Helens-of-Troy (9 page)

“Now where did it go?” she
wondered.

“How ya doing, Mrs. LaRose?” Ryan
asked, pulling his beat-up black Toyota in front of her house. His
mother had given him the car when he turned sixteen last year. It
was old and dilapitated, but he loved it, despite the engine that
constantly backfired. The neighbors on Maple Street had a slightly
different opinion of it.

“Just fine thank you, Ryan,” Helena
replied, taking a few steps towards him. “That was quite the bit of
excitement we had last night, wasn’t it?”

Ryan shrugged. “Beats the hell out of
watching videos.”

“I guess that’s one way to look at it,”
she agreed, somewhat surprised by his nonchalance. “How’s
Stan?”

“He was pretty quiet this morning. I
don’t know if he’ll be around to cut your grass this afternoon. I
might have to stop by and do it for you tomorrow.”

Helena looked at the decaying leaves on
the lawn. The grass, once lush and green, was now turning a rusty
shade of brown. “It’s okay, Ryan,” she sighed. “I think it can
wait. Everything around the house seems to be dying
off.”

Ryan laughed. “You’re hilarious, Mrs.
LaRose.”

“I was talking about the lawn, not Mr.
Wagner,” she informed him. “You’re not the least bit disturbed by
what happened last night?”

“Well, it’s not like he didn’t have it
coming,” Ryan began. “I mean, you know, he was old. It’d be
different if he was some hot chick stabbed to death by a guy in a
maskbeing Halloween and all—but, you know...it was just Old Man
Wagner, taking his last snooze.”

“That almost sounded poetic, Ryan. I
didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Well, don’t go telling Tom or anyone,
but yeah, I guess deep down inside, part of me knows that somebody,
somewhere, loved the old guy. I don’t exactly know who, because I
never saw anyone visiting him or anything, but he sure liked
sitting on your porch. I think he had a bit of a thing for you,
Mrs. LaRose. He did have a smile on his face, before the cops
covered it with the blanket one last time. Maybe that’s not such a
bad way to go.”

Helena couldn’t help but smile. She
liked Ryan despite all the negative things the neighbors said about
him. He definitely had a knack for rubbing people the wrong way.
Her daughter Helen wasn’t the first person to take an instant
disliking to him. She wouldn’t be the last either. But when the
snowstorm hit last year, it was Ryan who went door to door making
sure everyone on the street was okay. It had been Ryan who shoveled
Mr. Wagner’s driveway and then drove him to his doctor so he
wouldn’t miss an appointment he had waited months for. And it would
be Ryan, she knew, carrying a good share of the load as one of Mr.
Wagner’s pallbearers. For Helena, Ryan’s actions spoke louder than
Ryan’s words. Most of the time.

“All the same, you handled yourself
well last night, Ryan. Keeping calm under pressure is a
talent.”

“Well, I play ball,” he boasted. “I
just put myself into the zone. When I’m there, you can come at me
with all you’ve got.” He tightened his face muscles and gave her a
stare that sent shivers down her spine. His skin turned red. His
eyes began to bulge. He began to froth at the mouth with saliva.
Then he stopped.

“Like that,” he explained to a
mystified Helena. “When I do that, nothing can intimidate me. Not
even death. Remember that, Mrs. LaRose.”

“That’s a little disconcerting, Ryan.
But I suppose it does come in handy. Just keep it on the field,
okay?” She knew that if Helen saw him make that face, she’d have
him tested for rabies.

He nodded.

“I get the feeling Stan hadn’t seen a
dead body before?” she asked apprehensively.

“I don’t think it was on his to-do
list.”

She wanted to laugh, but the look on
Ryan’s face was serious. “Really? He has a to-do list?”

“What can I say, Mrs. LaRose? Stan
doesn’t like surprises. Mr. Wagner pretty much freaked him out,” he
admitted. “I know he’s my brother, but he’s a little weird. This
will haunt him for months.”

“That’s terrible, Ryan. Should I go
have a word with your mother?”

