The Right Kind of Fool

by Sarah Loudin Thomas

  “I do not understand why Mr. Michael would say he shot that man.” Otto was the first to break the silence. He lifted his chin higher and stopped rubbing his wrists. “It was I who pressed the trigger.” He glared at Michael. “There is no need for a trial. You may punish me as the law demands.”

  “Well, that last statement is true,” Judge Kline said. “I’m not so sanguine about the rest of it. Tell me again why you did it?”

  “This man was trespassing. I thought to frighten him away. It was an accident, but I know I must be punished for this terrible thing.”

  “And what did you do with the gun after you shot the man?”

  “I threw it away so no one would know.”

  The judge dragged a box across his desk and lifted a fancy pistol from it. “Is this the one?”

  Otto paled and licked his lips. “I believe that might be the one, yes.”

  “And you threw it . . . where?”

  Otto’s eyes darted around the room from person to person as though one of them might give him the answer. “Where you found it!” he finally said with a note of triumph.

  Judge Kline chuckled. “Remind me where that was?”

  Otto shook his head slowly. “I was very distraught. I do not remember for certain.”

  “Can you narrow it down for me? Did you throw it in the water? Or maybe into the bushes? Or maybe you hid it somewhere?”

  Otto closed his eyes. “There is no need to press me. I do not mind to take the blame.” He opened his eyes and looked at the judge with something like desperation. “You must allow me to take the blame.”

  Judge Kline dropped the pistol back into the box. “Not unless you did it, son.” He turned his attention to Michael. “How about you? Is your story any better than Otto’s?”

  Michael gripped his legs with his hands as if holding himself in place. He cleared his throat and began telling his story about planning to show his sister how to shoot, running into Eddie Minks who gave Rebecca a hard time, and how he fired the gun in anger without thinking. His voice gained strength as he spoke, and Creed had to admire the boy for how calm and steady he remained. Hadden’s hands curled into fists and he bowed his head. Creed felt for the man. He looked at Loyal and tried not to imagine how he’d feel if his son were doing the confessing.

  When the telling was finished, Judge Kline sat down behind his desk. “Now that story has the ring of truth to it.” Michael looked almost proud. “Except for one thing . . .” Now Michael frowned and furrowed his brow. “Are you telling me you shot him twice without thinking?” He lifted the gun again. “We did some of that fancy new ballistics testing on this, and I’m told it’s got a stiff trigger.” He pointed it at the ceiling and pulled the trigger against an empty chamber. The click sounded like a cannon shot in the silence of the room. “You’d have to mean it if you did that twice.”

  Hadden stood, his chair screeching across the floor. “Are you suggesting my son shot that man in cold blood?”

  Creed looked at Michael swaying in his seat. He laid a steadying hand on the boy’s arm. Judge Kline narrowed his gaze at Michael. “Did you?”

  “I . . . I . . .” Sweat popped out on the boy’s forehead, and he lowered his gaze. “I guess I must have.”

  The judge laid the gun across his desk blotter and picked up a folder. “Now I’m going to share some actual truth with you all.” He flipped the cover open, settled a pair of reading glasses on his nose, and peered at the paper. “These are the results of those ballistics tests. Seems we recovered two bullets. One retrieved from the victim—that would be the fatal shot—and one dug from a tree by the sheriff there.” He looked over his glasses at Virgil. “Now here’s the interesting thing.” He let a pause swell and fill the room until Creed’s ears hurt from trying to listen. “Those slugs were the same caliber, but they came from different guns.”

  It was as if a whoosh of air had been released by the room itself. Creed’s mind scrambled to make sense of what the judge had said. Without planning to speak, he heard his own voice. “The one in the tree must have been a hunter’s. Maybe from deer season. Or spring gobbler.”

  Judge Kline nodded. “A fine supposition. Except for one thing. The bullet in the tree came from this gun.” He tapped the fancy pistol on the desk in front of him. “Which means the bullet that killed Eddie Minks did not.”

