after it was ransacked. He told his father that Tim had been acting strangely the past few weeks at school; not talking to anybody, reading more weird books than was usual for him, and hanging out with George Ulrich and Al Romero, with the latter known for being a social outcast and a real weirdo. He also told him about Chelsea Brewer, how Tim had been hanging out with her lately, and he revealed some of her backstory to him: her penchant for gothic clothing and music, how she’d withdrawn from school briefly in the tenth grade and admitted to a hospital for self-mutilation. His father had visibly reacted to that, raising his eyebrows in a gesture that told Scott his father did not approve of such actions. Scott wrapped it up by telling his father about running into Tim and his friends at Susan’s party the other night and how Tim had made a cryptic statement to him. “He told us to be ready, that something was coming,” Scott said, the lie flowing effortlessly. “Then he kinda chuckled and left with his friends.”
Tom Bradfield took a sip of his coffee. He was a lean, handsome man, in his mid-fifties with short brown hair that held only a hint of gray. He’d arrived home from a business trip late last night and was already up bright and early, the
“It will be if his parents get another hair up their ass and make noise again.”
“On what grounds?” Tom raised his coffee cup to his lips, his eyes daring.
“He’s told me more than once that he’s going to get even with me for what happened when we were in sixth grade,” Scott said, making up the lie as it came to him. “He’s had it in for me ever since. You know it, too. I just don’t want the cops to come around here. I know that took a lot out of you and Mom last time. I don’t want it to happen again.”
Tom appeared to consider this. He kept his gaze on Scott as he thought about it, sipping his coffee. Scott held his old man’s gaze; he could tell his father was trying to see if he was telling him the truth. Scott had deliberately lied about a few things to set a precedent; he’d established a few tell-tale signs that indicated he was lying about something and every time it happened, Dad caught him. Not this time, though. Dad was buying this story entirely.
“So what do you think we should do about it?” Tom Bradfield asked.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Scott said. “I was at Rebecca’s all night. I was also with Rebecca the night the Reamstown Cemetery was broken into.”
Tom Bradfield nodded and sipped his coffee casually. “That’s true. I can’t see how Tim could frame you for something like that. And you’re sure someone can vouch for you? Were there witnesses who can say they saw you?”
“We were at the movies the night the cemetery was broken into. I still have the receipts. After the movie was over, we went to Ruby Tuesday’s, then we went to her place. Her mom was home and we hung out with her all night. As for last night.” Scott shrugged. “We hung out with her mom until midnight, then she went to bed. Rebecca and I sat up and hung out in her room and I fell asleep.”
“I see.” Tom Bradfield took another sip of his coffee, his gaze not leaving his son. If he disapproved of Scott sleeping over at Rebecca’s last night, he didn’t show it.
“Anyway, I just have a feeling Tim’s parents are going to get the police involved again and I wanted to let you know.”
“Well, now I know.” Tom nodded at Scott. “Don’t worry about it. If they come around, I’ll talk to them.”
Scott smiled good-naturedly. “Thanks, Dad.” He left the kitchen, letting his faux relief shine through as he exited the kitchen.
He did not see his dad’s features change as he left the room. It was subtle, and if you did not know the elder Bradfield it would not be noticeable.
Tom Bradfield’s easy-going disposition had turned into a frown of suspicion.
Scott had just finished getting dressed after taking a quick shower when the doorbell rang.
He made as if he was casually going downstairs. He didn’t want to make it known to his dad that he was hanging around the house to see if the police showed up, so he’d darted upstairs to shower, being careful to be as leisurely and casual about it as possible. The more he could stick to his normal schedule, the better. Mom was in the master bathroom getting showered and dressed for the day, and Dad would no doubt be getting ready for meeting up with his golf buddies. Mom would probably go to the Country Club for whatever it was she did on Saturday. That left Scott with some time to get rid of the zombies.
He’d placed a quick call to Dave and Steve before he took his shower. “Get over here by ten,” he’d told them. “When my parents are gone, we’re getting those fucking zombies out of the guesthouse and getting rid of them.” Dave and Steve were already hip to it, having been tipped off last night by Gordon. They were only too eager to lend a hand.
Scott descended the last few steps quietly.
Dad was talking to somebody at the front door. He didn’t sound too pleased.
Scott hung back near the stairs trying to listen. From where he was standing, whoever was on the porch wouldn’t be able to see him, but Scott could hear them perfectly. They sounded like cops.
“…just like to have a word or two with your son about it.”
“I’m afraid not,” Dad said. “If you wish to speak to my son, it will be through our lawyer.”
“He isn’t a suspect, Mr. Bradfield. We just want to talk to him about a missing classmate of his. Can we please speak to him?”
“Tell you what? How about we schedule a meeting? You can question Scott in the presence of our lawyer. You can come here, or we can do it in my lawyer’s office. Whichever you prefer.”
“Can we come in and talk with you, then?”
“You’re talking with me now.” Even though Dad’s back was to Scott, he could tell Dad was putting on that smiley face that seemed to say,
There was a short pause. Then: “Give us a call then, Mr. Bradfield. We’ll schedule something.”
Scott watched as Dad took a business card one of the detectives handed over. Then the detectives retreated off the porch and down the driveway.
Dad stayed at the front door the whole time. Watching them leave.
When Dad closed the door and turned around, Scott was still standing at the bottom of the staircase. Dad gave no indication that he was surprised to see Scott standing there. “That was easy. We’re going to have to get them off your back, though.”
“Are we going to set up a meeting with Leon?” Leon Hagar was the Bradfield family attorney.
“Yes. Probably for sometime in the next few days.” Dad fished into his pockets and extracted his keys, which he tossed to Scott. “Do me a favor. Wait until those clowns are gone and then take the Corvette down to Landis Wash and have them do a hand wash.”
“Sure thing, Dad!” Scott grinned. Driving the Corvette was always a treat, one he hardly ever got to partake in. “I’ll leave in a few minutes.” He dashed back up the stairs to his room.
Once again, he didn’t see his father’s features change as he left his presence. That look of concern had grown stronger.
The moment the Corvette was out of sight Tom Bradfield got up from his favorite chair in the living room, crossed over to where he left his sandals, put them on, and headed to the kitchen. Carol had left fifteen minutes ago for the Country Club. She belonged to some social group, probably some kind of club for rich Country Club women, and the group held their monthly meetings in one of the conference rooms at the Bent Creek Country club. Tom had almost bought a house in the area, which was an exclusive, gated community, but he’d decided against it. He liked it where he was just fine.
Being in his development, which was close to the edge of Zuck’s Woods, was exactly where he wanted to be.
It had been easy to get Scott to take the ‘Vette out for a wash. Scott loved that car, and Tom had almost bought him one a few months ago, but Carol talked him out of it. She said they were giving their son too much. She was right, of course. Despite Scott’s involvement in extra-curricular activities at school, and his seamless academic and sports record, he and Carol did not require Scott to work a part-time job. They gave him a weekly allowance of