“That’s probably not a good idea. My
mom thinks thatwell, never mind what my mom thinks. She’s messed
up.”

“But maybe I can help,” Helena
offered.

“She hates you, Mrs.
LaRose.”

“Ohwell, since you put it that way.
Tell Stan I hope he feels better soon.” She thought about him for a
moment. “He doesn’t hate me, does he?”

Ryan shook his head. “No. He just
thinks you’ve got a body buried in your backyard.”

Helena took a deep breath. Keep calm,
she told herself. “Why does he think there are bodies buried in my
backyard?” She could feel her heart beginning to beat a little
faster.

“Body. Singular. I told you he’s a
little weird. I have no idea why he thinks that. But he does. He
seems to think it’s under the grass just off your back porch, if
you really want to know.”

Helena laughed nervously. “That’s
ridiculous. I can assure you there is no body by the back
porch.”

“Like I said,” Ryan shrugged. “He’s
just a weird little kid.”

Helena listened carefully to what Ryan
was telling her. She was going to have to make some changes at the
back of the house if the neighbors were feeling uncomfortable. She
couldn’t have Stan being afraid to go into the yard when spring
rolled around. Lawn seed. Colorado Blue. She’d have to order some
in for the dead patch.

“I know the spot he’s talking about.
I’m afraid a coyote has taken a liking to letting it all flow
there. I’ve tried just about everything to get the grass to grow
back. You don’t have a magic solution hidden away in your garden
shed do you? Your lawn doesn’t seem to have the same
problem.”

“No," Ryan replied. “I think Betty puts
down mothballs.” He leaned out the window and pointed towards the
side of Helena’s house. “I can see the newspaper under the bush, if
that’s what you’re looking for.”

“It is,” Helena sighed, walking across
the lawn. “Good help is hard to find. I certainly miss the days
when you had the paper route. At least you could throw.”

As she reached down to pick up the
paper, her silk housecoat came untied. She looked up to find Ryan
staring at her ample breasts, proudly displayed within the bodice
of her nightgown.

“
You’re squinting, Ryan. You
don’t need glasses, do you?” she asked coyly, taking her time doing
up her robe. “Although, I guess football players prefer contacts
these days.”

“I can see everything just fine, Mrs.
LaRose.” He winked at her. “I have 20-20 vision. And that’s not the
only thing that’s perfect about me.”

Raunchy little beggar, Helena thought
to herself. “Ryan, if I were several decades younger than I am, I
might entertain the notion of determining what is and isn’t
perfection with you. But as it happens I’m not, and besides, my
daughter Helen would have a fit, so let’s just put a lid on the
innuendos for now, okay? You’re an incredibly muscular young man
and I’m a rather well endowedwhat’s the wordcougar?” The natural
yet somewhat seedy attraction that causes, should probably be our
little secret.”

Ryan was silent for a moment. “Oh, I
get you. Your daughter’s the jealous type.”

“Something like that.”

“So what’s up? Is Ellie going to be
coming to our school?” he asked innocuously. Rejection wasn’t a big
problem with Ryan. He had clearly moved on.

Helena honestly didn’t know how long
the girls were planning to stay, or whether Troy Tech was going to
be in Ellie’s future. “Your guess is as good as mine,
Ryan.”

“I was only asking because it’s Friday
night football tonight,” he said with excitement. “She could come
with Tom and Jacey and me and check it out if she’s hanging around
that long. It’s a pretty big game for us. The coach is expecting a
sell-out.”

Helena smiled. “I’ll let her
know.”

“Tell her if she wants to come, to be
out by the curb around five and we’ll pick her up. If we don’t see
her, we’ll just keep going, no sweat.” He glanced at his watch.
“Whoa. I’ve got to go now. I promised Mr. Czewzinski I’d show up
early today. He said he’d show me how to tune the engine. I don’t
think you’ve noticed, but my car’s been sounding like shit lately.”
He waved, honked his horn twice, and started to pull away from the
curb.

