A Brilliant Death (26 page)

“Not a single birthday or Christmas card?” his grandmother asked.

“I’ve never seen any cards,” Travis said.

Ronald Virdon’s jaw muscles tightened, and his hands clenched the arms of the rocker in which he sat. There was a fire in the eyes of the old man, hatred, but Travis’s grandmother simply looked confused. “Oh, sweetheart, we’ve sent you birthday and Christmas cards with money every year. I feel so bad now, because I used to get upset that we never got a thank-you note or a letter. I guess you couldn’t have known. We wanted to call, but there’s never been a listing.”

“Our phone number is unlisted,” Travis said.

Travis looked away and blinked back the tears. I wondered how many times Big Frank was going to break his son’s heart. There didn’t seem to be any limit. Fortunately, the old man couldn’t break his spirit. “I’ll give you Mitchell’s address before I leave. You can write to me there.”

Travis’s grandmother insisted that we check out of the motel and ordered me to go pick up our things. We would spend the night at their home. They couldn’t have been nicer, or more excited. Mrs. Virdon gave thanks to Jesus no fewer than two dozen times, and she continually hugged and kissed Travis, and cried. The evening meal was a feast. All the while, Travis was the center of attention, and he basked in the spotlight. He didn’t tire of answering their questions.

They were all disappointed that Travis and I couldn’t stay for church services the next morning, as they wanted to show off their rediscovered grandson. However, I explained that we had to get on the road early, as that was part of the deal with my parents. At nine p.m., Travis’s uncle and his family left for home, promising to be back for breakfast. I had stuffed myself and was heavy in the eyes when Grandmother Virdon entered the living room with a box, the contents of which were the various remembrances they had kept of their daughter. Travis had spent the entire day talking about himself. He was now going to get a chance to learn about his mother from those who knew her best.

I excused myself and retired to one of the spare bedrooms. There was nothing Travis could tell his grandparents about himself that I didn’t already know. But the discussion that was about to take place was for the family, for Travis. If he chose to tell me later, fine, but I didn’t want to be there for what would be an emotional discussion. It would be a long drive tomorrow, I explained, and I needed to get some sleep.

This evening, I assumed, was the fitting end of Project Amanda. I was happy for Travis, but I knew that I had just lost my best friend. We would drive back in the morning, but I knew he was not long for Brilliant, Ohio.

We were on the highway headed north out of Asheville at a few minutes after nine the next morning. Mr. Virdon had gotten up early and gassed up the Buick, then pressed forty bucks into my hand for gas on the return trip. They forced Travis to take two hundred dollars and promised to make up for all the gifts and money they had sent, but he had never received.

They had stayed up well into the night talking about his mother, and Travis fell asleep a half-hour after we were on the highway. He did not wake up until we were almost out of Virginia. “You’re a hell of a traveling partner,” I said.

He blinked, yawned, and said nothing. How much his life had changed in the last twenty-four hours. He had gone from having virtually no family to a family who couldn’t wait for him to return. As we left, his grandparents were making plans for a holiday visit to Wheeling, where they could rent a cabin at Oglebay Park and see their grandson.

“Unbelievable, huh?” he finally said, fifty miles into West Virginia.

“Absolutely. You couldn’t have scripted it any better.”

“No doubt.”

We stopped and ate lunch at a diner just outside of Beckley. “I’m buying,” Travis said, flashing the wad of twenties that his grandfather had given him. We sat in a corner booth and Travis showed me a few snapshots of his mother during her high school years.

“It’s kind of sad to see it come to an end,” I said.

“See what come to an end?”

“Project Amanda. I figure that there’s little else left to do. You’ve found your family. You probably know more about your mom than you ever thought you would.”

He sipped at his water and looked out a window streaked with a drizzle that had followed us most of the trip home. “You’re probably right.”

