To make beer money, Dwayne Jr. would sweep up his mother’s beauty shop at night, and his friends, Weezer and Buck, worked at the car wash during the week. But on the weekends, they partied. And for most, the party never stopped.
At thirty-one, Dwayne Jr. now had three ex-wives and was living at his mother’s house, on probation, with two DUIs and two possession arrests. Weezer was still working at the car wash, and three of his other buddies were in jail for selling crack. His best friend, Buck, was up in Kansas City, sleeping on the streets at night, standing on the side of the highway from eleven to two every day, holding a homemade cardboard sign that read HOMELESS VET, PLEASE HELP. Which wasn’t true. He wasn’t a vet, but it was good for business. By two P.M., thanks to the nice people who would hand him a dollar bill and sometimes more, he usually had enough to buy drugs to get him through the night. He didn’t have to work for “the man” or pay rent. How cool was that?
One of the most endearing things about people is their little secret dreams. Edna Childress, married to Chief Ralph Childress of the Elmwood Springs Police Department, dreamed of one day going to the Mall of America and shopping. Cathy Calvert, over at the newspaper, dreamed of interviewing someone famous.
Luther Griggs, now seventeen, dreamed that Bobby Jo Stash, who worked at the Tastee-Freeze out at the mall, would talk to him. Ernest Koonitz, local boy and tuba major at the University of Missouri and now band director at the high school, also had a dream that one day, his band would be picked to march in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York.
Tot Whooten dreamed of the day when her two children, Dwayne Jr. and Darlene, would leave home for good and stop coming back.
Even Lester Shingle up at Still Meadows had dreams of his own. He had given up all hope for any kind of justice from the Elmwood Springs Police. It was clear that if someone had not been arrested for his murder by now, there was no case. And whoever it was, was sitting around down there in Elmwood Springs right now, thinking they had committed a perfect crime, probably eating ice cream, too. Oh, well…he had plenty of time. He had read a few Perry Mason books in his day, and he had come up with a plan. If the law couldn’t catch them, he would. He would wait until all four women were at Still Meadows and then confront them one by one, lay out his case point by point, interrogate them without mercy. Surely, one of them would break…or squeal the real killer’s name. Or maybe someone who had been at the bowling alley the night he was killed would suddenly remember something, some small detail, and he would catch them red-handed, expose them to the entire Still Meadows community. They may have gotten away with it down there in Elmwood Springs, but not here. He would see to that. In the meantime, he was tired. All the planning had worn him out. He figured he would sleep for a few years. He called out to his neighbor, “Hey, Jake…wake me up when any of the Goodnight women or Tot Whooten gets here.”
“Okay, will do.”
Lester drifted off, dreaming about his day in court to come, when vengeance would be his at last.
Sometimes in life, dreams do come true. In 1986, after years of trying, the Elmwood Springs High School band won a competition and became the only band in that part of the state to ever be invited to march in the big Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York. It was a huge honor, and everyone in town was so excited they could hardly stand it.
Everybody agreed that their high school band was a step above all the others in the area. Their rendition of “Brazil” was thrilling, at least to the people in Elmwood Springs. How Brazilians would feel about it was anybody’s guess; however, it did get them to the state finals and on their way to national fame.
Norma and Macky’s daughter, Linda, had been a majorette, and Norma was still a band mother and in charge of fundraising. All over town, people worked to raise money to buy new band uniforms and majorette outfits and replace some of the old instruments. They had bake sales, chicken dinners, garage sales, book sales. On the weekend, the high school seniors set up a car wash service. Every day after school and on Saturdays, the band practiced marching up and down Main Street. They wanted to look and sound the very best they possibly could. Not knowing what was going on, the people up at Still Meadows were wondering why there was so much practicing.
Merle Wheeler, over at the dry cleaner, said, “I like a good band…but, Lord, I’m so tired of hearing ‘Brazil,’ I don’t know what to do.”
1986
Elner and her neighbors were watching the sunset over the back cornfield when she said, “I love a fall sunset. Sometimes they’re prettier than the summer ones.”
“They last longer. Then around Thanksgiving, the sun starts to go down fast,” said Verbena.
Tot said, “Hey. Isn’t it great the kids won that trip to New York?”
“They worked hard for it….They should be very proud of themselves.”
Merle said, “I won a prize once.”
“You did? What for?” asked Elner.
“I had the largest tomato in the county—weighed over twelve pounds. I think it was a mutant.”
Verbena said, “I wonder if Luther Griggs is a mutant? I never saw anybody grow up so fast in my life…or eat as much food in one sitting.”
Elner laughed. “He’s got a good appetite, all right.”
Luther had barely graduated from high school. He had made all Ds in every subject but shop, where he excelled and had made all As. And by some rare genetic fluke, it turned out that Luther was some kind of mechanical genius where cars were concerned. He was car crazy and could fix anything with a motor. A lot of boys his age had pictures of girls on their bedroom walls; Luther had pictures of cars and trucks and tanks. He had been working at the local gas station after school since he was twelve, and by age seventeen, was already in charge of auto repair.
Elner was so proud of him, which pleased him. She was the only person in his entire life that he felt cared about him. Who would have guessed that the little scrawny boy who had been as feral as a cat would have grown into a big, burly 230 pounder?
Elner took almost no credit. “He just needed somebody to pay a little attention to him.”
After a particularly nice Sunday evening at home, Norma woke up and saw a note Macky had left for her on his pillow.
“Good morning, you good-looking, sexy wench, you. Talk to you later. Have a good day.”
Norma smiled. It was amazing that after so many years of marriage Macky still thought she was sexy. She had always assumed when they hit a certain age their romantic life would be over.
Later Norma was in the kitchen having her coffee. When the phone rang, she picked it up and said in her best low voice, “Well, good morning, you great big, sexy, handsome hunk of man, you.”
There was a slight pause. “Ah…Good morning, Mrs. Warren. This is Emmett down at Olivera Auto Repair, and I’m calling with an estimate.”