A Death On The Wolf (29 page)

Frankie went over and stretched out on his new bed. “I like it,” he said. Daddy and he had gotten Frankie’s dresser in there and while everything was a little snug, it worked and I think Frankie really did like it.

“
So you’re not coming home?” Mark said.

“
No,” Frankie said.

“
Ever?”

“
I don’t know.”

Chapter 18

A Cabin in the Woods

NATIONAL HURRICANE CENTER MIAMI

ADVISORY NO. 1 1 PM EDT THURSDAY AUGUST 14, 1969

…TROPICAL STORM CAMILLE FORMS RAPIDLY NEAR GRAND CAYMAN IN THE CARIBBEAN…

A NAVY RECON PLANE RECONNOITERING A TROPICAL WAVE IN THE CARIBBEAN THIS MORNING ENCOUNTERED A RAPIDLY DEVELOPING DEPRESSION WHICH REACHED STORM INTENSITY WHILE THE AIRCRAFT WAS STILL IN THE AREA.

AT 1 PM EDT…1700Z…THE NEW STORM…TO BE KNOWN AS CAMILLE…WAS LOCATED NEAR LATITUDE 19.3 NORTH…LONGITUDE 82.3 WEST. THIS IS ABOUT 60 MILES WEST OF GRAND CAYMAN OR 480 MILES SOUTH OF MIAMI.

CAMILLE IS MOVING WEST NORTHWESTWARD 12 TO 14 MPH WITH STRONGEST WINDS ABOUT 60 MPH OVER A VERY SMALL AREA NEAR THE CENTER.

CAMILLE IS EXPECTED TO MOVE ON A CURVING PATH TO THE NORTHWEST REACHING THE VICINITY OF THE WEST TIP OF CUBA EARLY FRIDAY MORNING. CONDITIONS FAVOR RAPID INTENSIFICATION OF THIS YOUNG STORM.

GALE FORCE WINDS IN SQUALLS WILL AFFECT THE ISLE OF PINES BY MIDNIGHT AND EXTREME WEST CUBA BEFORE DAYBREAK TOMORROW. TIDES ON THE SOUTH COAST OF CUBA WILL RANGE 3 TO 5 FEET ABOVE NORMAL…AND HEAVY RAINS MAY AFFECT MUCH OF WEST CUBA.

THE FUTURE COURSE AND DEVELOPMENT OF CAMILLE WILL NOT BECOME CLEAR UNTIL FURTHER RECONNAISSANCE IS COMPLETED LATER THIS AFTERNOON. HOWEVER ALL INTERESTS IN SOUTH FLORIDA AND THE KEYS SHOULD BE ALERT TO ADVICES LATER TODAY WHICH MAY REQUIRE RAPID PROTECTIVE ACTION IN SOME AREAS.

REPEATING THE 1 PM EDT POSITION…19.3 NORTH…82.3 WEST.

THE NEXT ADVISORY WILL BE ISSUED BY THE NATIONAL HURRICANE CENTER AT 6 PM EDT TODAY.

SIMPSON

— — —

Things had settled down and Frankie had settled in. Having a new person suddenly in your household can be quite an adjustment, but Frankie surprised us all by really trying to fit in. Rather than waiting around for someone to tell him what chores to do, he took the initiative and was always asking. He made his bed every morning and kept his room clean and picked up—things I sometimes neglected to do. I learned something else about my best friend that I never knew: he liked to cook, and he was good at it. Consequently, Aunt Charity had taken him under her wing and was routinely putting him to work in the kitchen. Daddy was pleased that Frankie seemed genuinely appreciative for being allowed to live with us. And despite Judy Thompson being assured by my father that she could come visit Frankie any time, we hadn’t seen her since Friday. I figured it was because Frankie’s dad wouldn’t let her come see her son.

Frankie and I had begun working on the cabin in the woods down by the river we had been planning since last summer. I still had over $70 left out of the $100 I was allowed to keep as “play money” from my birthday money, so the Saturday morning after Daddy got custody of Frankie, we took the pickup down to the lumber yard and got the two-by-fours, siding, shingles, paint and other items we’d need for the construction. Based on a sketch done by Frankie (which Daddy commented was quite good), we began the construction Sunday afternoon, Aunt Charity’s Sabbath objections notwithstanding. The land abutting the river there was owned by Ben May, and Daddy secured permission from him for us to build. We cleared out a spot in the woods far enough from the river bank so that, even when the Wolf was at its highest during the spring rains, our cabin would be safe. Our white sand beach would just be a short twenty yard walk through the woods from the cabin’s door. Daddy helped us do the measuring and lining off to get the foundation square and level, but after that, Frankie and I owned the labor. By Thursday, we had the cabin framed up, and, with luck, we planned to have the roof and siding on it Friday, and have our first camp-out Saturday night. Thursday evening was the first time I remember hearing of a tropical storm named Camille gaining strength in the Caribbean. Daddy said he’d seen it on the news.