The waitress stopped and took our orders. Travis had the meatloaf, and I had the fried chicken and coffee. I was not ordinarily a coffee drinker, but I was charging up for the stretch drive home. “Things were going so well, I half expected to get up this morning and have you tell me you were staying in Asheville.”

He smiled. “I would have liked to have done just that. Man, what great people.” He sipped his Coke and frowned. “Why do you suppose Big Frank’s been hiding my mail?”

“Wouldn’t it be hard to explain why two dead people were sending you cards and presents?”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot he told me they were dead. Jesus, what a son of a bitch. Why did he do that?”

I shrugged. “Once again, you’re looking at me to explain Big Frank? If I had to guess, I’d wager he knew your grandfather suspected him in your mother’s murder.” I paused for a moment, wondering how many times in the history of mankind someone had spoken similar words to his best friend. Damn few, I hoped. “He probably didn’t want your grandparents putting that idea in your head.”

“Just when you think he couldn’t be any more despicable, he proves you wrong.”

“Why didn’t your grandparents come up north to see you after your mom died? Did they say?”

Travis nodded. “Yeah. They said they tried, but Big Frank made it miserable for them. They came up to see me about a year after my mom died. They arranged this vacation and visit, and when they got there Big Frank had apparently taken me and left town. He told them he had the dates mixed up, but he did the same thing on the next visit. After that, Grandpa said he and Big Frank got into a big argument on the phone, and Big Frank told him not to ever come to Brilliant again. He said that Mom was a cheating whore and he didn’t want his son to have any contact with a family who raised a daughter like that.”

“A pure charmer, that father of yours.”

“I know. Big Frank told Grandpa that he was friends with the cops and if they ever came back he would have them arrested for harassment or something. Big Frank moved us into the new house and had the phone number unlisted. They said they wanted to come up and see me, but they were afraid it would cause problems for me. And since I never got their mail, I had no idea that they wanted to have any contact with me. Hell, I didn’t even know they were alive.”

“What do they think happened to your mom?”

“They don’t know. For a long time they thought Big Frank had killed her. They said they would like to believe she drowned, that she was so miserable in her marriage that she really was out on the boat with her boyfriend.”

“Do they know about Clay Carter?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t bring up his name, but they seemed to know she was planning to leave Big Frank.” Travis quit talking while the waitress set the meals on the table. Travis slathered his meatloaf with ketchup.

“So, she wanted to get away, but your dad killed her before she got the chance?”

Travis shook his head. “Remember, Mitch, he wasn’t even in the state.” There was a hint of aggravation in his voice. “I know you think Big Frank was involved, but I’m just not convinced that he had anything to do with it. I know he’s a bastard, but that doesn’t mean he killed her and had her dumped in the river.”

It was strange to hear the words come so easily from Travis’s mouth. It was his mother and father he was talking about, and the likelihood that a murder had been committed had so long been a possibility that Travis could talk about it very matter-of-factly, discuss it in detail as easily as he poured his ketchup. It gave me a chill. I wondered how many sleepless nights this had caused.

“I can tell you one thing—Big Frank had better never smack me again,” Travis said. “He does and I’m outta there. I’ll go to Asheville and live. I don’t have to put up with that shit anymore.”

“Just try to get along with him until the end of the school year, Trav; then you can do what you want. You don’t want to leave before graduation.”

“Yeah. I’d like to finish out the year at Brilliant, but he isn’t going to beat me anymore. He’s been beatin’ my ass since I was old enough to walk, and it’s going to stop.”

“You know how he is. Just try not to aggravate him.”

“The mere fact that I’m breathing aggravates him. You never know when he’s going to go ballistic. Hell, you’ve seen him explode. It doesn’t take anything to set him off. Say the wrong thing, look at him wrong . . .”

“Write in his cement.”

Travis frowned. “Write in his cement?”

I cleared my mouth of fried chicken. “It was something Alex Harmon told me about when I was talking to him. Big Frank caught Alex and Jimmy Kidwell writing in some fresh cement up at the old place on Shaft Row. He grabbed a switch off a tree and beat their asses.”

