Last Call

by Paula Matter

  “When did the changes start? How long ago?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. Gradually. The last two, three years. Maybe longer?”

  “Who were the officers? Were Dick and JC on the board? Was Kevin? What about when you first started working there?”

  “Let’s see.” I closed my eyes to get a clear picture of when I interviewed for the job. I opened them, looked at Michael and said, “Kevin wasn’t there. It’s only been a year or so since he joined and he became president right away. JC, Dick, and Sam hired me. Dick was commander, and JC was quartermaster then. The commander position can only be held for two years, and Dick was on his second year when I started.

  “Nobody else ran in the election four years ago, so JC and Dick flip-flopped positions. Dick took over as quartermaster and JC was commander. Then two years ago, they switched again. Sam’s always been the steward since I’ve been there.”

  “So those three—Sam, Dick, and JC—have been around and have been officers of the club since you’ve been there?”

  “Oh, yeah, and for years way before that.”

  The waitress dropped off the check. Michael looked at his watch. “You ready? I’ve already checked out, and it’s close to seven thirty. The club closes at four o’clock today, right?”

  “Right. Because of the breakfast, or brunch as Pam likes to call it. Hours are ten to four today.”

  While he paid, I said, “All of this makes sense, but we’re no closer to finding Jack’s killer. How do we go about doing that?”

  “Remember what I said about sifting through the bull, and everyone having a secret? We’re learning what secrets these men had. Keeping those secrets is important to them.”

  “It’s like that expression: ‘Three can keep a secret if two of them are dead.’”

  Thirty

  Seven thirty in the morning and the inside of the car felt like a hot oven. We rolled down the windows and let what little breeze there was circulate. I would’ve much rather been upstairs with the unruly air conditioning. But leaving now meant we’d be in North DeSoto just before two o’clock, which would give us time to talk to the guys before the club closed.

  “I’ll turn on the air once we get going,” Michael said as he started the car. “Ready to go home?”

  “Let’s go.” I buckled my seatbelt and asked, “What’s our plan once we get back to North DeSoto? How much time will we have before you go pick up Chris?”

  “We have plenty of time. We’ll stop at home first, then go to the club. I don’t pick Chris up until seven. Terri said she’d feed Chris and make sure her homework was done. She said if I showed up earlier, I was welcome to join them for dinner.”

  Well, isn’t that cozy? I’d make sure Michael dropped me off before then so I wouldn’t have to deal with that scenario again. Let him and Terri do whatever they wanted.

  Oh, for God’s sake, I really had to get a grip. I was his landlady, nothing more. And did I really want something more? Sheesh. I was giving myself a headache, and anyway, now was not the time to be thinking about it. I grabbed Jack’s notebook and started reading.

  Dec. 23, 1962

  Christmas party at the VFW.

  Dec. 29, 1962

  Was asked to join the board at the VFW. Might do it.

  Jan. 2, 1963

  Happy fucking New Year.

  Jan. 3, 1963

  Elected 2 year trustee. Whatever the hell that is.

  I had to smile at the last entry. It reminded me of how Kevin once told me he felt coerced into becoming the president. No one else would step up to do it. His name was placed on the ballot and that’s all she wrote. Later, he said it was an honor.

  Jan. 4, 1963

  Going with my VFW buddy to the place he goes to.

  Jan. 5, 1963

  Sat around with a bunch of guys talking about war. We sat by the Navy flag. Most from WWII, a couple from Korea. Talked a lot about President Kennedy, Castro, Russia. My buddy was the youngest there. He broke down.

  Amazing. It was almost like reading a history book. Instead of learning about the Bay of Pigs and the Cuban Missile Crisis, I was privy to the thoughts and reactions of someone who had been there. I wondered what happened to Jack’s buddy. Another thought struck and I flipped through the pages looking for late November.

  Nov. 22, 1963

  Dear God The President is dead. LBJ

  The line through the first sentence had slashed the paper. I could almost feel the anguish. I turned the pages back to January of that year and continued reading. Most of the entries consisted of one or two lines. I spent hours reading, occasionally stopping to read something of historical interest to Michael. I found it curious that I never found out who Jack’s buddy was. He never once wrote any names down.