  This was better than reading The Count of Monte Cristo. Loyal held his breath. It was hard to keep up, but if he was following the story, it sounded like Michael couldn’t have killed that man. At least not with the gun he took from his father. And Otto was getting all his answers wrong. Even Loyal could tell that. So, who was the killer?

  Judge Kline turned his gaze on Loyal. “Alright, young man. Can you tell me exactly what you saw that day?”

  Loyal chewed his lip. He picked up the weighty pen and tilted the notepad just so. He thought carefully before he started writing.

  I saw Michael and Rebecca running along the path beside the river. Michael stopped and put something in a rotted stump. Then he told Rebecca to hurry. She saw me and I knew something bad had happened.

  The judge came closer and picked up the notepad, reading the words aloud. “How do you know Michael said to hurry?” Loyal pointed at his mouth and silently shaped the word several times. The gray-haired man nodded and turned to Rebecca. “Had something bad happened?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can you describe what happened for me?”

  Rebecca looked at Loyal, her big brown eyes wet and sad. She nodded. “That man was making fun of the way I talk, and Michael shot him.” She twined her fingers together one way and then the other. “It was really loud, and the man stumbled. He fell down, and I looked away because he was bleeding and I didn’t want to see it.”

  The judge waited, then said, “Alright. What happened next?”

  “Michael started running. At first I didn’t know if I should run or try to help the man.” A tear escaped the corner of her eye. “But I looked at him again and got so scared I ran, too.”

  “Did you see your brother hide something in a stump?”

  She nodded. “I didn’t know what it was until later, when he didn’t have the gun anymore.”

  “And did you see Loyal?”

  “Yes, sir. I knew him from church, but he goes to a school somewhere else.” A tiny smile curved her lips. “He’s been showing me how to talk with my hands.”

  The judge nodded with kind eyes, and Loyal realized he looked more like a grandpa than a judge. “That’s good. And you’ve done a fine job of telling me what happened that day.” Rebecca thanked him as a second tear streaked her cheek. The judge fished out a handkerchief and offered it to her. “Now, I want you to close your eyes for just a moment.” Loyal watched her eyelids flutter down, then focused on the judge’s mouth. “Think back to when you heard that loud gunshot and see if you can tell me whether you heard more than one.”

  Rebecca squeezed her eyes tight, drew a deep breath, and let it out. A moment later, her eyes flew open again. “I did . . . but the second shot wasn’t as loud.”

  “Like maybe it was farther away?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The judge clapped his hands and went back to his chair behind the big desk. “Right.” He turned to Virgil. “Sheriff, I’m going to need you to find me that other gun, not to mention the person who fired it.” He looked at Otto. “Son, unless you can produce a second weapon, I’m going to remain skeptical about your part in all of this.”

  Otto glanced from person to person around the table, finally resting his gaze on Hadden. Loyal thought the older man looked uneasy. “May I speak to Mr. Hadden alone?” Otto asked.

  “No. You may not. While I’m not sure about holding you on a murder charge, you have surely made a mockery of my court. And until I’m clear on what’s going on, I plan to keep you right here in Elkins.” The judge blew out a puff of air. “I’m halfway inclined to give Hadden a room as well, but Virgil and I are going to have a
private conversation before I decide about that.” He indicated a door to the side of the room and raised his eyebrows at the sheriff. Virgil stood, rubbed his bald head, and followed the judge into the other room.

  The remaining group sat almost motionless around the table. It seemed like no one wanted to look at anyone else. Michael stared at the table, a look of confusion on his face. Rebecca’s eyes darted from person to person, and Mr. Westfall sat as though it was all he could do to keep from standing and stomping from the room. Then Father reached out to grasp Loyal’s arm. A feeling of belonging washed through him. He and Father were in this together. And all would be well.