“Writing in what cement?”

“Alex said he was just a kid, six or so, and he and a buddy had been down in the creek trying to catch crawfish to sell to the bait shop. They came up over the hill and your dad had just poured a cement cap on the cistern. Alex said they found a stick and started writing their names in the cement when Big Frank caught him. Alex never knew he was there until Big Frank lashed him across the ass with a switch from a mulberry tree. He said he jumped three feet in the air, and ran back over the hill with Big Frank stingin’ their butts all the way.” I was laughing at my own story, but Travis just stared, unamused. “What? That was funny.”

“What was he doing again?”

“Catching crawfish.”

“No. Big Frank. He poured cement over what?”

“The old cistern.”

“What’s that?”

“I didn’t know either. Alex said it’s like a well to catch rainwater off the house. People had them before they got city water so they had water for their gardens. We used to have one in the side yard and Dad capped ours, too.”

“Why would you do that?”

“So you didn’t have a hole in the ground that some kid could fall in, I guess.”

“That’s why your dad capped his. If every kid in Brilliant fell in Big Frank’s cistern, he couldn’t give a shit less. Remember, I’m living in a house that Big Frank is letting crumble around us. Why would he go through the trouble of capping a cistern?”

I shook my head. “When Brilliant got city water, everyone capped or filled in their cisterns, Trav.”

“Sure you would, especially if you were trying to hide a body in the bottom of it.”

I set down my fork, wiped my mouth and began massaging my temples. “You know, sometimes you give me a migraine right behind my right eye. For the love of God, Travis, please, try for two minutes to enjoy the great weekend you’ve just had. There is no body at the bottom of that cistern. Your mom drowned.”

He stuffed his mouth with meatloaf. “Doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Everything isn’t a conspiracy, Travis. There is no body. He capped the cistern so no one would fall in. End of story.”

He shrugged and stared back out the window beyond the orange neon
EAT
sign. “You’re probably right. But doesn’t it make you wonder?”

“No, it doesn’t.” I pointed at his plate with my fork. “Eat your meatloaf and think about how incredibly lucky you were this weekend.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

In its day, Shaft Row was the home to the elite of Brilliant. It was simply a road that extended from Labelle Street up the hillside toward the entrance to the deep shaft mines of the long-defunct Thorneapple Coal Company. The road had been the home of the executives and owners of the Thorneapple Coal Company and the Thorneapple Nail and Rail, a nail and railroad spike manufacturing company and the predecessor of the Ohio Valley Steel Corporation. The homes had wooden siding and elegant gingerbread and lattice, and had to be painted every summer because the acrid smoke from the factories scoured the houses and caused the paint to peel in big chunks. The homes built on the north side of Shaft Row were tucked into the hillside, built on foundations that required the removal of tons of earth and were subjected to flooding from the run-off from every big rain. On the south side, the hill was tapered and homeowners had sprawling yards that led down to Thorneapple Creek.

The sidewalks and streets were made of red brick from a pottery near Amsterdam. When the wives of the executives complained about having to walk down the hill—all of a couple hundred yards—to catch the streetcar to Steubenville, the Brilliant & Steubenville Trolley Company put rails into Shaft Row with a turnaround at the dead end, near the entrance to the company offices.

Thorneapple Nail and Rail prospered through the early part of the twentieth century, with Shaft Row as the town’s opulent thoroughfare. But by the 1930s the deep shafts were mined out, and Thorneapple Nail and Rail was sold to the Ohio Valley Steel Corporation in 1935.

Meanwhile, Shaft Row evolved from Brilliant’s showplace to an eyesore. The trolley car abandoned its line and the brick street and sidewalks were pulled up for use elsewhere, leaving it little more than a mud path that washed away with every storm, leaving Labelle Street covered and packed with gravel and mud. The homes along Shaft Row were claimed by those much less affluent. By the early fifties, only a handful of dilapidated, sun-bleached homes remained.