  Finally, in an entry in December, I found out what happened to Jack’s son. I read it twice before I read it aloud to Michael.

  Dec. 14, 1963

  Happy birthday, Daryl. You would’ve been 5 today. I’m sorry, son. I’m sorry, Joon. Told the guys I wouldn’t be coming in to the VFW today. Too much to do I told them. They don’t need to know. Hard to believe its been over a year. Another Thanksgiving gone, another Christmas to get through. Joon, I’ll never get that day back. I swear it was an accident. A mistake. My mind was, still is mostly, messed up. I forgot that one time. I write everything down now to keep me on track. It helps me now, but I know that it doesn’t do any good for what I did that day. I didn’t remember giving him the first shot. I swear, Joon. Daryl, I’m so sorry, son. I thought it was time for your medicine. I didn’t remember giving you that first dose. You were such a good little boy, you never cried, never let on if you were scared of the needle, just always took your medicine like a man, a good soldier.

  Thirty-One

  “Home, sweet home,” Michael said when he turned down our street. All I saw was a police cruiser sitting across from my house. The next thing I noticed was the empty driveway. My poor little car.

  I tossed my bag on the bedroom floor, used the bathroom, then checked my answering machine. Brenda had left five messages and they all said the same thing: “Where are you? I wish you had a cell phone. Did you get my e-mail? Call me, dammit!”

  I booted up the computer, cursing at its slowness. I clicked on my e-mail and up popped Brenda’s. Another link and JPEG attached. The photo was a blurry shot of a man in uniform. The caption read, Kevin Beamer before being ousted from Memorial Day parade.

  Oh, man. It sure did look like my Kevin Beamer. I clicked on the other link. A list of names of men who had been caught lying about their time served in the military. Kevin’s name was on the list. The webpage had photographs and links to other pages demanding action be taken against these frauds. I printed out the list of names as well as Kevin’s photo and turned off the computer. Michael was waiting for me when I went down to his car. I showed him the printout. He simply nodded.

  The VFW parking lot was fairly empty when we got there. My stomach was in absolute knots. Even though I didn’t have to go, I rushed to the bathroom while Michael went up to the bar. I splashed water on my face and looking in the mirror, I didn’t look quite as washed out or drained as I had a week ago. A few deep breaths and I forced myself to go back out there.

  Pete and a couple of other guys at the bar nodded or said hello as I walked by. Michael had left an empty stool between him and Pete, so I sat down. Sam came right over and took my order.

  “How you doing, Pete?” I asked. Now that I had this knowledge about him, I felt really uncomfortable, not sure what to say. I wanted to blurt out that it didn’t matter to me.

  Sam served my drink and waved away my attempt to pay him. He looked much better than we’d left him yesterday morning, and I was glad to see him working behind the bar. I had hoped it wouldn’t be that guy Cody. I needed to give the book pages directly back to Sam, no one else.
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  I was also relieved there were so few people around. They must have all cleared out after breakfast. I reached into my purse and pulled out the envelope that had the pages from the daily book. I slid it across the bar and said, “Sam, this is for you.”

  He frowned and took the envelope.

  “Open it later when you’re alone in your office,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  “Is Kevin working in the kitchen? I saw his bike out front.”

  Sam answered, “Yeah, he’s in there helping Scott and JC. We were a little shorthanded for breakfast. Dick and Diane didn’t show up and Pam was the only waitress. She’s not real happy.” Sam winked at me. Code for Pam’s never happy, so what’s new? I winked back.

  Ah. That explained the weird tension I felt. Just wait until the truths about Sam, Pete, and Kevin came out. The members would hate them, but they’d blame me for disclosing what I knew. They’d all think it was better to leave well enough alone. It was a lose-lose situation—except for the fact that it might lead me and Michael to the killer. So what if I caused problems? It sure as hell wouldn’t be the first time. And knowing me, it wouldn’t be the last. I just hated the idea that learning these secrets could mean one of them killed Jack Hoffman.