— — —

“
Did y’all get the mail today?” Daddy asked as he walked in the back door, hung his hardhat on the coat rack, and set his lunch box on the counter. It was Friday about ten minutes before seven o’clock. Frankie was at the stove cutting up an onion into a hot iron skillet full of melting butter. Aunt Charity and I were at the table heading the shrimp that would soon be sautéed in that skillet. Mary Alice was in the living room with my sister, who was watching TV. It had been a normal day and was winding down toward a normal family dinner of shrimp, boiled new potatoes, and tossed salad. That was about to change.

“
I got the mail,” I said.

Daddy frowned. “What was in the box?”

“
It’s on the table by your recliner,” I said. “Just bills it looked like.”

Daddy walked over, picked up the phone, and dialed a number. We knew something was up when he asked to speak to the sheriff. “Have him call me as soon as possible,” Daddy said into the receiver. “Yes, it’s an emergency,” he said in response to a question none of us could hear. He hung up the phone and looked at Aunt Charity. “Can you take care of this and let me talk to him?” He pointed to Frankie who was still at the stove, cutting up the onion. After she washed the shrimp juice from her hands, Aunt Charity took Frankie’s place at the stove and he and Daddy came over and sat at the table. “Do you remember what you were wearing that day you went to the motel with Bong?” he asked Frankie.

I started thinking back to that day when Frankie got in the car with Mary Alice and me to go to the Colonel Dixie. I couldn’t remember what he had on. But why did Daddy want to know?

“
I don’t remember, Mr. Lem,” Frankie said.

“
Was your shirt red?” Daddy asked.

“
Yes,” I blurted out. Daddy’s question had jarred my memory. I looked over at Frankie. “You had on that red button-down shirt that’s got the black stripe over the shoulder, remember?”

“
Yeah,” Frankie said. “I remember now. I liked that shirt.”

“
Why, Daddy?” I asked.

My father frowned again and pinched his brow. “I think Frankie’s clothes from that night are out there stuffed in our mail box.”

Thirty minutes later dinner was on hold and Sheriff Posey was sitting at our table. Frankie’s crumpled up clothes from the Dixie Pearl Motel were in an evidence bag in front of him. It was just the shirt and gray denim shorts, however. Frankie’s undershirt, underwear, socks, and shoes were not in our mail box.

“
What time did you get the mail out of the box today, Nelson?” the sheriff asked me.

“
It was right after lunch…maybe one o’clock?”

“
And the only thing in the box then was the mail?”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
That means he was here this afternoon between one and when you got home, Lem,” he said to Daddy.

Frankie, smelling of garlic and white onion, was sitting beside me. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Why would he bring my clothes back now?”

“
Why would who bring your clothes back now?” the sheriff asked.

“
Peter Bong.”

“
So you think Bong did this?” Sheriff Posey pointed to the bag on the table with the clothes in it.

“
You don’t?” Daddy asked.

The Sheriff looked at Daddy. “Why would he put this in your mail box, Lem? How would he know Frankie is staying here?”

“
Good question,” Daddy said.

“
Has Frank Thompson been up here since he got out of jail Monday?” the sheriff asked.

“
Not that I know of,” Daddy said. “I’d have called you if he had. You think he put Frankie’s clothes in our box?”

“
I hope he did. Did either of you boys see him drive by today?”

Frankie and I both shook our heads. Neither of us had seen Frankie’s dad since last Thursday at the bonfire in their front yard.

“
Why do you hope it was Frank that did this?” Daddy asked.

“
Because if that jaybird that took Frankie to the motel did it, things just got a whole lot more serious. I was hoping Mr. Bong would be a smart boy and be halfway back to Australia by now. No, let’s hope Frank Thompson did this, because if he didn’t, it means Bong is here, and he knows where Frankie is, and he’s letting us know he knows.”

We all sat there in silence, absorbing the import of what Sheriff Posey had just said. I glanced over at Aunt Charity in the kitchen. She was frozen in place with a wood spoon in her hand, like a mannequin display down at Peterson’s. Sheriff Posey got up from the table and said he was going to talk with Frankie’s dad. I could hear the theme music from
Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C.
coming from the TV in the living room.

— — —

NATIONAL HURRICANE CENTER MIAMI

ADVISORY NO. 6 6 PM EDT FRIDAY AUGUST 15, 1969

...CAMILLE LASHING EXTREME WESTERN CUBA...

