Another Dead Republican (30 page)

One day Zachary deliberately brought a bag of dog treats with him. He left one out on his desk. When the dog glommed onto the fact that there was food on the desk, it got excited. Mrs. Grum held the dog down to the treat so it could snap it up. Zachary took to leaving one out every day. This action seemed to endear him to Mrs. Grum.

The Grums were not tolerant of mistakes or what they perceived to be slow work. If an order was given and not carried out immediately and precisely to Mrs. Grum’s specifications, the employee would be verbally flailed in front of whoever was nearby. The other Grums also indulged in this behavior. Public screaming did not seem to bother them, at employees or at each other.

I read through this tedium for an hour, afraid to start skimming in case something turned up. Not having someone at work to confide in, Zachary used his notes to record his observations.

Scott crawled into bed about one. I kept at it for another half hour.

I stopped where Zachary recorded that Edgar had come to work in the campaign. Ross had been assigned to be Edgar Grum’s assistant. My eyes were beginning to close as I read, as if this were a novel about teenage vampires and the angst they shared with their human counterparts. I’d start again in the morning.

FORTY-FIVE

Saturday 2:00 A.M.

It must have been around two as I was snuggling up to Scott’s lightly snoring torso and had dropped into a slight doze when I heard soft tapping at the door.

I threw on my jeans and padded to the door. I expected Veronica. It was Gerald, the middle kid. He wore green and gold sweat pants and a football jersey with Aaron Rodgers’ name on it. His hair was tousled. He looked as if he might have been crying. A small bit of snot hung out of one nostril.

He said, “I’m scared.”

“You want to come in?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

I turned on the light next to the bed and sat on the edge. He sat next to me. I handed him a tissue from a box next to the bed. I suggested he wipe his nose. He did.

Scott turned over and opened his eyes and saw the two of us. He pulled the covers up to his chest.

Gerald said, “You guys sleep together like mommy and daddy.”

I said, “Yes.”

He nodded his head.

I asked, “Why are you scared?”

“I heard something in the house.”

“What did you hear?” I asked.

“A cracking noise.”

His bedroom was nearest the back stairs to the first floor.

I said, “Do you want us to investigate?”

He nodded.

I said, “You know you don’t have to be scared because your mom is here, your grandma and grandpa, and me and Scott. We’ll always protect you.”

“I know.”

I threw on a shirt. Scott said, “I’ll be with you guys in a second.” I ushered Gerald out the door so Scott could put some clothes on. Moments later he joined us in the hall.

Making as little noise as possible, the three of us crept through the second floor. We didn’t listen at the bedroom doors, but kept our ears open. We eased down the back stairs and began on the wing of the first floor under our bedrooms but found nothing.

We crossed to the other wing. As we neared the office, I saw a faint light seeping under the door into the hall. Maybe Veronica checking the files or something sinister? Scott positioned himself in front of Gerald as I opened the door.

Light spilled from the closet. I heard a crash and a male voice swore.

I walked up to the opening and looked inside.

Dewey Grum, Edgar’s next older brother, was hopping around, holding his right foot with his right hand, and reaching out with his left hand trying to support himself. His hand landed on a box on top of a stack to his left. The box lurched, fell, tumbled to the ground along with Dewey. His substantial butt landed on several of the boxes that had our finished files in them. He looked up. Several other boxes had become unbalanced. As they fell toward him, he tried to swat them away. The result was their contents added to the mess on the floor.

I said, “Hi, Dewey.”

Dewey did dual shtick in the family. He was the photographer and the practical joker. Veronica told the story of him loudly and insistently moving the family into various combinations and poses at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. One elderly tourist having finally had enough, asked him to tone it down. Dewey had thrown a fit. Security had to intervene and ushered the Grum entourage away from the site.

He was most notorious for the photos and videos he’d made at Edgar and Veronica’s wedding. Dewey was not the official photographer, otherwise Veronica would have been furious. He’d been quite proud of them. When enough time had passed, Veronica had gotten hold of the entire collection and turned it over to a friend of hers who could edit the whole thing together. Veronica called it
The Wedding Horror Show
. We’d had a viewing of the edited masterpiece at my parents a few years later. We’d laughed until our sides ached. Even better, the edited version was just as funny forward as backward. The photos that weren’t blurry were at odd angles. They weren’t artistic mood shots taking people unawares, but views of people scratching their butts or picking their noses or nodding off. Or maybe that’s what Dewey meant to capture. The video portions included every awkward shuffle, trip, and twist. He even caught Mrs. Grum’s little dog relieving himself against the head table.

The most disgusting practical jokes I knew about were his remote control fart machine and his liquid/spray ass smell. He found this amusing. Veronica had told me about his using them at various family functions. Veronica grimaced and made gagging noises as she told me, “The Grum brothers seemed to find them immensely amusing. It was disgusting.”

Dewey scrambled to his feet. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. Two cameras dangled from straps around his neck.

I said, “You don’t live here. How did you get in?”

“Edgar gave us keys.”

Note to self, have Veronica change the locks to the outer doors. The idea that the Grums could invade while we were sleeping creeped me out.

