Richard Stevenson - Chain of Fools

Skeeter's face tightened and he shifted angrily in the bed. "Chester! That jerk. Maybe it was him."

"Craig thinks so," I said, "but this is the speculation of a son who has apparently despised his father since childhood and isn't as objective as he could be."

"But Chester was always violent. You must have heard the stories."

I reminded Skeeter that Chester's outbursts had always been spontaneous, not premeditated, and I asked, "Would Chester have been out on a hiking trail where he might have run into Eric? Or would he actually have gone hiking with Eric?"

Skeeter shook his head morosely. "As far as I know, Chester hasn't been out on a hiking trail in years. In family pictures you can see him in the woods as a kid, but that was just because he had to. Chester was an Osborne, so he went into the wilderness. But as soon as he could choose, he headed for the country club."

Timmy said, "Skeeter, is there some chance that Eric was in on the jewel-theft plot? Not that he would want anybody to get killed. But maybe Craig had promised him and Dan nobody would get hurt and the robbery was a foolproof way to keep the Herald out of the hands of the bad chain, and Eric was naive enough to believe him."

"Out of the hands of what?" Skeeter looked deeply bewildered.

Timmy forced a little smile and said, "There are two newspaper chains competing for the Herald. One's a good chain, and one's a bad chain. One's a daisy chain-that's a metaphor for the more socially enlightened, pro-environmentalist chain-and one's a chain of fools, so-called. The chain of fools is purely profit-oriented and environmentally and otherwise socially indifferent. It was you, Skeeter, as a matter of fact, who first explained this situation to Don and me and pointed out the likelihood that one of the Osborne factions competing over the future of the Herald had concocted a murder plot that resulted in Eric's death and presented great danger to Janet prior to next month's Herald board meeting."

Timmy fingered the two crutches-his own-leaning against Skeeter's bed. I wondered if he might pick one of them up and swat Skeeter with it, but he didn't. He said, "You were heavily medicated when you expressed your concerns to Don and me Tuesday night, Skeeter. So I guess all this has slipped your mind."

"You're right, it has," Skeeter said, looking embarrassed. "I remember that you and Don were here on Tuesday, or whatever day it was. And even though I was kind of out of it, I also remember from when you and Janet stopped in on Wednesday, I guess it was, Timmy, that you told me you and Don have been helping out around the house. And also, Don, that you've been playing detective. Hey, good for you. Thanks a lot from all of us. And Timmy, I want to tell you it's really great to be in touch with you again. Since my folks moved to Arizona, I'm hardly in touch with anybody back in Poughkeepsie. But you were always one of my favorite high-school classmates. It's really nice to see you."

Timmy smiled just perceptibly. He said, "It's really nice to see you too, Skeeter."

Skeeter had given us the name of the air service Eric had used for scattering his father's ashes over the mountains, and as we headed back up to Edensburg, and to the airport there, Timmy was silent for the first ten miles.

Finally, I said, "I think he was just being considerate of me-of both of us. Or maybe he thinks you never told me that you two were once a red-hot item."

After a moment, Timmy said, "That's pretty far-fetched."

"Why? Some people are just very discreet about their pasts."

He said nothing for a mile or so. Then: "Could I have imagined the whole thing? Am I delusionary? Or was I delusionary in high school? Maybe my whole two-year sexfest with Skeeter took place entirely inside my own head. It was just tortured, conflicted, wishful thinking."

"Not according to what Skeeter was saying Tuesday night when he OD'd on prednisone," I said. "The drug seemed to be working as a truth serum on Skeeter, and the affair was certainly real enough to him then."

"Maybe the prednisone worked as a truth serum, or maybe it made him temporarily insane too, and he was imagining it all."

"Timothy, I can see how you're feeling disoriented and confused at this point, but keep in mind that it's Skeeter who's more likely to be delusionary. His brain was given a ferocious whack by a heavy-duty steroid drug. And I hate to say it, but there's also the possibility of the onset of HIV dementia. I doubt very much that it's you who is mixed up about the past."

Timmy shook his head fiercely, as if to try to loosen a mental ice jam. He moaned, "I don't know!" and then slumped in his seat.

After we'd sped up the Northway another mile, I said, "So where was Skeeter's birthmark?"

Timmy shifted, sat up a little, gazed over at me. "How did you know about that?"

"Skeeter mentioned it Tuesday night while you were out of the hospital room. He mentioned that you were once mighty pleased with that birthmark of his, but he didn't tell me where it was. Where was it?"

Timmy grinned. "I guess I'm not crazy."

"Of course not. Did you really think you were?"

"No. But I am confused, and it helps that you've come up with actual incontrovertible evidence that I'm not hallucinating. It all did happen, and it's Skeeter who's losing his mind. Poor Skeeter."

"So where is it?"

"The birthmark?"

"The birthmark."

"It's on the back of his dick. When it's limp, the birthmark has no particular discernible shape. But when Skeeter's penis is erect, the birthmark is shaped exactly like the state of North Carolina. If it was standing on end, of course."

"I guess you would tend to make a mental note of something like that. Is Skeeter originally from the South?"

"No, he was born in Poughkeepsie and grew up about a mile from our house."

"I'll bet the McCaslins were originally from Dixie. How else to explain this remarkable phenomenon? I think Skeeter should send an inscribed photo of his erection to Jesse Helms."

After a moment, Timmy said, "So if I didn't ruin the first half of Skeeter's adulthood-or if I did but he's actually forgotten all about it, I guess I didn't really have to drag you-drag both of us-into this whole Osborne family morass of murder and intrigue. I didn't have to get you involved, I didn't have to get my foot broken, and I didn't have to get into a situation where I'm maligned and abused by Dale Kot-lowicz every time I'm in the room with that merciless, unrelenting, sarcastic harpie."

"Much of what you say is true, Timothy, although I'm confident your opinion of Dale will go up once the air has been cleared on your alleged transgression. Surely it's all a simple misunderstanding. So, are you removing me from the Osborne case? Am I fired? Shall we drive past Edensburg and up to Montreal for a relaxed weekend of jazz and French food and afternoon strolls along the waterfront?"

"Of course not. Jeez. Janet is depending on us now. And so is Mrs. Osborne. And even-other people."

"Dale."

"Yes, Dale too. Dale, Dale, Dale, Dale."

He shifted in his seat again, careful not to get conked on the head by his crutches.

I'd phoned Eden County Air Service from Albany. The pilot who had taken Eric and Skeeter up the previous April to scatter Tom Osborne's ashes over the Adirondacks was away for the day, ferrying a canoe-company executive to Rochester and back. He was expected in around 11:30 p.m., so Timmy and I had time for a sandwich at a diner near the Edensburg airport before we met the charter pilot on his late-evening arrival.

The pilot, a placid, alert-looking man in his late twenties, remembered Eric and Skeeter well-he'd known the Osbornes by reputation for years-and when I told him I was working for Janet, he told me how much he respected and admired her and the Herald. Then he went on to tell me everything he knew about the April excursion.