Funeral Hotdish (17 page)

“He’s gotta be stopped,” Ralph declared. “He’s hittin’ on little kids who don’t know any better. And can you imagine Danny being stoned? Who knows what the kid would do. I could see him climbing the water tower and jumping off, convinced he was going to fly.”

Bobby looked at his uncle and he could see it, too. “Yeah, that’s bogus, man. He’s got to be stopped.”

The next day Ralph filled in his buddies and they went to see Sheriff Potter.

Everybody in town knew how badly that went. Their frustration at being turned away empty-handed burrowed into their guts. It ulcerated when Amber died, and bled every day that Crabapple went unpunished.

Ralph Bonner knew they were doing the right thing now because that pain in his gut was gone by the time he got home from kidnapping Crabapple.

***

Jesus, it’s cold in here. A blanket. A space heater. They left me a blanket and a little space heater and they think that’s going to be enough? Those fuckers. They can’t do this to me. I’ll show them when I get out of here. They ain’t got nothin’ on me. They think I’m so stupid I’m gonna get caught? Hah. I’m showin’ them.

They’re just trying to scare me. Chain me up for a night and think I’ll be scared shitless. Then they’ll let me go and think it’s all over. In a pig’s eye. Their asses are goin’ to jail. It’s a federal offense to kidnap somebody. Isn’t it? The FBI will be all over this town and they’ll take care of those shitheads. Who the fuck do they think they are?

They wouldn’t kill me. Hey man, don’t even think about that. Of course not. It’s just a scare tactic. They couldn’t kill me. It would be crazy to kill me. They don’t have the guts. I don’t think any of them have ever killed anybody. Even in the war they think was so high and mighty. No, they’re just trying to scare me.

Okay, boys, I’m scared. Wait till you come back and see how scared and repentant old Crabapple can be. I’ll promise them I’ll never do anything wrong again. Now, don’t go admittin’ anything, Darryl. They don’t have any proof of anything, so don’t go giving them any.

What if they’re wired, and they want you to confess and they’ll take the tape to old Lazy Potter? No, don’t admit anything, but let them know how sorry you are. Be real nice and tell them they’ll never have to worry about Crabapple again.

And then they’ll let you go.

And the first stop I’m gonna make is to the sheriff’s office to report a kidnapping. And then they’ll never mess with me again.

***

The plan was simple. And true to plan, the three men met in the parking lot at the Legion—a place their pickups were familiar and nobody would wonder why they were there—and drove out together to the silo the next night to check on their hostage. They left their ski masks at home because there really was no need for them.

They found Crabapple with wrists bleeding from trying to slip out of the handcuffs. He’d already eaten all the junk food and sodas, and the toilet-bucket had been used.

Ralph put a Tupperware cake pan on the floor and pushed it toward him with his foot. “Supper,” he said in a deadpan. “It’s left over funeral hotdish from the Mead funeral.”

“It’s probably poison,” Crabapple shot back.

“Well, if you don’t want it,” Earl taunted, as he took a step toward the food and watched Crabapple scramble to grab it.

“Anything you want to tell us?” Bernard asked, and prayed they’d get the answer they were after. Seeing the boy on the cold cement floor, shivering, even with the quilt and space heater, he felt bad about what they were doing.

“I don’t know what you think I did, but I’m just a mechanic. Ask Huntsie. You guys know him. He’ll tell you. But whatever you think I did, I want you to know I’m sorry. Don’t know what I’m supposed to be sorry for, but whatever it is, I am. Now let’s just stop this. Unchain me and let me be and we’ll forget all about this.”

Darryl “Crabapple” Harding had been practicing that speech all afternoon, and to his ears, it sounded exactly how he’d planned. It was calm, it was clear, it was repentant without admitting a thing, and he fully expected it to bring these men to their senses.

“So tell us about the drugs you sold to Johnny Roth,” Ralph said.

“I DIDN’T SELL JOHNNY ANY DRUGS. I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT.”