  “So, Pete, how are you?” I realized he’d never answered when I first asked him, that he had simply nodded. And, worse, no hug like usual.

  “I’m fine, Maggie, and you?” He stared straight ahead.

  “I’m good, thanks.” But I wasn’t. I sipped my beer, pretending everything was normal. I’d try again. “So, what’s new?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh.” Okay. This wasn’t going well at all. I needed to do something to make some progress. “Did Michael tell you he and I just came back from Ft. Walton Beach?”

  Pete picked up his beer glass, swallowed what was left in it, and slammed the glass down on the bar. “See you later, Sam. Thanks.”

  I watched Pete’s back as he walked away. Alrighty then. I wanted to chase after him, but somehow I knew that wouldn’t be a good idea. Back to sipping my beer.

  Sam took Pete’s empty glass and pocketed the tip he’d left. I wanted to ask Sam if he was still my friend. I sure felt like I’d just lost one.

  Without looking at him, I said to Michael, “Do something. Please.”

  “Hey, Sam do you guys need help cleaning up after breakfast? Maybe I could wash dishes or something?”

  “That’d be great, Michael. Go on into the kitchen and tell JC and Kevin you’re offering to help. We can never get enough volunteers. And it sure didn’t help that the Reids never came in. Didn’t even call or anything.”

  Michael slid off his stool. “Can I take this in with me?” He held up his glass of soda.

  “Sure. Wait a second, will you?” Sam grabbed a plastic pitcher and filled it with beer. He handed it to Michael.

  “They’re not really supposed to drink while they’re working, but they sure earned some cold beer.”

  Michael took the pitcher and walked away toward the kitchen. I didn’t watch him. I now sat all alone at my end of the bar. Sam and the two other customers at the opposite end kept their attention on the TV.

  Pathetic. Counting myself, only three customers in the place. I’d like to think my not working there was the reason, but my ego isn’t quite that large. More than likely, the price increase in drinks had a lot to do with business dying. I turned toward the dining room and saw Pam still re-setting the tables. I could either sit here by myself drinking my beer, or I could be useful and help Pam. Neither sounded very appealing, but I knew the dangers of drinking too much. And if I sat here alone long enough, I knew I’d order another beer. I slid off the barstool.

  “Hey, Pam, need any help?”

  “Take the salt and pepper shakers off and put them away. You know where to put them, don’t you?” She sniffed and walked away.

  Oooh, a little passive-aggressive, are we? And the sniffing again. I was sure that came from snorting and nothing to do with her upper crustedness. I grabbed a tray from the waitress station to carry the shakers. The door to the kitchen was open and I peeked in. Kevin and Michael stood by the sinks, their backs to me, and I didn’t see JC or Scott anywhere. I took the tray and got busy with my assigned task.

  Only twenty tables in the dining room, so the job didn’t take long. Pam had gone into the kitchen, and I wasn’t about to go in there to ask what she wanted me to do next. I busied myself by looking at the framed photographs of all the past commanders and Ladies Auxiliary presidents hanging on the wall. Jack Hoffman’s picture was draped with a black shroud. In another week or so, someone would take it down and put it away until the next time someone died.

  Another example of loyalty, except this one made sense to me. A sign of respect. Just like the MIA/POW table, like all the framed photographs. These men and women had served their country, most of them during World War II and the Korean war, and then became active in the VFW upon returning home.

  I thought about what Jack had said the last night I worked. Doing right by others, trusting each other. Again with the loyalty. Of course, he also had gone on about how the club was ruined when women joined. Knowing now about his history with his wife and son, Jack’s resentment made a little more sense. I wondered how much of that resentment was directed at himself.

  Terrific. Now I was starting to have a warped sense of understanding. I went back up to the bar. Sam left the other guys and came over to me.

  “I swear I don’t think working here is worth it. Things are really tense.”