  But Otto sat alone. Loyal could see the fear and uncertainty in the young man’s face and posture. He was teetering on a rocky ledge not knowing whether he would fall or be pulled to safety. Loyal patted Father’s hand and stood to go and sit next to the German boy. He laid his own hand on Otto’s arm and hoped he could share even a little bit of the peace Father had just shared with him.

  twenty-six

  Durn if he was going to cry in front of this bunch. Creed fought to stay in control of his emotions. Michael hadn’t killed a man in cold blood. He couldn’t have. He was ashamed now that he’d ever believed the boy could have done it. Thank the Lord for Virgil’s newfangled ballistics. The judge wasn’t going to let Otto sacrifice himself. And his boy was wise enough to know Otto needed comfort. Of course, they all needed that. But until they knew who’d fired the second bullet, comfort was going to be hard to come by.

  After what felt like an hour but was probably only ten minutes, Judge Kline and Virgil came back into the room. They looked serious, and why wouldn’t they?

  Virgil turned to the judge, who gave a small nod. “Alright. Here’s what’s going to happen next. Otto and Hadden are going to enjoy the hospitality of the Randolph County Jail until we can narrow down who fired the killing shot.”

  Creed flinched as Hadden leapt to his feet, knocking his chair backward. “Are you arresting me?”

  Virgil frowned. “I’d rather you just agreed to stay over a few days until we can get this sorted out.” Hadden turned red, while Virgil narrowed his eyes. “But your cooperation can be enforced if need be. With the murder weapon missing, you make a mighty fine suspect.”

  Hadden sputtered until he got a handle on his emotions. “My attorney will have a few things to say about that.”

  “I imagine he will,” Virgil said. “I expect your talking to him would be right smart.”

  “What about my children?” Hadden waved a hand toward Michael and Rebecca. “Roberta doesn’t sleep in, and considering what’s been going on, I don’t think they should be alone at the house.”

  Virgil frowned. “I was about to get to that. They’ll stay at my offices in Thurmond. Bud and I will take turns watching over ’em.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Hadden’s face started going red again. “I’d just as soon send them back to Clyde Hacker as leave them with you.”

  “They can stay with us.” Everyone turned to look at Creed when he spoke. He cleared his throat. “Unless Virgil’s planning to lock me up too, they can come back to the house in town and I’ll keep them safe.” He laid a hand on Loyal’s arm again. “I’ll keep them all safe.”

  Virgil cocked his head toward Hadden. “That suit you?”

  Hadden threw his hands up in the air. “None of this suits me, but I suppose it’s better than your plan.” He eyed Creed. “If anything happens to my children . . .”

  Creed nodded. “I understand.” He tousled Loyal’s hair. “Feel the same way as a matter of fact.”

  Hadden sank back down into his chair, a dark look in his eyes. “You two planning to lock up everyone involved with this? You’d better fetch Earl Westin, then. Seems to me we have some evidence pointing his direction.”

  “I’ve already sent an officer to take him into custody,” Judge Kline said. “Virgil will be asking him some questions, as well.”

  Bud led Hadden and Otto to the jail while Virgil, Creed, and the kids crowded into the police car. The ride back to Beverly was quiet. Creed wanted to talk to Virgil but not in front of the kids. They’d heard enough for one day. Virgil, for his part, stared straight ahead through the windshield, both hands on the steering wheel. He took them straight to the white house with its picket fence and dropped them off. Creed leaned in through the passenger’s side window. “You want any help, you know where to find me.”

  Virgil spared him little more than a glance. “That I do. But might be I’ve stood all the help I can from you.”

  Stung, Creed stepped back as Virgil pulled away. He guessed he deserved that comment, but even so he hadn’t expected it from his friend.

  The kids were watching so he shook off the bad feeling and led them to the front door. He grasped the knob thinking about how he usually came in the back door. Glancing at the Westfall kids, he guessed it was good to give them the best possible first impression of his home.

  His home . . . But was it? His name was on the deed, but really it was Delphy’s home—and Loyal’s. He set his jaw and pulled the door open. Well, he sure enough wanted it to be his home and he was ready to do whatever it took to make that happen.

  It was early afternoon. As he stepped into the front room, he could smell beans simmering on the stove, as well as the furniture polish Delphy used to keep the end tables gleaming. The windows were open, and gauzy white curtains tugged at their rods as a breeze followed them inside. Then Delphy was there, wearing an apron, tendrils coming loose from whatever she’d done to keep her hair out of the way while she worked.