The calmness and bravado he’d practiced all day disappeared. His stomach growled and he popped off the Tupperware lid to get at the goulash inside. He wolfed down four bites before he tried again: “Listen guys, I’m as sad about Amber as anybody, but I didn’t have anything to do with that. It wasn’t my fault. I was in Minneapolis with my cousin. I wasn’t even there.” He hoped they didn’t know he was lying. “But whatever happened, you can’t pin that on me. I’m not the one you want. Please, stop this.”

Earl ambled over and picked up the water jug, going to the far wall to refill it. He put it back within Crabapple’s reach without saying a word.

Ralph and Bernard were just as communicative.

“Maybe you need another night to get your head on straight and tell us what we want to know,” Ralph said as he turned to leave.

“
NO! NO, STOP! I’M GOING TO FREEZE TO DEATH OUT HERE. YOU CAN’T IMAGINE HOW COLD IT GETS. COME ON. IF I DIE, IT’S ON YOUR HEADS. GODDAMN YOU BASTARDS!”

They left him screaming and swearing and drove into town.

“What if he doesn’t confess?” Bernard asked on the way.

“Then we’ll have to drive him out of town—demand he leave,” Earl offered.

“I don’t know,” Ralph said. They left it at that because they hadn’t calculated that the kid would endure another freezing night in a silo rather than fess up.

Their simple plan also didn’t include Huntsie getting nosy.

Ralph well knew that Huntsie had been fit to be tied when Crabapple “disappeared” right after Amber’s death—because Maggie’s Buick was one of the cars waiting for the boy to tune up. Ralph had driven over to check on its progress, when he found that Huntsie was mad as a wet hen and gave Ralph an earful. Huntsie himself had to do Maggie’s car—it was more a lick and a promise than the professional job Crabapple would have done, but he got away with it.

Huntsie was mad enough then to drive out to Darryl’s farm. The place was empty. Darryl’s truck was gone, so obviously, the kid had gone off on a toot and abandoned his responsibilities.

As Ralph told his buddies, Huntsie swore about the kid and declared he was fired, but that was it. The man filled in the best he could and even after he finally heard from Crabapple—a phone conversation that made little sense to the old man—he just shrugged his shoulders whenever the kid was mentioned and asked everyone he knew if they had a line on a new mechanic. It was kind of surprising that Huntsie took him back when he finally showed up in town, but that had more to do with the lack of good mechanics in southeastern North Dakota than it did with any moral compass.

So the men figured Huntsie would just steam and pout again when his mechanic didn’t show up for work. They had no idea that on Thursday, Huntsie called Darryl’s number a dozen times and never got an answer. When Johnny Roth showed up at the garage asking for Darryl, Huntsie knew that meant trouble. Nor did they know that on Friday, Huntsie drove out to the Harding place again. But this time, he found Crabapple’s pickup in the yard, its keys under the front seat.

Huntsie had a terrible feeling about this. He went to the house and yelled for Darryl from the front door—he always called him Darryl and hated the Crabapple nickname. When no one answered, he gingerly walked into the unlocked house and found it empty. It was a mess—a sink full of dishes in the kitchen, some broken; old pizza boxes strewn around, couch pillows on the floor (one of them losing its stuffing), clothes tossed here and there—but Huntsie had assumed Darryl lived in a pigsty. He did think it went beyond slovenly not to sweep up the glass vase that had been smashed against a wall, apparently in one of Darryl’s fits of anger, but that was the only thing that he thought twice about because Huntsie, himself, lived the bachelor life and inhabited his own pigsty.

He left the house and walked to the barn that hadn’t done its name justice for years, fearing the worse. He wondered what he’d do if he found Darryl hanging from a rafter, and it startled him that he’d even have that thought. But Johnny had been so angry. Thank heaven the barn was empty.