  “How so, Sam?”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Just different. Really quiet. Everybody seems to be watching each other. Like we’re all waiting for something to happen.”

  I almost blurted out what information we’d learned about Pete and Kevin. Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Glancing furtively around, no one nearby, I saw my chance.

  “Well,” I said in a low voice, “Michael and I have found out a couple of things.”

  Sam leaned closer, his eyes wide, and guarded. “Oh, yeah, like what?”

  “Did you know that Pete’s gay?”

  Sam snorted and stood upright. “Oh, please. Ain’t no way in hell I’m going to believe that. No, not Pete. Phil maybe, but definitely not Pete. He likes girls. He’s in here all the time with a different woman. Besides, what proof do you have?”

  I told him about our visit with Abby in Ft. Walton Beach.

  “I still don’t buy it.” Sam frowned, then said, “You said there were a couple of things. What’s the other?” He leaned on the bar again closer to me.

  “This nearly breaks my heart, and I hope to God it’s not true because the person could get into a lot of trouble—”

  “Is it about me?”

  I wanted to hear about him not locking up the night Jack was killed from him, so I asked, “No, why? Have you done something?” I waited, hoping he’d tell me. Because if he didn’t, I was afraid of what that meant.

  He rubbed his hand across his mouth and said, “Of course not.”

  So much for giving him a chance to come clean. I said, “No, it’s about Kevin.” I reached into my purse, pulled out the printed photo, and showed it to Sam. “See? Right there is proof.”

  He squinted at the photo, then looked at me again.

  I handed him the page from the website and waited while he read it.

  “Holy shit. His name’s right there and everything. Oh, man, I can’t believe this. We’re going to have to call an emergency meeting.”

  “Emergency meeting?” came a voice from behind me. Oh, shit. Kevin.

  Sam shot up, glared past my head. “Try to explain this, Beamer.” He shoved the piece of paper at Kevin. I turned and saw both he and Michael had come out of the kitchen. Michael frowned at me and I shrugged.


  Kevin briefly glanced at the paper, then looked at each of us in turn.

  “What have you got to say, Beamer?” Sam shouted. His face took on the same purple color as it had the previous morning.

  Out of worry, I put my hand on Sam’s arm hoping to calm him down. I was afraid his reaction would bring on a heart attack or stroke. Or violence? I stuffed down my nerves.

  “What’s going on?”

  Terrific. Now Scott, JC, and Pam had come out of the kitchen.

  “This is what’s going on,” Sam said and handed the paper to JC. “He’s a liar, a traitor, bought his medals off of an online auction, never even served overseas.”

  JC finished reading and looked at Kevin. “Well, is it true?”

  Kevin must’ve known there was no way out. He simply nodded. Without looking at any of us, and not saying a word, Kevin walked toward the front door.

  “Damn liar,” Sam yelled, one last parting shot.

  Kevin came to a dead stop and turned. Looking directly at Sam, he said in a calm, quiet voice, “Yeah, Sam, let’s talk about being a liar. You want to go next?”

  Before Sam could answer, a shrill chirp of a cell phone pierced the quiet stillness. We all turned toward the sound. Scott, red-faced, quickly answered his phone. After a brief moment, his face paled and he shouted into the phone, “Okay, honey, okay. Calm down. Good. Okay, I’m on my way.” He ended the call. “My wife needs me. She’s called 911. Her father … Dick’s been stabbed. Diane’s gone.”

  Thirty-Two

  “I’m at a loss.” Michael and I sat in his car outside the club. Pam, JC, and Scott had raced to the hospital to be with Dick and Scott’s wife. And where the hell was Diane? What did Scott mean by Diane’s gone?

  “So, what do we do now?”

  “Pete left earlier and doesn’t know about Dick. Let’s go talk to him. Where might Pete be? Any idea?”

  I thought about it. “He doesn’t belong to any other clubs in town, and I don’t know of any bars he might go to. It’s always been the VFW that he came to. He lives in a campground about twenty miles from here, but I don’t know exactly which lot.”