“He remains skeptical,” Dad cut in. “About there being a bear. That it might be those pit bulls instead.”
“That again?” Orville said, unaware that a huge doughnut crumb was hanging on to the corner of his mouth, undermining his authority.
Dad shrugged. “Well, Orville, he does raise an interesting point. Where’s the rifle? If Morton went out to kill this bear, then where’s the rifle?”
I leaned forward and turned so that I could see Orville’s response. I was surprised to see that he was smiling.
“It’s in my car,” he said.
“What?” I said.
“Timmy Wickens dropped by the station half an hour ago and gave it to me. Said I’d probably want it for the investigation.”
“Way to go, Dad,” I said. “So, Orville, you’re saying he came in, this morning, and gave you the rifle?”
“Yeah, Mr. Smartypants,” Orville said. “He did.”
“Mr. Smartypants,” I said, nodding as though impressed. “Is that part of the police training up here? They give you a list of snappy comebacks? What about Mr. Poo-Head? You should try that one. Leaves people speechless.”
“You just remember who you’re talking to,” Orville said. “And I could still have you charged with assaulting me, don’t forget that.”
“Jesus, I didn’t assault you, I fell on you. Right after you tripped my dad and fucked up his ankle. After we found out he was alive, which you should have been able to figure out before he actually showed up.” I leaned in, whispered, “Had it ever occurred to you to give your aunt a call and see if maybe he was with her?”
“Jesus!” Dad said under his breath. “Do you mind? We’re in her café, for crying out loud.”
“I did do that,” Orville whispered back. “There was no answer, and Aunt Lana wasn’t at the café either.”
We both looked at Dad. He sat silently for a moment, feeling both sets of eyes. He muttered something.
“What?” I said.
“Actually, we went to a motel, after she’d been out to the cabin for a bit, after everyone went home,” Dad said. “And then she took the morning off from the café, let the girls handle it.” He nodded his head toward the waitresses.
“A motel?” Orville said. He looked shocked. “Why are you and my aunt going to a motel?”
Dad rolled his eyes. “Look, Orville, we just wanted some time alone without interruptions, that’s all. You know your aunt loves you and loves to have you drop by, but sometimes, it’s just…”
Orville looked like he’d just found out there’s no Easter Bunny. His aunt and my dad, messing around in a motel. How incredibly sordid. And on top of that, learning he might not be totally welcome to drop by her place whenever he wanted because she and Dad wanted to get it on.
It was a lot to take.
“Look,” I said, “could we move this back to the rifle?”
“What about the rifle?” Orville said.
“What did Timmy Wickens tell you about the gun?”
“He said he found it only a few feet away from where we found Morton’s body, under some bushes. I guess we just missed it.”
“Shit,” I said.
Dad looked into his coffee. “Sorry,” he said.
“You tipped him off,” I said. “I could have guessed Wickens would produce a gun, but I never expected it to happen this quickly. Don’t you see? The fact that he came up with a gun so fast just proves that Morton never went hunting with it in the first place.”
Dad and Orville looked at me like I was speaking in some other language. “So let me see if I get this,” Orville said. “Timmy finds Morton’s rifle, which proves Morton didn’t have a rifle. Is that what you’re saying? You know what? You know what? Maybe, instead of a bear, Morton Dewart was killed by aliens.” Orville snickered, slapped his hand on the counter. To Dad, he said, “He writes science fiction books, right? Didn’t you say that?”
“Orville,” I said, “I’ll say this really slowly so there’ll be less chance that you’ll misunderstand.” Dad shot me a look. “What’s it to Timmy Wickens whether we have Morton’s rifle or not? If Morton was killed by a bear, well, he was killed by a bear. But if he wasn’t, but it’s in Timmy’s interest for us to think he was, then Timmy’s going to be doing whatever he can to make sure you don’t start considering any other theories.”
Orville looked me in the eye for a good three seconds, then did, I have to say, a pretty good impression of the sound a flying saucer might make, coming in for a landing. “Voo-ooo-ooo,” he said, making his hand flat and gliding it toward the counter. Then, he walked two fingers toward Dad’s coffee mug and, in a nasal voice, said, “Take me to your leader.”