But where was Darryl? He couldn’t go anywhere without his pickup, unless somebody picked him up. While he knew Darryl didn’t have many friends, he also knew he had enemies. Could this all be an overworked imagination? Could Darryl have bagged out with friends like he did a couple months ago? Back then, Darryl swore that would never happen again, and Huntsie decided to believe the cockamamie story about a “family crisis.”

But this was different. Huntsie stewed about the problem all day Friday. What if Johnny had done something? What if Darryl were hurt somewhere? Or what if he decided to start the weekend early? Huntsie wasn’t a man who liked confrontation, so he decided he’d just wait and hope the kid showed up for work on Monday.

If Huntsie hadn’t waited, things might have turned out differently.

But then, if a ferocious snowstorm hadn’t hit Friday night, things would have been different, too.

And if…

A lot of ifs were about to show Northville, North Dakota, that it had gone from the town in a Norman Rockwell painting to the town in a Stephen King novel.

Chapter Fifteen

Saturday, January 8—Monday, January 10, 2000

The snow didn’t fall, it dumped. The wind didn’t blow, it screamed. This was a doozie of a North Dakota storm and everyone knew to stay put and warm and wait it out.

“I can barely see across the street and I can’t get out of my driveway,” Ralph said into the phone Saturday morning.

“Me, neither, and I don’t see any letup.” Bernard sounded worried.

“What are we going to do?”

“He’s got heat and we left him enough food last night. Not much else we can do. He’s not going anywhere. He should be alright. I bet he’ll be ready to confess now.”

“I’ll call Earl,” Bernard offered.

“Is Johnny home? Okay, good. See you Monday.” Ralph turned around to see his wife’s eyes as big as dinner plates. He thought she was in the backroom with her quilting project, and he’d been speaking softly, but not softly enough for a woman who raised three children and therefore was a champion eavesdropper.

“What have you done?” Her voice was sharper than she ever used on her husband.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Ralph turned as though they’d ended the conversation, but Maggie Bonner wasn’t letting go.

“WHO has heat and enough food?” Her voice was urgent, climbing the scale of hysteria as she continued, “WHO should be alright? WHO should be ready to confess? WHAT about Johnny?”

Her husband offered nothing but a cold shoulder.

“Oh dear, God, don’t tell me you’ve done something to that boy who sells drugs!”

Still Ralph said nothing.

“I’m calling Angie.”

“No you aren’t. Don’t go calling anybody. There’s nothing to get excited about. Just leave it alone. You hear me? Just leave it alone.” Ralph used the tone that said, ‘I’m the king in this house and that is my decree.’ Maggie never liked that tone.

She knew this was all wrong, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what probably was going on.

“You do know this storm is supposed to last a couple days,” she told him, as though he hadn’t been monitoring the weather all day.

“I know. I know. Don’t worry about it. This is none of your business.”

“You guys have done something stupid and it’s none of my business?” Maggie was almost screaming.

“We haven’t done anything stupid and I said drop it. I’m not talking about this with you. And don’t you dare talk about this with anybody. ANYBODY. Just stay out of it. I’ll take care of it.”

Ralph fell into his La-Z-Boy recliner and pulled the lever to raise the footrest. He turned the TV up loud to watch a western—Ralph Bonner loved westerns—and ignore his wife.

Maggie went back to her sewing room and stewed. Ugly pictures kept dancing through her head. She held her head in her hands as she cried.
Oh God, please, please don’t let anything bad happen to that boy.
And then she did what Catholics do when they’re scared.
Hail Mary full of grace…

She was halfway through the Rosary when she realized she had to do something. She slipped quietly into the living room to look in on her husband. Ralph was snoozing. She went back to their bedroom, closed the door, and called Angie.

“Angie, can you talk? Where’s Earl?” She was glad to hear he was in the basement, working on the cabinets he was making. “Do you know what those fools have done?” she whispered.

