The Shadow of the Bear: A Fairy Tale Retold (22 page)

The next day was bright and balmy. They arrived at school an hour early and went straight to the school library on the top floor. No one was there except the elderly sister in black veil and white habit, who served as librarian. She and Sister Geraldine were the only nuns at the school who still wore their traditional garb.

“Sister Geraldine said you girls would want to look through some old yearbooks,” the nun said fondly.

Obviously, she liked students who were interested in the past. She escorted them through the stately rows of encyclopedias and reference books to a shelf of faded yearbooks, a motley collection by comparison. “Let me know if I can assist you any further,” the old nun said, nodding her head and walking away as silently as a mouse.

Rose lost no time. She counted down the years and selected five volumes from the appropriate classes. “Bear was here about four years ago, so we should be able to find something in these ones. Here, you take half and I’ll take half. Check for anything that says ‘Denniston’ or ‘Foster’.”

They sat down at a table in the corner and began turning the glossy black-and-white pages. Naturally Rose, the quicker one, was the first to find something. She set aside one book and picked up another. “This would have been Bear’s sophomore year, if my calculations are correct,” she said, turning to the freshmen section. “Ha!”

She had her finger on a picture in the freshman section. Its subject was a young baby-faced boy with cropped hair, freckles, glasses, and a sour expression. The caption said “Benedict Denniston.”

“That’s Bear’s brother,” Blanche said. “Boy, he looks like he has a chip on his shoulder.”

Rose stared at the photo and frowned, turning the book from side to side. “He looks familiar,” she said.

“He looks like a thinner version of Bear,” Blanche pointed out.

“Yes, that’s definitely true. Except for the freckles. And the lighter hair.”

“We should look in back issues of the school paper for that letter he wrote about the sports program. I bet it was a kicker,” Blanche said.

“Bear should be in the sophomore section,” Rose said.

But no, he was in the “juniors” section, looking a bit bewildered, as though he really didn’t belong there. He had thick, black hair and his big shoulders almost filled the picture.

“He could have been on the football team, but he preferred to write poetry,” Rose murmured. “I knew I liked him. I like him even more, seeing what he used to look like.”

There weren’t any other pictures of them in that volume. And strangely, there were no pictures of them whatsoever in the volume for the year after.

“They must have gotten arrested before the pictures were taken,” Blanche said at last.

Rose shivered. “Poor guys. There’s no mention of them at all.”

Blanche took the volume from Rose. “Let me check the candid shots.”

 At last she thought she found one more picture of Bear. It was in Sister Geraldine’s class, appropriately enough. She was teaching, a typical intense expression on her face, while a burly student in the front desk looked at her. He sat up straight, but his face was turned from the camera, so that all that could be seen was his mop of hair. She showed it to Rose, who was busy scanning the other volumes.

“It’s amazing how corny the hairstyles from a few years ago look, isn’t it?” Rose remarked.

The only other thing Blanche could find that might be pertinent to the case was a picture of a student assembly, where a policeman was giving a presentation on the dangers of drug use. “I bet this was because of the drug raid,” she said to her sister.

“Shh!” said Rose, holding up a hand.

“What is it?” Blanche asked, exasperated. Her sister was rapidly flipping pages in Bear’s junior yearbook.

“Hold on … Yes!” Rose turned to her sister and gave a thumbs up sign.

“What is it, Sherlock?”

Beaming in triumph, Rose held up the yearbook and pointed to the picture of a smiling black boy in the senior section. The caption said, “Steven Foster.”

“I noticed that the seniors have all their addresses listed at the back,” Rose said with exaggerated nonchalance.

The afternoon had turned hot and sticky, so Rose and Blanche changed out of their school uniforms into shorts and T-shirts before they went on their mission. Rose figured that the less official they looked, the better. On their way up to the Fosters’ neighborhood, they rehearsed their questions. Blanche was unsure of how soon they should mention Bear’s name. “Leave it to me,” Rose urged her. “I’ll just ask whatever comes into my head.”

