A Graveyard for Lunatics

Click. Silence. Hummmmm.

I jiggled the receiver wildly, gasping.

?Roy?? said Shipway.

?His breathing.?

?Damn! You can?t tell breathing! Where from??

I banged the phone down and stood over it, eyes shut. Then I grabbed it again and tried to dial the wrong end of the mollusc. ?How does this damn thing work?? I yelled.

?Who you calling??

?A taxi.?

?To go where? I?ll take you!?

?Illinois, dammit, Green Town!?

?That?s two thousand miles away!?

?Then,? I said, dazed, putting the seashell down, ?we?d better get going.?

29

Tom Shipway dropped me at the studio.

I ran down through Green Town just after two. The whole town was freshly painted white, waiting for me to come knocking at doors or peering through lace-curtained windows. Flower pollen sifted on the wind as I turned up the sidewalk of my long-gone grandparents? home. Birds flew off the roof as I mounted the stairs.

Tears welled in my eyes as I knocked on the stained-glass front door.

There was a long silence. I realized that I had done the wrong thing. Boys, when they call boys to play, don?t knock on doors. I backed off down in the yard, found a small pebble, and threw it hard up against the side of the house.

Silence. The house stood quietly in the November sunlight.

?What?? I asked the high window. ?Really dead??

And then the front door opened. A shadow stood there, looking out.

?Is it!? I yelled. I stumbled across the porch as the screen door opened. I yelled again, ?Is it?? and fell into Elmo Crumley?s arms.

?Yeah,? he said, holding on. ?If it?s me you?re looking for.?

I made inarticulate sounds as he pulled me in and shut the door.

?Hey, take it easy.? He shook my elbows.

I could hardly see him through the steam on my glasses. ?What?re you doing here??

?You told me. Stroll around, look, then meet you here, right? No, you don?t remember. Christ, what in hell you got in this place that?s decent??

Crumley rummaged the fridge and brought me a peanut butter cookie and a glass of milk. I sat there, chewing and swallowing and saying, over and over, ?Thanks for coming.?

?Shut up,? said Crumley. ?I can see you?re a wreck. What in hell do we do next? Pretend everything?s okay. Nobody knows you saw Roy?s body, or what you thought was his body, right? What?s your schedule??

?I?m supposed to report in on a new project right now. I?ve been transferred. No more Beast film. I?m working with Fritz and Jesus.?

Crumley laughed. ?That?s what they ought to title the film. You want me to prowl some more like a damn tourist??

?Find him, Crumley. If I let myself really believe Roy was gone I?d go nuts! If Roy?s not dead, he?s hiding out, scared. You got to scare him even more, to get him out of hiding before he?s really damn well killed for good. Or, or?he?s really dead right now, so someone killed him, yes? He wouldn?t hang himself, ever. So his murderer is here, also. So find the murderer. The guy who destroyed the clay head of the Beast, smashed the red clay skull, then stumbled on Roy and hoisted him up to die. Either way, Crumley, find Roy before he?s killed. Or, if Roy?s dead, find his damned murderer.?

?That?s some helluva choice.?

?Try some autograph-collector agencies, yes? Maybe one of them would know Clarence, his last name, his address. Clarence. And then try the Brown Derby. That maitre d? won?t talk to guys like me. He must know who the Beast is. Between him and Clarence we can solve the murder, or the murder that might happen any minute!?

?At least these are leads.? Crumley lowered his voice, hoping to get me to lower mine.

?Look,? I said. ?This place is lived in since yesterday. There?s litter neither of us tossed when Roy and I worked here together.? I opened the miniature-fridge door. ?Candy bars. Who else would put chocolate in a fridge??

?You!? Crumley snorted.

I had to laugh. I shut the fridge door.

?Yeah, hell, me. But he said he?d hide out. Maybe, just maybe he did. Well??

?Okay.? Crumley stepped to the screen door. ?What do I look for??