“Bernard called and Earl acted like it was the secret service calling or something, and he told me it was a private call.” answered Angie’s soft voice. “He’s never done that in his life. So of course, I went to the extension. They’re worried somebody might not have enough food or heat, but they said Ralph thought it would be okay. What are those idiots up to?”

“I think they kidnapped Crabapple and have him somewhere.”

“WHAT?”

“Shh, we don’t want them to know we know.”

“Have you talked to Norma?”

“No, I was going to do that next. Ralph is snoozing right now. I don’t want him to know I’m calling. He told me not to.”

“Let me call because Earl can’t hear anything down there. I’ll call you back.”

“Yeah, but you can’t say what it is,” Maggie reminded her.

“Right. Okay, if it’s what we think it is, I’ll talk about…our circle. If it isn’t, I’ll—”

“If it isn’t, tell me about your grandchildren.”

“Yes, that will work.”

Maggie hung up and slipped out of the bedroom to her quilting.

Five minutes later, she heard the phone ring and Ralph answered it.

He yelled at her to pick up the call on the bedroom phone. He was listening in.

“Hi, Angie. How are you surviving this storm?”

“Oh, I’m okay. What a mess. Speaking of messes, our circle is getting tapped for two funerals in a row. Did you know that?”

“Two? Why two?”

“I don’t know. One of the other circles can’t do it and you know how Father is—he always looks to us.”

“Well, we won’t have to worry about it in this storm. Unless things calm down, we’re not even going to church tomorrow. Our driveway is filled!”

“Ours, too. Stay warm. Goodbye.” After Angie hung up, Maggie lingered until she heard Ralph holster the receiver. She sat on the bed and finished her Rosary.

Angie and Norma spent some information currency that afternoon.

Nobody said anything ridiculous like “our husbands have kidnapped the pusher and have him hidden someplace,” but hints that
somebody
had done
something
to that terrible druggie were whispered by women calling friends to double-check on them in the storm.

Gertie Bach heard and wondered if Johnny were involved. Her sister, Wanda, who often got things wrong, told Gertie that Johnny had “taken care” of that Harding boy. Those were the words she used. Those were the words Nettie Schlener heard. Those were the words that Alice Peters heard, but she knew better.

Although, Johnny was back on his feet, and maybe…Alice didn’t want to complete the thought. People better stop speculating because this could mean real trouble for nice people.

When the snow finally stopped late Sunday, snowplows were out immediately. First they cleared the highway from town to the interstate, then street by street. By Monday, if you lived in town, you could get around. But if you wanted to go out into the countryside, good luck. Until the farmers got their tractors out and started clearing driveways and roads, little was moving there until Monday afternoon.

Monday morning, Huntsie was disappointed to find his mechanic didn’t show up for work again, and his unease grew over where the boy could be. Maybe he should call the sheriff and tell him Darryl was missing Or maybe he shouldn’t be alerting the sheriff to anything about his mechanic. If the kid was in trouble, Huntsie wanted to help, but he didn’t want his efforts to get the kid in trouble. He better just wait. The kid had to show up eventually. This time, he really was going to fire him. A man can be disrespected just so much before he won’t take it anymore.

Alice’s Bakery was extra busy Monday morning, and there was a constant buzz as people gossiped in small groups. Angie came in for bread at about ten-thirty and Alice pulled her aside to ask if anything was going on, which made Angie think Alice knew, so she spilled the beans. In a whisper, of course.

Norma showed up for a cake for her granddaughter’s sixth birthday. Angie nodded toward Alice. “She knows. She knew all along. She says we have to be certain not to tell
anyone
!”

The two women shared one of those moments they’d remember all their lives—nobody could ever know their husbands had kidnapped Crabapple. Nobody. This wasn’t a currency to spend, it was a secret to hoard. They knew Maggie well enough to know she’d agree.

Alice prayed the men would show up for their one p.m. card game, but when they didn’t show, she wasn’t surprised. From what she’d heard, from those who actually knew something to those who thought they knew something, she figured that wherever they had stashed Crabapple, they’d be heading that way as soon as the roads were clear.

