my dad’s phone number to Fitzpatrick. Upon calling him, he proceeded to repeat to him what he had just shared with me. I wasn’t sure whether this would clear Benny or just get a witness confirm
ing he was out there.
“Yes. Well, thank you, Lieutenant Kelsey.” He pushed the end button on his cell phone. I had started rinsing plates and putting them in the dishwasher. Fitzpatrick refilled our wine glasses and brought mine over to me.
“What did he
say?” I asked.
“He said thank you for the information but that he already knew Benny was out there. Benny t
old him that he was out there.”
“He did, but my dad didn’t have anyone else saying he was out t
here,” I said, sipping my wine.
“Benny is a nice guy and all,
but what if he really did it?”
I thought about that for a moment. Things like that do happen. Sometimes the charming guy who works with kids ends up being some kind of psychopath who kills the butcher because he didn’t cut off enough fat on the brisket. No, not Benny. I had seen him so many times in stressful situations with the Scouts, and nothing seemed to crack his patience.
He just wasn’t the killer type.
“But what if he didn’t?” I asked. “What’s going to happen to Celia and the boys if he goes off to prison for a crime he didn’t commit? What’s goin
g to happen to their business?”
“I guess you’re right. Would it help to tell you that I saw him drive away w
hile Canfield was still alive?”
I went over to the table where he had laid down his cell phone, picked it up and han
ded it to him. “Call him back.”
He was stunned. “Uh, okay.” After speaking with my dad on the phone for a few minutes, Fitz
patrick handed the phone to me.
“He sai
d he wants to talk to you now.”
“Hey, Dad. Isn’t that great n
ews about Benny?”
“Yes, darlin’ it’s great. Hey listen, I have a little question for you. Why are you entertaining one of my main suspects in
the death of Oliver Canfield?”
I sat down on a high stool in my kitchen aware that Fitzpatrick was listening. “Um,
Dad, we’re having a play date.”