  She saw Loyal and gave a little cry, rushing forward to sweep him into her arms. The boy went gladly, and Creed smiled at the pair of them—his family. After burying her face in her son’s hair, Delphy finally let her eyes meet Creed’s. A tentative smile gave him hope.

  “Brought your boy back, along with these two,” he said, putting a hand on Rebecca’s and Michael’s shoulders as they stepped forward. “Their daddy is . . . uh, with Judge Kline up in Elkins, so these ones need a place to stay for a day or two.”

  Delphy, still holding on to Loyal, raised her eyebrows. Then she smiled at the children. “Do they now? Well, I’ve always enjoyed having company.” She released Loyal and gave Rebecca a smile. “Especially the company of another lady.” She poked Loyal. “All these boys leave me wanting for female companionship.”

  Rebecca beamed and settled against Delphy’s side. Creed guessed the girl might be missing the company of a woman—of a mother. Roberta Tompkins was a fine lady, but no one had ever accused her of being motherly.

  “Have you eaten?” Delphy asked the kids.

  “No, ma’am,” answered Michael. He lifted his chin a notch. “We hate to put you out, though.”

  “Not a bit of it,” she said. “Feeding young people is one of my favorite things to do.” She turned to Loyal, cupped her hand in front of her chest, and drew it down toward her belly. “Hungry?”

  Loyal nodded enthusiastically and imitated the sign several times. Creed laughed. “Guess that means he’s real hungry.”

  Delphy spared him a smile and led them all into the kitchen.

  After eating bowls of beans with corn bread, followed by thick slices of pound cake, Loyal took Michael and Rebecca into the yard beyond the garden. His parents had made it clear that they were not to leave the property but seemed to understand that the kids wanted a little freedom. Loyal grabbed a ball and his glove in case the others wanted to play catch. But as they wandered past the rows of corn and runner beans, the massive cedar drew them into its shade. They settled on the ground soft from years of pine needles falling.

  Loyal set his glove aside and rolled the baseball in his hands, eyes on the others to see what they might do. Michael leaned back against the tree trunk, and Loyal considered that he was probably going to get sap on his shirt but decided it was too hard to try to tell him.

  “I really thought I killed that man.”

>   Michael must have spoken the words softly because Rebecca leaned forward and spoke. “What did you say?”

  “If it wasn’t me that killed that man, who did?” Michael said. “And I did shoot him in the arm. Isn’t that almost as bad?” He drew one knee to his chest and wrapped his arms around it. “I mean, I could have killed him.”

  “But you didn’t,” said Rebecca.

  “Because of dumb luck.”

  Rebecca shrugged. “Still,” she said. “You didn’t want to kill him.” She bit her lip. “Right?”

  Michael hung his head, and Loyal missed what he said but could feel shame, frustration, and sorrow rolling off his friend. The older boy looked up. “And now that judge thinks Dad or maybe even Otto did it. Which I’m pretty sure they didn’t. If we could just figure out who did, maybe everything would be okay again.”

  Rebecca shifted closer to Loyal as though needing his support. “But were things really all that okay before?” She let one shoulder lift and then drop. “I mean, Father was hardly ever around, and you . . . well, you were different.” She twisted her fingers together. “I mean, you’ve been nicer since you decided to tell how you shot that man.”

  Michael’s mouth hung open and he blinked slowly. “I have?” He looked to Loyal as if for confirmation. Loyal scrunched his face and nodded. “I guess I was so scared somebody was going to find out, telling the truth was a relief.” Michael wore a look of surprise.

  “And now the sheriff isn’t even going to lock you up,” Rebecca said. “At least I don’t think he is.”

  Michael nodded slowly. “I guess he still might. It was surely wrong to shoot that man and I did lie about it for a long time.”

  “Maybe they’ll figure out who killed him and forget about you,” Rebecca suggested.

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  They sat for a long time not speaking or moving, until Loyal couldn’t stand it any longer. He tossed the ball into Michael’s lap. When the boy looked up in surprise, Loyal held up his mitt with a question in his eyes.