David Handler - The Blood Red Indian Summer

“How did he get in?” Des wondered. “The estate’s fenced all the way around. There’s a trooper on the gate. How did he just waltz in here in his PJs?”

“I couldn’t say,” Rondell answered. “But I assure you we will undertake a thorough security review first thing in the morning.”

Des heard hushed, reverent oohs and ahhs now as Tyrone Grantham made his way through the crowd toward them, ignoring the partiers one and all. He showed no interest in the pretty girls in their bikinis. Or in the guys who were patting him on the back and capturing live footage of him with their phones. Only in the altercation. His hooded eyes flicked from Des over to Winston, then to the Jewett girls, Clarence and Asia before they returned to Des. “Who’s the old man?” he asked her in a low voice. “And why is he bleeding?”

“He’s Winston Lash, your next door neighbor. Clarence punched him.”

Tyrone grimaced. “Why you be wanting to do that, Cee?”

“He tried to bite my girl Asia here,” Clarence explained.

“Winston doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Mitch spoke up. “He has a medical condition.”

Tyrone narrowed his gaze at Mitch before he turned back to Clarence and said, “I told you to keep it low profile. I also told you to collect their phones at the door. Don’t you get what’ll happen now? This’ll go viral.” He looked around at all of the partiers. “And you said a few friends.”

“That’s all I invited, I swear,” Clarence insisted. “A dozen folks. It was Calvin who let all of these others in. I left him on the gate with the guest list.”

“Yeah, that was a real smart play.” Tyrone’s eyes located his father-in-law, who was chatting up a pair of tipsy young babes as he floated there in the pool. “We’ll talk about this later, Cee.”

“I swear I didn’t invite all of these people.”

“And I said we’ll talk about it later.” Tyrone looked at Mitch again. “What sort of a medical condition?”

“He has frontotemporal dementia. It’s a degenerative disease of the frontal lobe of the brain that causes him to do sexually inappropriate things. He doesn’t know he’s doing them.”

“Are you his doctor?”

“No, I’m a movie critic.”

“Mitch is with me,” Des explained.

Tyrone thawed slightly. “Oh, sure, you’re Mitch Berger. Glad to know you, man.” He stuck out a gigantic fist and held it there until Mitch bumped knucks with him. “I saw you on TV a while back dumping all over the new James Cameron movie.”

“Yeah, that sounds like me.”

“I didn’t agree but I admire your passion.” Tyrone stared at Winston intently. “I’ve got no beef with any man who has dementia. I’ve met retired players who had their bell rung so many times they barely know their own names. Can’t drive a car. Can’t feed their families. Breaks my heart.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You say he lives next door?”

Mitch pointed toward the Joshua place. “Right over there.”

“How’d he get in here?”

“We’ll endeavor to ascertain that in the morning,” Rondell promised.

Tyrone moved over toward Winston, who was seated in a chair now holding the ice pack to his mouth. “I want to apologize for what happened, sir. It was an unfortunate misunderstanding. I’m Tyrone Grantham, your new neighbor.”

Winston removed the icepack and said, “My, you’re a big one, aren’t you?”

“Big enough. Can I help you get home or maybe send for someone?”

“That would be me,” Mitch said.

“He’s a friend of yours?”

“Yes, he is.”

Winston noticed Mitch standing there and waved to him. “Hey, Brubaker, is this a party or is this a party?”

Mitch gave him two thumbs up. “Winston lives with his late wife’s two sisters,” he told Tyrone. “They’re having a hard time of it. I make deliveries three times a week from the Food Pantry.”

Tyrone’s eyes widened. “Real?”

“Real.”

“I thought this was a rich town.”

“You thought wrong.”

“Man, you push right back, don’t you? You’re all right. Figured you would be. Otherwise our resident trooper wouldn’t be wasting her time on you.” Tyrone turned to his little brother and said, “Ask Moms to pay a call on them tomorrow, okay? Maybe take them a mess of her fried chicken and potato salad. Tell her to make a whole lot. And you are going over there with her,” he informed Clarence. “Those ladies need anything done-a light bulb changed, brush cleared, carpet vacuumed-you’re doing it for them, hear?”

“I don’t vacuum carpets,” Clarence said indignantly.

“Yeah, you do,” Tyrone assured him.

“Okay, whatever,” he conceded. “But we still got us a situation here. This old man sexually assaulted Asia. He should be arrested.”

“What do you think about that?” Tyrone asked Des.

“We can go that route. But if I charge Mr. Lash then I’ll have to charge Clarence, too.”

“With what?” Clarence demanded.

“You criminally assaulted him.”

“I was defending my girl!”

“You cold-cocked a helpless old man, Clarence,” Des pointed out. “And if you pursue this, you will get the attention of the media-especially given your criminal record.”

Clarence’s eyes widened. “How do you know about that?”

“It’s my business to know.”

“Maybe you ought to let it slide, Cee,” Tyrone suggested.

“No maybe about it,” Rondell put in firmly. “We do not need more negative attention.”

Des said, “Actually, it’s not up to you gentlemen to decide. Asia is the alleged victim here.”

“That’s right, girl,” Asia said, nodding her head up and down. “And there ain’t no ‘alleged’ about it. He bit me.”

“Do you wish to file a criminal assault charge against him?”

Asia hesitated, peering over at Winston. “My grandmoms has Alzheimer’s. She don’t even know where she is half the time. I don’t want to break bad with some sick old man. That’s just wrong. Can we forget the whole thing?”

“Yes, we can. We’ll call it a minor disagreement. Clarence, if you and Mr. Lash will shake hands on it, I’ll be on my way.”

“I’m not shaking that pervert’s hand,” Clarence grumbled.

“Yeah, you are,” Tyrone assured him.

Reluctantly, Clarence went over to Winston. “Hey, I’m sorry, awright?”

Winston grinned up at him. “My, you’re a tall one, aren’t you?”

“Just shake my damned hand, will you, old man?”

The two of them shook hands.

Des asked the Jewett girls if Winston was okay to go home now.

“He’s fine,” Marge said.

“I’ll take it from here,” Mitch said, starting toward him.

“Anything else we can do for you, Trooper Mitry?” Tyrone asked.

“Yes, there is.” Des glanced at her watch. “While we were standing here having all of this fun, the clock just ran out. Pull the plug for me, will you? This party is history.”

The old coot bolted on him just as they were about to climb into Mitch’s pickup. Took off across the lawn and went crashing into the woods that separated the Grantham place from the Joshua estate.

“Winston, where are you going?” Mitch cried out as he sprinted after him.

“Home!” hollered Winston, who could scoot along pretty fast for someone in his bedroom slippers. Especially considering that Clarence had just gone Tarantino on him. “Lila gets all weepy if I stay out too late. She was some kind of beauty in her day. But who wants an old broad when there’s so many young ones and so little time. Know what I mean?”

“Not really, but that’s okay.” Mitch caught up with him, grabbing him by the arm. “You can’t get home this way. They put up a chain-link fence, remember?”