“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 Godfather 2 -but it only smoldered a little. Dunning fell over, crushing the basket of flowers he’d placed on his father’s grave. I knelt beside him, my knee squelching up water from the wet earth, placed the torn end of the pillow against his temple, and fired again. Just to make sure.
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 Daily News, including a nice pic of Schoendienst sliding home with the winning run after a Tony Kubek error. According to Red Barber’s column, the Bronx Bombers were finished. “Stick a fork in em,” he opined. “The Yanks are dead, long live the Yanks.”
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. BUSINESSMAN FOUND MURDERED IN LOCAL CEMETERY
Dunning Was Prominent in Many Charity Drives
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 amp; 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.”
“I trust you,” I said, and put the envelope in my pocket. “You’re mighty cheery for a fellow who just forked over three large.”
“I won’t deny that you cut into this year’s Fall Classic take,” he said. “ Seriously cut into it, although I still made a few bucks. I always do. But I’m mostly in the game because it’s a whattayacallit, public service. People are gonna bet, people are always gonna bet, and I give em a prompt payoff when a payoff’s due. Also, I like taking bets. It’s a kind of hobby with me. And do you know when I like it best?”
“No.”
“When someone like you comes along, a real stampeder who bucks the odds and comes through. That restores my faith in the random nature of the universe.”
I wondered how random he’d think it was if he could see Al Templeton’s cheat sheet.
“Your wife’s view doesn’t appear to be so, um, catholic.”
He laughed, and his small black eyes sparkled. Win, lose, or draw, the little man with the mermaid on his arm flat-out enjoyed life. I admired that. “Oh, Marjorie. When some sad sack comes in here with his wife’s engagement ring and a sob story, she turns into a pile of goo. But on the sports-book stuff, she’s a different lady. That she takes personal.”
“You love her a lot, don’t you, Mr. Frati?”
“Like the moon and the stars, cuz. Like the moon and the stars.”
