Craig Smith - Cold Rain

‘It’s about us,’ I said.

Milt looked at me without quite getting it.

‘Life in the wastelands,’ I said, gesturing toward the lot, using Milt’s own phrase.

He flashed his big yellow horse teeth at me. ‘You wrote a book about us? Is it X-rated?’

‘You remember Debbie?’

‘Debbie does DeKalb? You put that in?’

‘Her name is Connie Q.’

‘What’s the page?’

‘Start at the beginning.’

‘Is Tubs in it?’

‘Tubs is Jinx. You’re Stitch, and Larry the Liar…well, he’s Larry the Liar.’

‘Hey! That lopsided set of duck nuts has himself a little church down in Peoria! Can you believe it?

Preaching Jesus once a week and raising hell the rest of the time!’

I shook my head for Milt’s sake, but I wasn’t surprised. Larry had always had a soft spot for the Baptist girls.

We talked about the car business. Milt asked me about school. I expect we both lied. While we talked, different sales people approached with deals or troubles. Milt ran the place and never lost track of what he was telling me, but it was obvious he was busy. I said that I had better go. I had a plane to catch. Milt kicked the tire of one of the cars in the showroom.

‘Ol’ Tubs,’ he said nostalgically, the first mention of my dad since I had handed him my novel. ‘I mean but that man could sell cars!’

‘Did he like it, you think?’ I asked. I wanted to believe Tubs knew the gift he possessed. I wanted assurance that the thing with pie, that was just a moment of weakness.

Milt grinned at me with his horse teeth. ‘You remember the first time you turned a hard case around, David? The very first tough sale you brought in with no one’s help?’

‘The first sale I made,’ I answered.

Milt nodded. I knew he wasn’t thinking about my first sale, though he had been there. He was thinking about his own. ‘Every sale was like that for your dad.’

He thought about it for a moment. ‘The day he died he said to me, “I got some folks coming in tomorrow, Milt. If I’m not here, you take them yourself. They’re buyers. I don’t want them to get away!” So I asked him why he wouldn’t be here. Tubs never missed a day of work in his life. He said he thought he had a touch of the flu. Hadn’t felt good all day. David, your old man sold three cars for me thinking he had the flu. Turned out he’d had a heart attack that morning!

Most people can’t sell three cars on their best day.

And all he could think about was making sure we got the next one. Did he like it? He lived it, brother! You had his talent, too. Tubs said so himself.’ Milt shook his head with a bit of sadness. ‘But I could see after the first couple of summers you weren’t going to stay with it. Your skills got better but your heart wasn’t in it!’

‘I guess I just realized I was never going to be as good as the old man.’

Milt shook his head, but he wasn’t disagreeing with me. ‘Tubs used to say God calls the preachers, but the Devil calls the salesmen, and the worst of us peddle cars. You don’t spend your life out here in the wastelands unless it’s your calling. Not that I wouldn’t trade places with you! You go into that classroom and even if you’re not having a good day they hand you a pay check! Huh? Am I right? They ever cut your check back for a bad lecture?’

‘It’s a hell of a gig,’ I said.

‘Just don’t let it turn you soft, friend. You lose the edge, you lose everything. Your dad taught me that!’

I got home from dekalb late Saturday afternoon. The horses were already in the barn. I walked down the hill and went across the road to the little house where Billy Wade lived. Wade was in a cheerful mood as usual. He got in a better mood after I handed him the money for taking care of Ahab and Jezebel.

‘Any problems?’ I asked. The giant shook his head.

‘You see that Mercury Marquis drive by?’

‘He came out every day!’ I reached for my wallet.

‘Naw, Dave. I’m funning you! He only came out one time!’

I handed Wade another twenty. ‘What did he do?’

‘It was after dark. I walked out to that service road way on out there. It was that Merc you was asking about, all right.’

‘You write down the license plate number?’

Wade seemed embarrassed. ‘I sure didn’t. You didn’t tell me to, did you?’ I told him it was my mistake. I said to go on. ‘Nothing more to tell. I went back to the house and watched. He drove away maybe an hour after that. Maybe an hour-and-a-half in all.’

‘Next time, you come up to the house and let me know while he’s still here. Can you do that?’

Wade slapped my shoulder. He told me not to worry.

The house was cold, and I nudged the thermostat up and surveyed the house for some evidence of a break-in. The windows and doors were all secure. My papers were all in place. Nothing had changed, but I had the feeling Buddy had been inside the house.

I glanced at the mail, flipped through the newspapers, then went to my office and checked my e-mail.

In the kitchen I noticed the light on the answering machine blinking. I pushed the button. Eight messages.

The first was a prof I knew in Sociology. He wanted to know if I had heard anything about Walt’s suicide.

I didn’t bothering listening to the rest. I went back to my office and got the papers out. I found the article in Saturday’s paper. Hardly more than a note in Regional News, actually, it reported that the bodies of Walter and Barbara Beery had been discovered at their residence Friday evening by their son Roger. The sheriff’s department was investigating the possibility of foul play.

I went online, hoping for more details, but there were no updates. I went back to the answering machine.

Six calls from different people at the university, two hang-ups. I started calling until I got what I wanted.

Randy Winston had the details. Walt had apparently visited Barbara on Thursday, Thanksgiving Day. I said I knew about that. What happened? Nobody knew. At some point during the afternoon Walt had walked up behind Barbara and drove a carving knife into her back.

Walt had then hanged himself from a rafter in the garage.

I called the McBrides. Doc answered. He told me Molly was out for the evening. Did I want to talk to Lucy? I said no, but I needed to talk to Molly as soon as possible. Could he leave a message for her to call me the minute she got in? He could do that.

Because I didn’t want to break off too abruptly, I thanked Doc for calling Judge Hollis.

‘Glad I could help, David. I told Jimmy that wasn’t like you at all.’

‘No, sir, it wasn’t,’ I answered equably. ‘I usually land the first punch, and that’s the end of it.’

Doc McBride laughed as if I had made a joke.

Molly called me the following morning. ‘Sorry I missed your call,’ she told me when I answered, ‘but I thought if he’s going out I might as well too.’

The two hang-ups on the machine now made sense.

‘I went to DeKalb,’ I said.

‘You tell them about us?’

‘Molly,’ I said, ‘listen to me. I’ve got some bad news.’

Assoon as I told her about Walt and Barbara, Molly said she wanted to fly up for the funeral.

I didn’t have the details just then, so I hung up and started calling around again. By the time I got the information and called back, Molly had switched Lucy’s return flight. The two of them would be coming in that night. I said I would pick them up, but she told me not to bother. She had to rent a car anyway. Best just to get it at the airport, since she would be flying back the following Sunday. One week, I thought. One last chance.

The two of them got in late that evening. I had the master bedroom set up for Molly, and I took a little monk’s cell on the third floor with a view to the back one-forty.