My brother was here" were the first angry words out of Dennis's mouth as Mark neared the Improper's entrance.
He was more than half-drunk, maybe a dangerous state of mind to be in this town where people occasionally disappear (most likely courtesy of the civic minded locals).
"You have a few drinks today?"
"The excop likes asking cop questions. Yeah, I'm a little drunk. I had seven or eight beers. I'm all drunked up yeah well that's too bad. Let me tell you another thing: I was a little drunk when I took a walk through town a few hours ago. That asshole who, runs the variety store in slipped a few questions as to my 'business' in town. Anyway that ancient-looking prick starts with the 'how's it going routine' with some kind of tucked up sounding German accent. 'How's it going?" he asked, his voice dripping with suspicion. Tilting his head like this," he said tilting his head. Like the way an old lady does when she wants you to know she's not going to believe a word you say. I tell him things are going fine... "
"Grenden," Mark said interrupting, "the old guy's name's Grenden. I know who he is. He was Beck County's sheriff for forty years or so. Good friend of my uncle's. I've always thought he was an asshole. Authoritarian type."
"Ie., KKK type."
"Quite frankly I think him and my uncle both were capable of killing or otherwise making people disappear ..."
"So this Grenden character starts asking me what I did for a living; I proudly told him I worked for you and he tried lightening up his attitude but I saw him trembling...
"Could be Parkinson's... ol Grenden's hands were starting to shake when I was up here in the 80s."
"I figured I'd try taking advantage of Grenden's good nature and ask him a question or two; I pulled my brother's picture from my wallet and I ask him if he'd ever seen Ray. The guy said no and that's all I needed to know that he was a liar. Ray was-- is-- a newspaper freak and I know goddamned well he would've bought papers and lottery numbers almost every goddamned day. Starts giving me answers like: 'Hard to tell with so many people coming into town for the antique shows and all, who knows.-- that kind of crap. I knew I had my answer right then, you know just an intuition thing, my brother looks like me, that Grenden looked like he just saw a ghost. Ray was here. I know that now."
Davidson silently considered Dennis's version of the facts; he knew damn well that the guy had just pieced together a half decent scenario, particularly coupled with Mark's knowledge of Eugene's and Grenden's probable prior bad acts of 12 and 30 years ago. "My cousin invited me and you to dinner, you want to go?"
"What's she cooking?"
"I didn't ask."
"Sounds good to me, I'm a little interested in meeting your cousin."
"Oh, I don't know, I'm betting that your brother is around here somewhere. We'll turn something up. These folks round here might be a little like our southern brothers but I'm pretty sure I remember my uncle telling me that they stopped lynching people around here before the First Civil War. And they were generally witchcraft executions, not racial stuff. I remember my uncle telling about someone burning a witch around here in the Year 1650 or so," Mark said, pointing to the Historical Society. "Burned by her relatives."
"Speaking of witches," Dennis said, "I called my wife this morning. She wants nothing to do with me except for me signing a divorce agreement; she let me charge a call to what's soon to be her house through to Penn State. They told me they haven't heard from my brother in a month and a half; the people in the anthro department are getting a little worried. The secretary told me that they're beginning to think about looking for a replacement for him for next semester. He's supposed to teach a class."
"Have you voiced your suspicions to anyone?"
"Nope."
"That's probably good."
Mark thought that this place had probably followed the formerly time honored tradition that includes driving the undesirables to the edge of town with instructions to keep on walking. But kill the undesirable? Murder the outsider? The anecdotal evidence was beginning to build up; underneath that thinnest of sheens-- hope and bad reasoning-- Mark knew in his soul that murder was indeed possible round here.
They sat and started drinking beers and looked out into the valley. "We'll get to work on this dump tomorrow."
"Sounds good to me."
"We'll find your brother."