“That’s precisely what worries me,” Blanche complained in an undertone.

They found the street easily, but the house number was harder to pin down. The neighborhood was not exactly in the best condition, and some of the houses had no numbers. Many of the residents of the neighborhood were sitting on their doorsteps, chatting. A group of children screeched at each other, playing with water guns. At last, the girls located a house that seemed like the Fosters’ place. An ancient air conditioner roared in the window next to the door. Rose had to knock twice. The door was cracked open, and a suspicious brown face looked out at them.

“Yeah?” a woman’s voice asked.

Rose put on her most innocent expression. “Is Steven home?”

“And what if I said he don’t live here?” the woman asked.

“We go to St. Catherine’s high school, and we know he graduated from there a few years ago. We just wanted to ask him some alumni questions …” Rose tried to sound plausible without sounding suspicious, or lying.

“Who is it, Mom?” a male voice asked.

“Some girls asking for you,” the woman said.

Rose saw another set of eyes look out, and then the door opened and a tall black youth in a t-shirt, holding a basketball, leaned out the door.

“What’s this about alumni?” He scratched his close-shaven head.

“We just wanted to ask you a few questions,” Rose said, nervously.

“You’re from the yearbook staff or something?” the youth said.

“Uh—” Rose floundered. “Sort of—”

“C’mon in if you want. It’s roasting out here.” The youth that they assumed was Steven opened the door for them and they walked inside.

The front room was in a haphazard state. There were no pictures on the walls, and a slipcover in an African print covered the sagging couch. A heavy-set woman with tightly curled hair still looked at them suspiciously, leaning in the doorway to the kitchen. Behind her, Rose could see boxes with newspaper coming out of their tops. It looked as though the Fosters were moving.

The young man sat down heavily in a torn leather recliner. The girls sat down on the couch, and Blanche sat as close to Rose as she could. “Are you Steven Foster?” Rose asked.

“I am,” the young man affirmed. He spun the basketball between his two hands. “Lucky you found me here. I just got back from college.”

“What are you studying?” Rose asked, almost automatically.

“Engineering. So, what do you want?”

Rose glanced at Blanche, who nodded slightly, and began, “Well, actually, we’re not with the yearbook. We were wondering if you might be able to help us find a friend of ours, Arthur Denniston.”

Instantly, the faces of both man and woman took on a completely different expression.

“I’m not sure I want to answer that,” Steven said slowly. The woman’s face had gone from blank surprise to deeper suspicion, and, Rose noted, fear.

“But I know you know him,” Rose said earnestly. “He knows you. He was worried about you and your mom, so I know he’s your friend. And we’ve got to find him, somehow. Don’t you have any idea where he is?”

“How do you know this Arthur Denniston?” the woman spoke up after a sharp silence.

“He’s our friend. He helped my mom on the street one night, and he visited our house a lot all this past winter. But then he took off, and we’re really worried about him. All we want to do is send him a message somehow.”

“Honey, you’d be better off not messing with guys you don’t know too much about, and that’s a fact,” the woman said brusquely.

“But we do know a lot about him,” Blanche spoke up, then lowered her voice. “We know he calls himself Bear, and that he’s trying to find out who murdered Fr. Michael Raymond.”

Again, both faces before them registered change, but this time it was slight. Apparently, both mother and son had decided not to reveal anything to these strangers.

“Sounds like a real kettle of fish to me,” Mrs. Foster said at last. “You’d be better off not getting involved with folks like that.”

“So you do know Bear?” Rose said eagerly.

“I didn’t say I did.” Mrs. Foster clammed up. There was an uncomfortable silence.

Blanche felt as though she had to say something. “Look, I know you must be terribly suspicious of us coming around, asking questions like this. We’re just his friends. I mean, didn’t he ever mention us to you, especially if he stayed here? My mom’s Jean. I’m Blanche and she’s Rose. He took us out to the opera once. He took me to my prom—maybe he borrowed your tuxedo,” she turned again to Steven, who flicked his eyelashes suddenly. “Didn’t he ever mention us to you? I can provide you with any details you want. You don’t have to tell us anything that would get you in trouble.”

