by Helen Gray
Mavis was still extolling the helpfulness of Delia when Toni’s mother returned. “Okay, let’s take you to your room and look you over,” Faye said, gripping the handles of the wheelchair and turning it around.
When her mother dropped her off at home, Toni was tired, what seemed a perpetual state for her these days. But she didn’t regret going to see Mavis. Kyle had taken the boys to the airport with him, having told them last night that they could help him clean up debris strewn on the grounds by the heavy winds they had been experiencing all week.
She wolfed down a quick sandwich, put a roast in the crockpot for supper, and headed to the airport. The drive across town was short. Clearmount boasted only about three thousand residents and one traffic light.
Inside the airport, she glanced at the twenty or so parked aircraft that included Kyle’s Cessna 208 and pulled into the small staff parking lot. He hoped to add a King Air or a Boeing Business Jet in the next year or so.
Toni unlocked Kyle’s office with her key and entered. She rounded the desk, stowed her purse in a drawer, and set to work. She was digging out financial records when Gabe came through the doorway, his cheeks rosy from the cold.
“Hi, Mom. We’ve been helping Dad shovel snow off the runway. He says we’ll go home pretty soon and he’ll take us sledding.”
Toni smiled. “Tell him I’ll be there a little later. I still have quite a bit of work to do here. Have him check on my roast.”
“I’ll tell him.” He grabbed a pair of ear muffs from a chair where he had apparently left them, turned, and went back outside.
By the time she arrived home, Toni wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep. She thought longingly of retirement.
She squared her shoulders and proceeded with meal preparation. “Summer break can’t get here soon enough,” she muttered as she worked.
After supper that evening Toni had just finished tidying the kitchen and was preparing to settle in the living room with Kyle when she heard a vehicle pull up outside. She went to the door and peered out—and was surprised to see Dack Murphy, Jeremy Barnes, and Quint Lakowski, more commonly known as Q, emerging from Dack's car.
Former students, the three boys had discovered a skull during an outdoor classroom activity in their senior year and been instrumental in figuring out the identity of the murder victim—and who killed him. After graduation, the three pals had entered college and formed a fledgling detective business. They were now sophomores.
Before they could ring the bell, Toni swung the door open. "What are you guys doing out this way on such a cold night? Get in here before you freeze."
"We just want to chat with you a little bit and show you something," Dack said, stepping through the doorway. About five foot nine, sandy haired and stocky, he was the trio's self-proclaimed, and accepted, leader. The folded newspaper he held in his hand looked like a copy of Poplar Bluff's Daily American Republic.
Jeremy Barnes, tall and skinny with dark brown hair, was the computer techie. He grinned as he entered behind Dack. "Good to see you, Mrs. Donovan."
Quint Lakowskie, a strawberry blond of average height and weight, smiled and entered without verbalization—his usual stingy-with-words manner.
Kyle stood to greet them as they trooped from the foyer into the living room. "Have a seat wherever you can find one," he invited in a welcoming tone, knowing they had been special to Toni.
Gabe and Garrett came from their room. Once they had greeted the trio and satisfied their curiosity, they returned to their own space.
When everyone was seated about the room, Toni looked to Dack for information. "What's on your minds?"
He stood, handed her the newspaper, and returned to the sofa. "Beth is working part-time at the newspaper office. I have a class with her, and she was telling me about being sent with their veteran reporter to do a story on those Brownville killings. She was excited about it, especially since it made front page."
Beth Price, a petite, dark haired girl one year younger than the boys, was now also attending college in Poplar Bluff. Toni knew that, but she had not realized her former science club busy bee had been hired at the newspaper.
She opened that day’s issue. It was a two-column, four-inch story with a large picture of the crime area. The male victim's car could be seen at a distance, but little else. A second, smaller photo depicted spectators gathered in a backdrop of stark, leafless trees. Snow covered the ground in both shots.
"Read it," Dack encouraged.
Toni read quickly. The reporter named the murdered youths and stated that the bodies had been found by the city park caretaker while making his rounds. Near the end of the article, it was mentioned that an onlooker had reported seeing the male victim and another male student fighting near the pawn shop. Toni looked up when she finished reading. "Do you guys have any idea who that reporter was referring to as fighting with Brant?"
Dack nodded toward Quint. "We were wondering about it, and Q remembered that the owner of the Brownville pawn shop has a boy in high school. His name is Todd Wilkins. We don't know him personally."
They knew the student body, and a high percentage of the local residents, here in Clearmount. They also knew people in neighboring towns, but only those who were related to them, or who had become familiar to them at school and community events.
"I bet the police warned the reporter to not print that boy's name and put suspicion on him," Jeremy theorized. "Of course some people will figure it out like we did."
“The victim’s car was a sweet one," Q spoke up unexpectedly. "It was a 2015 Mustang GT with a V8 motor, black with shiny silver chrome."
After another ten minutes of visiting, Dack got to his feet. "I don't know about you two, but I need to get to McDonald's before it closes."