“You came to take pictures?”

He looked down and noticed the cameras that had thunked against the floor when he fell.

He said, “What pictures?”

“What are you looking for?”

Scott said, “This is the sound Gerald heard.”

I turned back to him. In one hand he held a crowbar. He pointed it at the broken bits of wood around the door jamb. Gerald held Scott’s other hand and was peering at his Uncle Dewey. Gerald said, “You look funny, Uncle Dewey.”

I said, “Did Edgar give you keys and the crowbar to get into places in his house?”

Dewey snarled, “I don’t answer to you.”

“Get out.” I spoke softly in deference to Gerald’s presence. The child’s proximity didn’t seem to alter Dewey’s performance as he shouted, “You two don’t belong here. You’re going to be very, very sorry. Wait until my mom and dad are through with you.”

I’m afraid both Scott and I burst out laughing.

Dewey lunged for the crowbar. Scott moved himself in front of Gerald and held the implement over his head. Dewey was too short and too hefty to reach it. I stepped in between them and said, “There will be no physical assaults in this house, not while we are here. Now get out and stay out.” We stepped aside so he had a path to leave through.

Dewey growled and grumbled in great Grum style and stalked out of the office. I followed him through the house to make sure he left while Scott stayed in the office with Gerald.

When Dewey was safely gone, I went back.

As I entered, I heard Scott saying to the child, “He was probably trying to help us.”

Gerald said, “He made a mess.”

“Your Uncle Tom and I will clean it up in the morning.”

“You want me to help?” the kid asked.

“If you’d like,” Scott said. “You know you were very brave and did the right thing to come get us when you were scared. That was a smart decision.”

Gerald smiled. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him do that before. Then the kid yawned and said, “Will you let me stay with you?”

I looked at Scott and then squatted down so that I was on eye level with Gerald. I said, “Tell you what, I’ll stay with you in your room until you fall asleep. You’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you.”

I took him to his room. He crawled into bed. Did an eight-year-old let adults tuck them in? He pulled up his covers, and I sat on the edge of the bed. In a tiny voice, he asked, “Will you sing me a song?”

I have a horrible singing voice. Did eight-year-olds get sung to sleep? Should I suggest reading a book as an alternative? His pale eyes looked at me in the soft light from the tiny bedside lamp. I began by humming “Puff the Magic Dragon” and even began what I remembered as the first verse. I sang softly in the hope that my horrendous lack of melodiousness would be less noticed. His eyes closed within half a minute. His breathing evened out.

I glanced around the room. Next to the bed were shelves with stuffed animals, not the dead critter type like in the office, but small, furry creatures. The top shelf had multiple sized figures of Pooh, Eeyore, Tigger, Kanga, and Roo. The next shelf were all forest and jungle creatures, miniature animals, giraffes, elephants. The bottom shelf were animals such as stuffed squirrels, small raccoons, and deer. It was a gentle, muted rendition of his father’s shrine of death.

I shut the light and left the room. Usually Scott gets asked to do stuff by kids. I actually felt pretty good about this.

Back in our room, I eased into bed next to Scott.

“Is he asleep?”

“Yeah. He asked me to sing him a song.”

Scott smiled.

“I did my best. He didn’t wake back up and run out screaming. I figure that was a triumph.”

He said, “If we had kids, you’d be a great dad.”

I thanked him and snuggled close.

“What the hell is in that office?” Scott asked.

I said, “Maybe it was like you told Gerald. He was breaking in so he could help us sort the papers, kind of a middle-of-the-night spurt of altruism.”

“From a Grum?”

“It could happen.”

Scott said, “I hope whatever it is, is worth the effort. Presumably all the Grums know what it is they are looking for. We get a different one each time.”

“None of the cousins, aunts, or uncles so far, but you’re right. They’ve all got to be in on it. We just don’t know what “it” is.”

We had no answers. It took a while for me to drift off to sleep. Something in Harrison County was very wrong and the Grums were at the center of it. I just hoped no more dead bodies piled up. As I drifted off, I admitted to myself that I wouldn’t mind if more Grum dead bodies accumulated. I might confess that to Scott, but it’s the kind of thought you’re not supposed to have.

FORTY-SIX

Saturday 7:00 A.M.

I awoke much too early on Saturday morning. Scott was up doing his rehab exercises. I headed out for a morning run. The day was cool with a gorgeous orange, pink, and gray sunrise.

The house was quiet when I returned and hopped into the shower. Before going downstairs, I checked the Internet on my laptop. The local news was filled with election coverage, charges and counter charges, threats of lawsuits, and accusations of various levels and kinds of criminality. The governor and the Grums and the Ducharmés were prominently mentioned although none of the principals had agreed to be interviewed.

One rumor had it that Governor Mallon planned to barricade the capitol building. No one knew where the rumor started and no one knew why she would do so. Two of the local news stations had live pictures of the capitol building and the surrounding grounds. Nobody was trying to take it over. Did she think the teachers in the state had somehow overnight acquired a fleet of tanks and were prepared to overthrow her?