Part 9 (2/2)
”Yes. Thirty-nine.”
”Seems a mite excessive. I just guess my father was a tad eccentric, too.”
”What was it? Why did he seal it up? Please?”
You hadn't meant for that last word to have such a pleading quality to it; there was an unmistakable tenor of begging to your tone. But, much to your surprise, it seems to have an effect on Hewitt Dunmore. The moment he starts to speak, you realize he is about to say more than he has the whole time you have been with him in this overheated kitchen. He is finally going to tell you a story.
”It was a coal chute. But hasn't been that in years. The way my father explained it, Mother had gotten a little paranoid. Start of her Alzheimer's, maybe. She was afraid of someone sneaking in through the chute. You know, they'd climb through the latticework under the porch, and the next thing you know, they're inside the house. So, as I understand it, my father put a wooden beam across the door and thought, That was that. Didn't do at all, not in my mother's eyes. Mother wanted more. Now, usually my father was very good with her when she got like that. Even before the Alzheimer's, she could be a bit difficult. And she was always like a dog with a bone. Always. Just wouldn't let something go. So, you might say that my father was making a statement with a wall of two-by-fours and all those carriage bolts. Weren't no intruder going to get into the house that way, thank you very much.” When he is done, he shakes his head and grins. Then: ”Thirty-nine, eh?”
”Yes.”
”Guess Father didn't have a lot to do that day.” He gives you a small smile.
”Tell me, is that how your mother pa.s.sed away? Alzheimer's?”
”Ayup.”
”I'm sorry.”
He pulls his hands from his lap and, elbows at his sides, raises his hands, palms up-a universal gesture for resignation. Then he folds his arms across his chest.
”I think, in her paranoia, she left behind some other things,” you continue.
”Wouldn't surprise me.”
”She seemed to have hidden things.”
”That would be Mother. 'Specially toward the end.”
”We found a knife under a heating grate. A very sharp carving knife.”
He shakes his head. ”Oh, I am sorry about that. You have small children, as I recall.”
”We do.”
”They weren't hurt, were they?”
”No. Emily-my wife-found it.”
”I heard after the closing that your girls are twins. My lawyer told me. I didn't know that.”
”Yes. Fraternal. Not identical.”
”I was a twin.”
”I know.”
He sighs. He seems about to say something more but manages to restrain himself.
”There's more,” you tell him finally. ”More things.”
”Go on.”
”One of my girls came across a disposable cigarette lighter in the house.”
”A lighter? Huh. Well, I doubt that was Mother. A workman, maybe.”
”And there was a crowbar and an ax.”
”Hidden, I suppose.”
”Yes.”
”Well, I would guess we can pin those items on Mother and on her Alzheimer's. She musta been mighty scared.”
”Was she afraid of anyone in particular?”
”Just burglars,” he answers simply, though he draws the word out into three syllables: bur-ga-lers.
”Burglars.”
”Ayup.”
”So she hid weapons so she could defend herself.”
”So it seems.”
”Did your father know?”
”About the weapons? Doubt it. He wouldn't have stood for it. Would have put those sorts of items away where they belonged.”
You consider whether to tell him about the bones. But you pause because you haven't even mentioned them to Emily. And you're not sure who Hewitt would tell. But you don't know when you will have an opportunity like this again. ”I broke the door down,” you begin, but then you catch yourself. ”Well, I took the door down.”
”The bas.e.m.e.nt door with all them carriage bolts.”
”Yes. I took it down, and I found bones in there. In the dirt.”
He sits forward, alert for the first time. ”From what sort of animal?”
”Human.”
”Unlikely.”
”Some I am sure are digits from fingers. One is clearly a human arm.”
”And you are sure of this because you went to medical school when you weren't flying airplanes?”
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