Toni thanked them for coming and accompanied them to the door. As she watched them drive away, she recalled the shooting incident in the school parking lot Thursday night. Could Brant, the victim, have been at odds with those punks?
Far too many crimes involved teenagers. Crime was higher in the late teens to early twenties because of peer pressure. Too much unsupervised time with peers, parental criminality, low family income, troubled home life, drug or alcohol use, and poor educational achievement were among causes of teenage crime.
What was behind this deadly incident?
It wasn’t her place to find answers, but she couldn’t prevent the whirring of her brain.
*
Sunday morning Toni and her family occupied their usual pew at church. As the pastor spoke, a thread of guilt worked its way through her. She and Kyle had agreed months ago that they would find ways to spend more time together and less in frantic busyness. They had been successful for a time, but starting his—their—own business had caused a relapse. Neither of them had realized how totally absorbing and wearing the venture would be.
It’s worth it, she reminded herself silently.
“The Bible says we’re not to seek self glory, provoke one another, or envy one another.”
The pastor’s words jolted Toni back to the service. She tried to keep her focus on the sermon, but after the sharp stab of guilt brought on by that statement, her mind drifted once again to the two girls who weighed on it—and the cause of their grief.
When the service ended, they traipsed to the van, and Kyle drove them to the Zinger Restaurant for lunch.
“I need a nap,” Toni declared as the van rolled into the driveway at home about one-thirty. “And I think you guys could use one, too.”
The boys didn’t look happy about the idea, and she knew they would probably lie awake and talk and then play a video game, but they didn’t argue. Kyle just nodded. “Sounds heavenly.”
An hour later Toni woke to the sound of Garrett’s beginner saxophone playing—rather, wailing and shrieking. She covered her ears with her hands and moaned.
Beside her Kyle chuckled. “Be thankful for the one hour of quiet.”
She heaved a sigh of defeat.
“I am. But I wish it had been two,” she added moments later.
His arms came around her. “You encouraged them to join the band. Remember?”
“Uh, huh,” she said into his chest. Then she scooted away and crawled out of bed. “There won’t be any more sleeping, so I may as well have a soda and grade some papers.”
He swung his legs sideways and sat up also. “I need to check the oil in my truck.”
Toni got a soda from the fridge and began her paperwork, but she couldn't keep her mind on business. It persisted in straying to Zoe and Melody's grief-ridden faces, and then to the newspaper article the boys had brought her the evening before.
Curiosity soon got the best of her. She put the papers away and looked over at Kyle, who was back inside and watching her from his recliner. "Restless?" he asked knowingly.
She shrugged. "Yeah."
"So what are you going to do about it?"
"I can't stop thinking about the caretaker who found those bodies."
"The police have questioned him. What would talking to the guy prove?"
"I don't know."
He sighed in resignation. "But you want to do it anyhow. Go on. The boys and I are fine."
She crossed the room and dropped a kiss on his forehead, and then headed for the foyer closet. It only took a moment to shimmy into her coat and head to the van. A half hour later she was exiting the highway into Brownville.
The paper had named Eli Yokum as the park caretaker. Guessing the man was well known, and probably lived near the park, Toni pulled in at the local mini mart and went inside.
"Hi," she greeted the clerk on duty behind the counter. "I'm looking for Eli Yokum about some work I may need done. Can you tell me how to find him? I had directions, but I lost them."
The gaunt looking woman perked up a bit at the name. "Sure, Honey. He lives down by the park, at the corner of A and M Streets. You can't miss it. It's the house with the big Smokey the Bear poster on the front porch."
"Thanks."
Toni returned to the lane and found the house within five minutes. She grinned at Smokey the Bear’s image as she started up the sidewalk, but stopped when a short, skinny man in dirty overalls came around the corner of the house. Carrying an axe, his heavy blue coat and work boots made him resemble a miniature Paul Bunyan. He came to a halt.
"I don't think I know you," he said, as if he should know everyone who crossed his path. The movement of his lips revealed broken, uneven teeth.
She grinned. "I'm Toni Donovan from Clearmount. Now you know me."
He chuckled and eyed her in detail, his face crinkled in thought. Then he raised a finger and wagged it at her. "I also know about you," he said with a friendly smirk. "I read the papers. You've been talked about around town, too."
"Can't get away with anything when we live in a small town, can we?"
"Nope." He frowned. "You helped solve some murder cases over your way. But I don't see what interest you could have in the case over here."
Toni's smile dimmed. "A couple of my students are devastated at the loss of their close friend, Shelby."
Enlightenment—and sadness—spread over his face. "I used to see little Shelby around town and at the park with three other girls. Their names were Fiona, Zoe, and Melody. Fiona still lives here, so it must be the other two."
"Very good."
"So what questions do you have for me?"
His agreeableness was a pleasant surprise.
"I understand you found the victims."
He nodded, his eyes darkening. "It wasn't a nice experience, but I've told the police all about it."
"Would you mind telling me? I'm interested in any details you can share. And I promise it's for my own benefit, not for gossip."
