Free Helens-of-Troy by Janine McCaw Page A

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