Do Unto Others

“That Norwegian pen pal send her some pickled herring that stuck in her mouth?” Old Man Renfro shook his head. “I don’t like to repeat old gossip, especially if there’s no way to prove it. But I guess when you die by violence, you lose all privacy. Your life’s not the only thing your murderer steals from you.” His dark eyes met mine. “There was a rumor, long ago, that she got her religion on a trip to Mexico.”

“Mexico?” Candace said. “She wasn’t Catholic.” “No, she didn’t get any particular faith,” Old Man Renfro agreed. “But back then, young ladies could get… problems taken care of over the border they couldn’t always get taken care of here.” Gaston appeared utterly lost, but I swallowed. “You mean she’d gotten in trouble? An abortion?” Old Man Renfro nodded. “That was just the rumor that swept through town, but I don’t think anyone really believed it. My sister told me she’d heard it from a lady who cooked for one of the Harchers’ neighbors. Of course, Beta started going to church on pretty much a twenty-four-hour basis and I guess that rumor died, like most do.” I shook my head.

“I’m not going to go chasing thirty-year-old shadows on rumor.” Gaston scanned the list again. “Her shoes were real muddy?” “Caked with it,”

Candace answered. “Maybe her car broke down again,” Gaston offered helpfully. “What d’you mean?” I asked. “You working for Triple A now?”

Gaston sniffed. “Naw, I just saw her car last week, out on the dirt road that goes out to the east side of Bavary. Late last Wednesday night I was coming back from my D and D game-” “D and D?” Old Man Renfro asked, sounding as though he thought Gaston was engaging in kinky hobbies with Bavary housewives. “Dungeons and Dragons,” Gaston explained with a sigh. “It’s this really cool game where you pretend to be a fantasy character and you have adventures-” “Thank you, Gaston, but you said you saw her car?” I wasn’t in the mood to hear about Gaston’s latest escapades as a slayer of dragons and saver of virgins. “Oh, well, yeah. See, I wasn’t really concentrating on the road because I was mad I hadn’t killed the Black Druid with my enchanted broadsword when I could’ve and I was wondering if I’d have a second chance next week-” “Gaston,” I interrupted again. “I’m sure Tolkien fans will be in a mad dash to buy your adventure when you get it all written down, but where did you see Beta’s car late at night?”

He looked hurt behind those thick lenses and I felt bad. I squeezed his bony shoulder. “Sorry,” I said, “I’m just a little jumpy.” “As I was saying,” Gaston began with great dignity, “I was concentrating on my poor strategy in the game. I nearly ran her car down. She was barely parked on the shoulder. I knew it was her car ’cause it had all those Jesus bumper stickers on it.” I nodded. Beta had driven an old Ford Tempo with enough religious bumper stickers on it to look like a scout car for a Billy Graham revival. “Anyhow, I stopped, because I thought her car must’ve broken down and it was awful late-around eleven. I got out, but she wasn’t in the car. I called out her name, but there wasn’t any answer. I figured someone else had picked her up and she hadn’t come back for the car yet.” “Where on the road was this?” I asked. “Not too far out of town,” he shrugged. “Maybe a couple of miles, no more. Near the Blalock farm.” “Isn’t that interesting?” I said to Candace. “I was sort of glad she’d gotten picked up,” Gaston continued. “She didn’t like me.” “Well, Gaston, you did speak out very eloquently against censorship when she tried to-” I started, but Gaston shook his head. Fortunately no grease flew off.