7
A few people who had heard about the killing came into the shop, and at least one of them was nothing more than a morbid curiosity seeker. He didn’t even try to pretend he had business there, he just wanted to know about last night. I told him all I felt like telling him, then went to the bathroom in the back and stayed there until James and Valerie got rid of him.
Rest of the day I worked on frames by myself and had James and Valerie stay up front. There wasn’t that much work for them up there, and I really could have used one of them on the frames, but I wanted to be left alone and I wanted to stay away from bullshit conversation. Talk about the weather and the Dallas Cowboys wasn’t going to cut it today. It would only remind me I was putting up a veneer against the real concerns, and that would be worse.
About four-thirty, I was working on a limited-edition print, putting 100 percent rag matt around it, when the phone rang. James answered and said it was for me.
It was Price.
“There may be a problem,” he said.
“What kind of problem?”
“Ben Russel. Freddy’s father. He got out of Huntsville yesterday. He knows his son is dead, knows he was killed in a burglary, and word is he’s coming to the funeral. He could be dangerous. Don’t go to the funeral.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Stay away from Ben Russel, Mr. Dane. He’s dangerous. You being at his son’s funeral would just make matters worse. You stay home and maybe he’ll just let things be and move on. He probably doesn’t care one way or a another about the boy. His type is vengeful. Just looking for an excuse.”
“Thanks for the advice, Price.”
“Heed it, Dane. Trust me on this.”
I hung up and went back to my matting. I backed the print and got a piece of no-glare glass for it, but found I couldn’t make it fit the frame. My hands didn’t work right.
I had James finish it. I drank a cup of coffee I didn’t need, then went to the bathroom to think. I tried to picture Ben Russel and imagined him long and lean with a crew cut and a scar on the side of his face. I figured he had a gravelly voice and was the kind of guy that had killed a fellow inmate in prison with a spoon he had sharpened in metal shop. I could imagine the warden talking to him when they let him out, telling him, “Go straight, Russel,” And I could imagine Russel thinking, “Yeah, soon as I finish a little job in LaBorde.”
I washed my face and went home early.
8
Ann picks Jordan up from day school every day when she gets off work, so when I got home he was sitting at the table eating a bologna sandwich. Mayonnaise was dripping out of it and there was a circle of the stuff thick as mad dog foam around his mouth. The mayonnaise jar and the table were covered with it too.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Hi, son.”
I looked at the table and the spoon and the jar and went over and got a paper towel and cleaned up best I could. I made a point of not saying anything to him about the mess. Usually I jumped him. But I was trying to put things in better perspective this day, and suddenly the mess seemed a lot less major than it might have the day before. And for that matter, who was I to cast the first stone. I wasn’t that neat and organized now, and I was thirty-five.
I saw that Ted and his boys were in the living room, painting away. They had the floor covered in plastic sheets, but there was very little splashed on it. They had their backs to me, and as I had come in through the garage, they hadn’t noticed me yet. I watched them work a minute, then looked at my watch. Six o’clock. That was one good thing about hiring a man who worked for himself. He worked until the job got done, not until five o’clock. Besides, a painter had to take work where he could find it. They didn’t get the offer on a daily basis.
I kissed Jordan on the head and he told me a story his teacher had read the class that day. It was about Clifford the Big Red Dog. He liked the story a lot. He retold it loudly and with lots of gestures. During this time Ted and his sons turned to look and I gave them a nod. When Jordan finished his story, I poured him a fresh glass of milk to spill, and went into the living room for a full view of the work.
They looked to be about finished. The room was strong with the smell of paint, a smell I normally despised, but today it seemed fresh as a spring morning. And the old couch was gone. The new one was in the center of the room covered with a plastic sheet as I had instructed.
Ted wiped his hands on a rag he had in his back pocket and came over. “I’d shake,” he said, “but I might get some paint on you. We’ll b e out of your hair in about an hour or so. If you can keep your boy off the wall, it’ll look better than new soon as it’s completely dry.”
“I’ll do my best,” I said.
“Locksmith came by. He put the bill in the kitchen.”
“I didn’t see it,” I said.
“It’s stuck to your refrigerator with one of those fruit magnets. I looked. He overcharged you. He said he’d be back tomorrow to try and finish. And, you can see the couch came.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re all right, I suppose?”
“Sure.”
“Well, get so you think you aren’t, give me a call. Hell, remember how we used to talk about things in high school? I’m still here. We ought to just get together for a beer anyway. It’s been a long time.”
“You’re right, it has.”
Ted went back to work and I went over to the door to look at the lock. It was pretty serious looking. Good. And there was a sliding grillwork that could be pulled across the glass at night and locked in place, just in case a rhino charged you. I didn’t know if I felt secure or stupid. The only thing I knew for certain was I wasn’t going to mention Ben Russel to Ann, least not now.
I got the portable television out of the storage closet in the kitchen, put it on the drainboard and plugged it in. I tuned in Bugs Bunny and left Jordan watching that and drinking the milk he hadn’t spilled yet.
I found Ann in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to me. Her elbows were on her knees and her hands were supporting her head as if it had grown too heavy. I closed the door and sat down beside her.
“I hate the couch,” she said.
“Sorry. I can take it back.”
“You should have asked me what I wanted. Don’t we always do that? We want something, we make up our minds together. Right?”
“I just wanted the other one out of the house.”
“You could have waited on a new one until I could look with you.”
“I’m not thinking clearly.”
“It wasn’t very considerate of you.”
“I’ll have them take it back. Could we talk about something besides the couch?”
“I just don’t like it, that’s all.”
“You talk to the police?” I asked.
“You’re changing the subject, but yes, I talked to them. Lieutenant Price was very nice. It went quickly.”
“Want to go out to dinner?”
“Jordan made himself a sandwich.”
“I thought maybe Dorothy could keep him. She owes us a babysitting , doesn’t she? What say just you and I go? Mexican food maybe.”