GALE WARNINGS ARE IN EFFECT AT 6 PM EDT FOR MARQUESAS KEYS AND DRY TORTUGAS.

SMALL CRAFT IN THE FLORIDA KEYS SHOULD REMAIN IN SAFE HARBOR AND THOSE ALONG THE FLORIDA WEST COAST FROM TAMPA SOUTHWARD SHOULD NOT VENTURE FAR FROM SAFE HARBOR. SMALL CRAFT ON THE FLORIDA SOUTHEAST COAST SHOULD EXERCISE CAUTION.

AT 6 PM EDT HURRICANE CAMILLE WAS CENTERED NEAR LATITUDE 21.5 NORTH...LONGITUDE 84.4 WEST OR ABOUT 270 MILES SOUTHWEST OF KEY WEST. THIS POSITION IS BASED UPON AIR FORCE RECONNAISSANCE...LAND BASED RADAR...SHIP AND ISLAND REPORTS.

CAMILLE IS MOVING TOWARD THE NORTH NORTHWEST AT 7 MPH. HIGHEST WINDS ARE ESTIMATED 115 MPH NEAR THE CENTER WITH GALES EXTENDING OUT 125 TO 150 MILES TO THE NORTH OF THE CENTER AND 50 MILES TO THE SOUTH.

HURRICANE CONDITIONS ARE EXPECTED SHORTLY OVER THE EXTREME WESTERN TIP OF CUBA AS TIDES RANGE UP TO 8 FEET AND HEAVY PRECIPITATION EXPECTED TO CAUSE LOCAL FLOODING. ALTHOUGH GALE WINDS IN SQUALLS MAY OCCUR OVER PORTIONS OF EXTREME SOUTH FLORIDA TONIGHT...SUSTAINED GALES IN THE EXTREME WESTERN KEYS ARE NOT EXPECTED UNTIL EARLY SATURDAY.

IT IS EXPECTED THAT CAMILLE WILL ENTER THE GULF OF MEXICO EARLY SATURDAY MORNING AND PROCEED ON A NORTHERLY COURSE OVER THE EASTERN GULF AT A SLIGHTLY INCREASED FORWARD SPEED. WHILE A LITTLE DECREASE IN INTENSITY IS EXPECTED AS THE HURRICANE CROSSES CUBA...CAMILLE SHOULD REGAIN MAXIMUM WINDS OF 115 MPH IN THE GULF OF MEXICO.

ALL INTERESTS ALONG THE EASTERN GULF OF MEXICO SHOULD REMAIN IN CLOSE TOUCH WITH ALL FUTURE ADVISORIES AND BULLETINS.

REPEATING THE 6 PM EDT POSITION...LATITUDE 21.5 NORTH...LONGITUDE 84.4 WEST.

THE NEXT ADVISORY WILL BE ISSUED BY THE NATIONAL HURRICANE CENTER AT MIDNIGHT EDT WITH AN INTERMEDIATE BULLETIN AT 9 PM.

HOPE

— — —

At ten o’clock that Friday night, the tension level was high in our house. Sheriff Posey had confronted Frank Thompson earlier about the clothes in our mail box and, as expected, he said he didn’t know what the sheriff was talking about. This left two possibilities: Frankie’s dad was a liar (which we already knew to be true) and was just playing mind games with his son, or Peter Bong had returned to Bells Ferry to terrorize Frankie and, we feared, exact revenge for Frankie’s reporting of what had transpired in that motel room.

I was lying in bed, reading the owner’s manual for my new Browning Sweet Sixteen, and thinking on these things. The house was quiet except for the fan going on my dresser and the muted music I could hear coming from Frankie’s room. He’d bought a transistor radio earlier in the week using some of his allowance money. Daddy had asked Aunt Charity to keep Sachet at her house tonight. Nothing was said openly about the reason, but I suspected it was because my father was worried Bong would pay us a visit in the middle of the night.

I thought Daddy was in bed asleep until I heard the soft knock on my door and he opened it.

“
What’s up?” I asked as I laid the booklet on my chest.

Daddy was standing there in his pajamas and slippers. “I’m glad you’re still up. I want to talk to you and Frankie. Let me go get him.”

I sat up in the bed and waited until Daddy appeared back at the door with Frankie behind him. Frankie was shirtless, in his pajama bottoms, and had a scolded puppy dog look on his face. Daddy sat down at my desk and Frankie just stood by the door with his head down. I glanced at Daddy, then nodded my head in Frankie’s direction with a questioning furrow on my brow.