The men left in Bernard’s truck because it had four-wheel drive. They could plow through the deep snow at Earl’s old farm. They brought burgers from the Corner Bar, Lays potato chips, and a six-pack of Pepsi. By now, they were certain Crabapple would confess, or would instantly pack up and leave town.

“How much can a man take?” Ralph had reasoned, and everyone agreed.

Bernard started swearing as they pulled into the yard of Earl’s old place. “Jesus, there’s tracks here.” All three men stared in astonishment. I looked worse when they got to the silo. The fresh blanket of snow had been trampled, like someone walked through here and then tried to sweep out the footprints. Bernard had pretty much driven over the tracks that had been left by—WHO? A car? A truck?

“What. The. Hell?” Earl said the words with the same reverence he used in church.

They climbed out of the truck and went to the door. It wasn’t locked because there was no need for a lock—the hostage inside couldn’t get to this door. The chains weren’t long enough.

Earl opened the door and all three walked inside.

The only sound was a whimper as the scene before their eyes sunk in.

Most of Crabapple’s chest was gone.

A shotgun blast had torn it apart, spreading bits of his body against the steel wall. Splats of blood had already dried.

Blood, more brown than red, puddled under the body. Sticky. Smelling bad.

“Oh, my God,” Ralph moaned. Bernard started to cry. Earl kept whimpering.

They had to turn away because the scene was so ugly, and as their eyes met, each one looked at the other with astonishment. With questions. With suspicion.

“Who did this?” Ralph demanded, as though the killer would speak.

“Well, it wasn’t me,” Earl screamed back. He turned to Bernard: “Was it you?”

“Are you out of your mind? I didn’t do this.” Bernard turned to Ralph: “You didn’t, did you?”

Ralph backed up as though distancing himself from the corpse would answer the question, before he slowly shook his head. “No.”

Nobody seemed satisfied with the answers, even as they were ashamed of themselves for thinking the worst.

Before this moment, each man would have sworn he knew the others to their core. That moment was forever altered. A lifetime of trust was shattered. They prayed they were telling the truth…but not completely sure.

As though someone had fired a starting pistol, all three ran out of the silo. Ralph threw up. Earl hunkered down on his haunches and rocked like a little kid. Bernard walked around his truck, again and again, and he never stopped crying. Two of these men had seen battle during World War II, but they’d never been this petrified. Nothing in the life of the third prepared him for such terror.

It was Earl who finally took charge. “We’ve got to get him out of here. We’ve got to clean this up. They can’t find him here or they’ll finger me. It’s my silo.”

The other two quickly agreed, Ralph reassuring with the Marine code of never-leave-a-man-behind.

“Earl, we’re all in this together. If one goes down, we all go down.”

Bernard agreed. “Earl, we won’t let you get stuck with this. If we have to, we’ll explain that we kidnapped him, but we didn’t kill him. We might have to do that.”

“Let’s hope not!” Earl begged. “Who’s going to believe that? If I was on a jury that heard that, I wouldn’t believe it. Our only hope is to get him as far from here as we can and clean up this mess and then deny everything.”

But knowing what you had to do and doing it were two different things. The largest corpse any of these men had ever handled was a ten-point deer. Not one had ever had to move a human body.

And where? What do you do with a body? How do you get rid of all this blood? Those questions had never been discussed. They weren’t imaginable in a plot to scare this kid and save Johnny from doing something else stupid.

They were punting now, making wild guesses about how to dispose of this body without getting tied to it.

They worked all afternoon and all night. They drove into town to get bleach from workshops, tarps from garages, plastic gloves from under kitchen sinks, rags from utility rooms. They knew enough not to buy anything incriminating. They avoided spouses and everyone else. They missed their suppers and worried their wives.

When Ralph finally made it inside the safety of his home—exhausted and depleted—he realized they hadn’t even said a prayer for the kid they got murdered.