Thank God, Helena thought. If you only
make it to school one day this year, make it today. “I’ll tell her.
And Ryan, no drinking and driving, do you hear me?”

“I never drink until after the game,
Mrs. LaRose. I promise. The coach would have a fit.”

“That’s not what I meant. You’re still
underage.”

He squealed away in as much of a squeal
as the old Toyota could muster.

“Ryan,” she said to herself, “I have a
feeling you are going to be my granddaughter’s best friend and my
daughter’s worst nightmare. And you live right next door! How
conveniently Shakespearean.”

Helena headed back into the house and
wandered into the breakfast nook. As she began to unroll the
newspaper onto the kitchen table, she noticed some dirt falling
from between the damp pages. At least she hoped it was
dirt.

“Eeww,” she said, taking a napkin from
the holder on the table’s Lazy Susan and wiping the debris off.
“Environment or not, I miss the plastic bag the paper used to come
in.”

She picked up the paper and studied the
weather page. “It’s supposed to be a gorgeous day,” she said as she
stood and waited for the coffee to finish brewing. Below the
advertisement for Williams Hardware she saw a tiny story about the
streetlights being shattered on Main Street again.

“You’d think they would know better
than to fix them before Halloween,” she sighed as she put the paper
on the counter and poured herself a cup of java. Her eyes skimmed
down to the bottom of the page. There was a report that a coyote
was on the loose and it had been dining on a few gourmet
selections, specifically a Siamese feline and a purebred miniature
poodle. The owners had discovered their half-mutilated remains
deposited outside their back doors. “Sucked the guts right out of
him,” Warren Curtis had been quoted as saying in the
article.

“Coyote my ass,” Helena thought aloud,
walking over to the back door. She turned on the porch light to
survey her own back stoop from the window. Thankfully the coast was
clear. There were no dead animals to have to remove before the
girls came down. None that she could see, anyway. She thought again
about the encounter Ellie had with the wild dog last
night.

“He’s getting too big for his
britches,” Helena said, walking back over to the
counter.

“What’s that, Mother?” Helen asked,
entering the kitchen in her blue flannel pajamas.

Helena started to tell her daughter
about the news item, and then thought the better of it. “I was just
talking about my ass. It’s getting too big for my britches. Coffee
dear?” Helena asked, taking another mug from the cupboard and
turning towards her daughter.

“God no. I don't want anything that
might keep me up tonight,” Helen replied. “I was so tired
yesterday, but I couldn't sleep a wink.” She leaned against the
counter. “I kept thinking I heard something howling at the moon. I
hate Halloween.”

Helena put the mug back. “I guess you
were still a little wound up. Moves can be a bit
unsettling.”

Helen looked at her mother in
disbelief. “It wasn’t the move that was unsettling. It might have
started out that way, but somewhere between stuffing all our
earthly possessions in a van, leaving the home and relationship
I’ve known for the past five years and arriving here in Amityville,
the day got even worse.”

“It’s not always so crazy around here,
I can assure you,” Helena said.

“Oh, that’s a relief. You act as if
it's normal, the police showing up and taking a dead man from your
home. I still can’t believe we weren’t all taken away for
questioning.”

Helena folded her arms across her
chest. “Darling, Chief Cohen was fine with it all. What did you
expect? If we had murdered Mr. Wagner, I’m sure he would have
handled things differently.”

“And what was up with that?” she asked,
throwing her hands up in the air questioningly. “The Chief of
Police shows up at your door and acts like this happens here all
the time. ‘Oh, okay Helena, it's a suicide. I’m sure the note will
be in the pocket just like you say it will. Barney Fife and I have
to get back to the station now. We’ll wrap this up in the morning.
Or not.'"

“Your point being?” Helena said
tersely. “And for your information, Barney Fife’s name is Rick
Purdy.”

“
What kind of cops do you
have in this town? Do they find their badges inside cereal
boxes?”

Helena took offense. “Well, they didn't
come back did they? Obviously the note was there just like I said
it was going to be.”

“And how did you know that? Are you
mind reading these days?”