“Let me ask you: just why do you want to know?” Mrs. Foster broke in. “Being nosy won’t do anybody any good. Never does.”

“Well, our school principal said he was involved in drugs. But that just doesn’t seem like Bear. I know he hangs out in the drug areas and—well, he looks pretty scruffy—but I just can’t believe he was selling drugs. You’re his friends. Can’t you tell us the truth?” Blanche pressed.

The son and the mother looked at each other uncertainly. Then Mrs. Foster said staunchly, “That boy and his brother never did any drugs. Never. Neither did my son, either. They were the cleanest kids in that whole stinking high school. Don’t you believe that man, girlie. It’s trash.”

Steven was tossing the basketball from one hand to another thoughtfully. “That was a set-up if I ever saw one. Everyone at school knew it. It was ludicrous. But Dr. Freet believed they were guilty, and he’s the important one.” He looked hard at them. “You girls have any idea what Bear’s doing?”

“Not much,” Blanche admitted.

“Well, then that’s how he wants it. If you keep snooping around, you could get into a lot of danger.” He emphasized the last word. “Danger. I’m not fooling with you.”

“Your house got broken into while he was staying here, didn’t it?” Blanche said softly.

Steven looked angry. “That’s right. Whoever it was totally trashed the place and almost killed my mother. She locked herself in the bathroom and he told her to stay there and be quiet or he’d set the place on fire. Bear and his brother had been staying here ever since they got out of prison. But after that happened, they took off.”

“Do you know where?” Rose asked.

“Lady, I just told you I can’t tell you that. I’m not even going to tell you if I know. He’s gone.” Again, he emphasized the words.

“If you girls are Christians, you can pray for him. If you ain’t, then I can’t help you,” Mrs. Foster chuckled harshly to herself.

“How long was he in juvenile detention?” Blanche asked.

“Ten months. His brother was in for six months. It was real hard on both of them. Especially Arthur. That boy has got the most gentle spirit you’ve ever seen, and he was miserable.” Mrs. Foster’s eyes grew soft. “You never met a sweeter kid. That’s why I didn’t mind them two staying here. They were always over here with Steven when they were in high school, and when they got put in prison, their big-shot father didn’t want anything to do with them. Threw them out on the streets. They’re rich, you know, but they don’t have a penny to their names now. Well, the surest way to send a kid back to prison is to wash your hands of him when he’s down.”

Blanche murmured an assent, and Mrs. Foster went on, “I raised my Steven right—that’s why he’s the way he is now. But I got friends who have kids in prison, and I know what a difference it can make to a kid to have an adult stand by him. Not that you say he’s right when he’s wrong—no ma’am! But that kid Arthur, he and Ben didn’t do anything wrong. Somebody set them up, that’s for sure.”

“But who would set them up?” Blanche asked.

“If any of us knew that, we wouldn’t be sitting here with this room like it is, that’s for sure,” Mrs. Foster said.

Rose had remembered something. “Does any of this have anything to do with chalices?”

Mrs. Foster shook her head. “I wish I knew. Those boys were always trying to find someone who sold Catholic chalices and whatnot—” she caught her son’s warning eyes and shut her mouth.

“You’d be better off not asking questions about that,” Steven said briefly, in a manner remarkably similar to Bear’s.

But Rose would not be deterred. “Was he trying to sell some of Father Raymond’s old vessels? We know he collected vessels.”

“I said, no questions!” Steven said flatly. “That’s final!” At Rose’s hurt look, he said curtly, “Arthur is one of my best friends. I can’t afford to be giving out information right and left when I know he’s in trouble. How do I know who’ll you’ll be talking to—accidentally or on purpose?” He caught Rose’s protest and nipped it in the bud. “Oh, I know you girls don’t mean any harm, but this situation is a bit more than you can handle. So just keep everything I said to yourselves, okay?” His look was adamant and harsh.