He shrugged. "You're a teacher of them girls, and you have some experience at this sort of thing, so I'll tell you. But I don't see how it'll help."
"I understand that you were making rounds in the park. What does that entail?"
“Would you like to go inside where it’s warm?”
She perched on the second porch step, her feet on the bottom one, not planning to be there long. “No, this is fine.”
He took a seat a ways from her on the same wide step and propped his axe against the railing beside him. "I work a lot during the spring and summer, but I just keep an eye on things during the winter. That morning, as usual, I had checked the locks on the shed and the pipes in the cook shack. When I went back outside to check the playground equipment, I noticed the nice looking Mustang parked over near some trees with no one in it—or so I thought. But I decided to see if any keys had been left in it or the doors unlocked. When I got closer, I saw the driver window was about halfway down. Then I saw them two kids slumped in the seat and not moving. I called the police immediately." A muscle twitched in his cheek.
“What time was that?”
He glanced around, his face crinkled in thought. “It was about seven-thirty. I usually drive around the area each morning, but I had an appointment at the hospital in St. Louis the middle of the week. Me and the wife spent two nights with our son who lives up there, and just got home late Thursday, so it was Friday morning before I made any rounds.”
“Did you notice any tire tracks or footprints?”
“I was so shocked that I couldn’t think of anything but them kids in that car. And it was just turning daylight, so I didn’t notice much detail.”
“So you have no idea how long the car had been there?”
He grimaced. “We left home Tuesday morning, so it could have been there since Monday night for all I know.”
“Was the car familiar to you?”
His head bobbed. “Oh, sure. I saw it around regular.”
“Did you know who drove it?”
He nodded. “I’d seen that boy around. I don’t see many people around here that I don’t recognize, since I’ve lived here all my life. This kid wasn’t someone I knew, so I asked around about him and found out he lived in Poplar Bluff and drove to school up here. Because he was cruising around so much, I kept my eye on him. He was hardly ever alone, always had a girl with him.”
“Before you called the police, did you notice anything out of order?"
He pressed his lips together, his head moving back and forth. "No, the building doors were locked like they were supposed to be, and the pipes were in good shape. The playground equipment hadn't been damaged, even though vandalism happens now and then. I picked up a dab of trash outside. People throw stuff out their car windows, and animals leave their ...leavings around. I picked up a whiskey bottle, a couple of soda cups and straws, and a paper target, and threw them all in the trash."
"You mean one of those cardboard targets like people use at the shooting range?"
"Yeah, it was one of them. It had a few holes in it, so it weren't good for nuthin’."
Toni didn't know what more to ask. "Thank you, Mr. Yokum. It's been nice talking to you."
Chapter 3
That evening Toni made a pot of chili. After the meal everyone settled in the living room. Toni and Kyle claimed their usual positions in their recliners, while Garrett stretched out on the sofa between them. Gabe grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned on the television. When a news program came on the screen, he started to change the channel, but then hesitated. “Hey, they’re talking about those Brownville kids who were killed,” he announced without turning around. He backed up and edged down onto the edge of the sofa next to Garrett.
The two photos that flashed onto the screen made Toni’s gut wrench. They were just teenagers, a girl and a boy. Everyone listened in somber silence as the news anchor went over the gruesome facts and asked that anyone who knew anything that might help the police identify the killer of the two teens please contact them.
When the report ended, Gabe stood and turned a solemn face toward Kyle and Toni. “I have to write a report for Contemporary Issues, and we get to choose our topic. It has to be about something that impacts
our society in a serious way.”
Toni exchanged a knowing glance with Kyle. Gabe liked facts and figures. He wanted to know why and how things happened—and loved to share his findings.
“When I heard about those high school kids being killed, I started reading all I could find about it,” he continued in his serious way. “I found out some interesting things. Did you know that murder is the second highest cause of death among American teenagers?”
“What’s the highest?” Garrett asked, his interest caught.
“Car accidents,” Gabe informed his little brother with a sad shake of his head. Then he picked up the notebook he had left on the coffee table earlier. He flipped to a page. “Ten times more teens are murdered here than in Western Europe and seventy times as many as in Japan.”
“Wow!” Garrett breathed, impressed.
“Seventy-five percent of the murderers know their victim,” he continued reading, pleased at having a captive audience. “Twenty-seven percent are family members, and forty-eight percent are friends or acquaintances.”
“It’s time for baths and bed,” Toni reminded them, ending the subject.
“I need to do some more research for my paper,” Gabe said, facing her.
“I tell you what,” she said. “I have a professional development meeting after school Monday. We’ll see if you can work in the high school library while I attend it.”
*
Monday morning during her free class period Toni called Buck, unable to banish the pictures and possibilities chasing through her mind.
“Yeah, what do you want?” he answered, sounded distracted.
She cut to the chase. “Do you think those guys with a gun in the parking lot Thursday night could have killed those Brownville kids?”
It was several moments before he responded, and when he did he sounded brusque. “Toni, I don’t know anything for sure right now. I’m wondering the same thing, but we haven’t caught up with them yet."
