Page 37 of The Bootlegger’s Bride

F riday morning Raymond Lomax had the front door of his home on sawhorses in the backyard where he was cutting out the rot, screwing and gluing on fresh wood, and reattaching hinges that had pulled out of the door. A temporary fix at best if it worked at all.

It was always something. Rotten doors, stuck windows, busted screens, electrical shorts, a leaky roof, a leaky pipe, a leaky boat.

At least these days he had time to tend to it all.

And today wasn’t a bad day to work outside.

Some sunshine and no wind to speak of. Temperatures above freezing and blue jays squawking.

The sound of tires on the gravel drive made him look up from his work.

A county sheriff’s department black-and-white with red bubble-gum machine atop the roof edged up toward the garage and stopped.

An officer in dark blue tunic and peaked cap rose from the Ford cruiser and strode toward him.

He figured he’d been getting a visit sooner or later.

Good to get it over with. Good that it came with Helen at work.

“I know you,” Raymond said, as they shook hands. “You were here before. When Hazel died.”

The cop nodded. “Detective Kenneth LaRose. I was hoping to catch you and your wife home what with the holiday.”

“Helen’s at the hospital.”

“I’m sorry. She okay?”

Lomax laughed. “She’s a nurse. Works part-time. Especially on weekends and holidays, when others want to be home with their kids.”

“You still at the steel mill?”

“That’s history. Got laid off. Between things right now.”

“Ever consider police work?”

He shook his head. “Never thought about it. No military training. I was at the mill during the war. Though I’m not a bad shot when it comes to ducks. Besides, it’s a little late in the game. But I guess you’re not here on a recruitment drive.”

“I wanted to talk to you about the body they found in the lake. Richard Dupuis.”

“Yeah. So I read in the Press-Record .”

Lomax led LaRose inside and brought him coffee as he sat at the kitchen table and placed his uniform cap on it. Raymond leaned against the sink, coffee cup in hand.

“Not much I can tell you. Couple of the neighbor kids who were off school that day found it. When I heard the siren and the commotion I went down and talked with the two patrolmen. I’ll tell you what I told them: I never saw or heard anything odd going on over there.”

“Yeah, I read Patrolman Shands’s notes.”

“Just because he was found there doesn’t mean he was dumped there. Lots of springs moving the water around.”

“Were you acquainted with the victim?”

“Knew who he was. And that he had run with Wortman and that crowd. I went in his club a few times over the years to have a beer after my shift. Never talked to him that I recall.”

Raymond saw the detective’s eyes shift behind him, to the window over the sink, and turned. On the sill sat a framed photograph of A.J. in his Marine dress uniform.

“That the boy?”

“Yep. Hazel’s kid. A.J. Ours too now.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Good. Just re-upped. He’s somewhere in the Caribbean. Some sort of special operations group.”

LaRose nodded at that. In World War II they were called Raiders, experts in amphibious light infantry assault, landing in rubber boats, operating behind enemy lines.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Raymond Lomax perceived a shift in tone. He thought for a moment, thinking it best to tell the truth, particularly as it was in the newspaper.

“Christmas. He came home on leave for a couple weeks.”

“Glad to hear he’s doing well. He had a tough road. I wonder if you’d let him know I’d like to see him next time he comes home.”

“What for?”

LaRose pursed his lips and studied the badge on his uniform cap, searching for the right words.

“Just to have a chat. I’ll be frank, Lomax. There’s some coincidence in the two cases, Hazel Nowak’s death and Richard Dupuis’s. Some connections.”

“Like what? What connections? Why are you dredging that up? It happened ten years ago. It’s done. Leave the boy alone.”

“I know. I’m not on a fishing expedition here.

Just trying to solve a murder case. We know that Hazel was pregnant when she died.

Your wife and others told us about her drinking problem after she lost her husband and apparently lost her way.

About her being with other men. One of whom neighbors said was Richard Dupuis.

Meaning he could have been the father of her unborn child.

Now, ten years apart, both are found dead in Long Lake in February.

And it was the boy who found his mother.

” Also, it was the boy, now the man, Special Ops Marine A.J.

Nowak, who met with Dupuis at The Blue Note a week before Dupuis disappeared—something LaRose thought it best not to mention just now.

Lomax had crossed his arms over his chest, jaw clamped tight, breathing hard through his nostrils.

LaRose said, “I’m not focused on A.J. except to learn what he knows.

I’m sure a lot of people hereabouts were aggrieved by Hazel Nowak’s demise and death.

And a lot who had no love lost for Richard Dupuis.

There may be no connection. But it’s all I got right now. ”

Lomax walked him out to his patrol car. When LaRose opened the door, Raymond said: “I never thanked you for what you did for us with Hazel. The accidental death ruling.”

“That was the coroner, Dr. Birkemeyer’s finding.”

“Maybe. I figured you both did the right thing. I trust you to do the same now.”

LaRose stared at Lomax. Finally, he said, “Duly noted.” Then he got into his patrol car and backed it down the drive. LaRose felt like he was backing himself into a corner, into a place he didn’t belong and certainly didn’t want to go. A.J. Nowak a murderer? Or Raymond Lomax? He hoped the hell not.

§

When Helen came home from the hospital that evening Raymond told her about the visit from Detective LaRose.

She stared at him across the dinner table and said: “I wonder how much A.J. knew. Did he know she was pregnant? Maybe he overheard us talking about what Hazel told me, how Dupuis took her to bed that first time when she was passed out.”

“He knew enough. I’ll never forget that day we took him in. When we found him hiding under the kitchen sink clutching Jan’s hunting knife to his chest. Lord knows what was in his heart. Doesn’t show much. In ten years never seen him cry.”

Helen twisted her dinner napkin in her lap, shaking her head. “I can’t believe our boy would do anything like that. I hate the thought of it.”

“Dupuis needed to die, Helen. I would have done it myself if I knew I could get away with it.”

She reached across and took his hand. “Maybe that’s what A.J. thought.”

“We don’t know anything for sure about what happened. Just what they wrote in the newspaper, which wasn’t much and maybe not all true.”

“I need to write A.J.”

“And tell him what? That the cops want to talk to him about Dupuis’s murder?”

“No, just how much I love him. How he is the son I never had. Even though he never called me Mom. How my love is unconditional and eternal. That’s all I’m going to tell him.”

Raymond sat silent looking at his wife then to A.J.’s photo on the windowsill before the dark sky outside.

“Tell him I feel the same.”