Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 124, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 757 & 758, September/October 2004

“Easy, bro. Remember me telling you about second chances. That came from the heart, mine.” He taps his chest and sweeps his fingers across the six-string. “That group I went to Chicago with last summer, the one I told you about, was from the university in Wisconsin where I was teaching. SAVE, Students Against a Violent Environment. Soon as we got out of jail they wanted to make a statement. Well, I met them one night and it turned out they wanted to blow up the ROTC building on campus.”

“I thought they were against violence.”

“One of the contradictions common to youthful idealism. So as I let them off on campus with their explosives, I was scared to death of what I’d gotten myself into. I was supposed to wait for them, but I took off and drove to this fishing cabin in Minnesota an old girlfriend’s family owns.”

“You just left them,” I think I say, trying to put the simplest of stories together.

“What else could I do? I hid out for a while, then, as a last resort, I called Aunt Hortense, and voila.”

Two and two didn’t add up to four, but I was in the ballpark. “Those times you were looking out doors and windows you were looking for your friends?”

“Or the feds or a bounty hunter. SAVE claimed credit for the bombing, and the authorities had files on all members of the group — including me. So now I’ve got to go. Once a picture of me and Notorious shows up in some newspaper, I’m history. Hell, I don’t even know who ran me and the Toadmobile off the road. Might have been my old friends in SAVE.”

“That’s a far-out chance,” I counter.

“Listen, I had a friend in the college who was hired by Hoover’s Heroes to do nothing but subscribe to out-of-town papers and clip anything out of the ordinary. Believe me, I know how the Establishment works.” He takes a long hit. “But I guess it doesn’t make much difference who finds me first, SAVE or the Man.”

“I was learning so much,” I protest. “Without your help, Doc, I can’t get high enough ACTs.”

“How many times have I told you that you’ve got to learn to do things on your own?”

I’m mad now, and the single toke is starting to wear off. I pick up Waverly by his tie-dyed T-shirt. “I won’t let you leave. I won’t.” Then I’m shaking him and crying. When I finish wiping my eyes dry, he’s gone.

Monday morning everybody sensed something was wrong as we sat in our first-period English class waiting for the newly christened Doc Virgo, who was never late. All of us took it as a bad sign when Whitley broke the anxious silence with the news that upon graduation the city had offered him the job of being custodian at the Clement County Public Cemetery.

Then Principal Pike walks in looking even graver than when he announced to us Miss Large was going on leave. “I... I don’t know how to tell you this,” he stammers, “but very early this morning Sheriff Bowles was called to Bend Road... you know, where the Palisades start to overlook the Kentucky River. Down below, he found what was left of the vehicle... I believe you call it the Toadmobile or such.”

At that moment Leah faints, her falling head striking the wooden desktop with a thud.

“I’m sorry,” Principal Pike adds as though as an afterthought.

School was called off Wednesday morning for the funeral that Hortense and the judge hastily put together. There was no visitation or anything at the Dezarn Funeral Home as Sheriff Bowles claimed the body was so mangled that even a closed casket would have been grotesque. Most of the town showed up, including those hypocritical members of WACK, who I was sure were silently thanking the powers that be that Doc Virgo was gone. Some of the class openly wept, some stood in disbelief, and others, I was sure, were relieved our hippie teacher no longer walked among us.

Yeah, Doc, it was a sad time for most of the senior class. In fact, that day was a lot like today — cold, overcast, and a little drizzle seeping through the heavy air. I see Whitley’s done a fine job keeping your marker looking nice. How do you like this marble frog on top here? Gift of the class of ’69. Looks like it’s poised for tomorrow’s ninth annual Jumpfrog Jubilee, not that any toad will ever break Notorious’s record.