Dunning’s Pontiac appeared around the same time Red Schoendienst was scoring that day’s winning run for the Milwaukee Braves. Dunning parked on the closest feeder lane, got out, turned up his collar, then bent back in to get the flower baskets. He walked down the hill to his parents’ graves carrying one in each hand.
Now that the time had come, I was pretty much okay. I had gotten on the other side of whatever had been trying to hold me back. The souvenir pillow was under my coat. My hand was inside. The wet grass muffled my footsteps. There was no sun to cast my shadow. He didn’t know I was behind him until I spoke his name. Then he turned around.
“When I’m visiting my folks, I don’t like company,” he said. “Who the hell are you, anyway? And what’s that?” He was looking at the pillow, which I had taken out. I was wearing it like a glove.
I chose to answer the first question only. “My name’s Jake Epping. I came out here to ask you a question.”
“So ask and then leave me alone.” Rain was dripping off the brim of his hat. Mine, too.
“What’s the most important thing in life, Dunning?”
“To a man, I mean.”
“What are you, wacky? What’s with the pillow, anyway?”
“Humor me. Answer the question.”
He shrugged. “His family, I suppose.”
“I think so, too,” I said, and pulled the trigger twice. The first report was a muffled thump, like hitting a rug with a carpet beater. The second was a little louder. I thought the pillow might catch on fire — I saw that in
I dragged him into the Tracker mausoleum and dropped the scorched pillow on his face. When I left, a couple of cars were driving slowly through the cemetery, and a few people were standing under umbrellas at gravesites, but nobody was paying any attention to me. I walked without haste toward the rock wall, pausing every now and then to look at a grave or monument. Once I was screened by trees, I jogged back to my Ford. When I heard cars coming, I slipped into the woods. On one of those retreats, I buried the gun under a foot of earth and leaves. The Sunliner was waiting undisturbed where I’d left it, and it started on the first crank. I drove back to my apartment and listened to the end of the baseball game. I cried a little, I think. Those were tears of relief, not remorse. No matter what happened to me, the Dunning family was safe.
I slept like a baby that night.
There was plenty about the World Series in Monday’s Derry
Nothing about Frank Dunning to start Derry’s workweek, but he was front-page material in Tuesday’s paper, along with a photo that showed him grinning with the-ladies-love-me good cheer. His devilish George Clooney twinkle was all present and accounted for.
According to the Derry Chief of Police, the department was following up all sorts of good leads and an arrest was expected soon. Reached by phone, Doris Dunning declared herself to be “shocked and devastated.” There was no mention of the fact that she and the decedent had been living apart. Various friends and co-workers at the Center Street Market expressed similar shock. Everyone seemed in agreement that Frank Dunning had been an absolutely terrific guy, and no one could guess why someone would want to shoot him.
Tony Tracker was especially outraged (possibly because the corpse had been found in the family body-bank). “For this guy, they ought to bring back the death penalty,” he said.
On Wednesday, the eighth of October, the Yankees squeezed out a two-to-one win over the Braves at County Stadium; on Thursday they broke a two-two tie in the eighth, scoring four runs and closing the Series out. On Friday, I went back to the Mermaid Pawn & Loan, expecting to be met there by Mrs. Grump and Mr. Gloom. The large lady more than lived up to my expectations — she curled her lip when she saw me and shouted, “Chazzy! Mr. Moneybags is here!” Then she shoved through the curtained-off doorway and out of my life.
Frati came out wearing the same chipmunk grin I’d first encountered in The Lamplighter, on my previous trip into Derry’s colorful past. In one hand he was holding a well-stuffed envelope with G. AMBERSON printed on the front.
“There you are, cuz,” he said, “big as life and twice as handsome. And here’s your loot. Feel free to count it.”
