Free [Oxrun Station] The Last Call of Mourning by Charles L. Grant Page A

Yarrow—"
    She grinned. "Sandy, your grandfather and I were pretty close in what we folks call the old days. And Mr. Grange here knows you just about as well as I do, right? So let's go inside, the back way, and get something from the kitchen. I promise you now it's nothing my mother has cooked."
    She refused to allow the boy any time to think. She took hold of his arm and led him quickly around the side of the house, knowing that Ed would follow dutifully—if only to find out what Wallace McLeod's grandson was doing back beyond the park. And by the time the pan had warmed the milk, the cocoa spooned out and dissolved while the three of them were seated around a huge table, the boy's face had flushed and his eyes were puffing red.
    "Come on, Sandy," she said gently. "Your folks didn't raise you to be a car thief. Give."
    "It wasn't fair, Miss Yarrow," he said finally, staring through the steam that rose from his cup. "He was a good guy, my grandfather, and it wasn't fair that he was let go just like that." He snapped his fingers weakly, watched them retreat to hold the cup again. "I mean, he could work as good as me, you know what I mean? It killed him to have to leave this place, really it did. I mean it killed him. He was too old to get another job, even though he was strong and all, and my mother said it was his heart that did it. It was broken."
    "People don't break their hearts, not literally," she said softly, uncomfortable for the sensation of family guilt that had settled to her shoulders, weighting them, making them sag.
    "I know that," he said angrily. "I know that, I'm not stupid. But it killed him just the same. He shouldn't have died, Miss Yarrow. He was a strong man. His heart was just as good as yours or mine. But he . . . dropped. Just like that, he dropped."
    "I know," she said, avoiding Ed's gaze. "As a matter of fact, I'm ashamed to say I only heard about it this afternoon. From Iris Lennon."
    "Oh, that old bag."
    "Sandy!"
    The boy ducked his head quickly and muttered an apology without substance, sipped at his drink and grimaced when the burning chocolate scorched his tongue. He blew at the swirling surface before looking to Ed. "He was going to the police, you know."
    "I knew he was in front of the station when it happened, yes," Ed said. "But going there? Why? Was there something he wanted to tell someone there?"
    "I wish I knew." The boy's frown deepened painfully. "I was the last to see him before . .. you know. We were at the house waiting for the train to bring Dad back. He was conductor on that trip and promised to bring us all something from the city when he got back. So we was waiting and all of a sudden he said he had to go and see Chief Stockton. I didn't say anything about it. Neither did Mom. He was always saying things like that. One day he was going to fetch the mayor out of bed for something or other, then it was the President of the United States. When he said the police, we thought it was his head again. Ever since he left here—I'm sorry, Miss Yarrow but it's true— ever since he left here he was talking like that." He tapped a palm softly against the edge of the table. "I'm sorry again, Miss Yarrow, but it looks to me like it was your parents' fault for the way he was, like that. They should have kept him on, really. I mean, they gave him a good-sized going away gift, if you know what I mean. At least that's what my mother said. Enough to keep him going for a long time. But they should have kept him on. He needed that work, Miss Yarrow. Honest to God, he needed that work.
    "And now he's dead. Nuts. Now he's dead." Cyd watched helplessly as his hands embraced his cup, fell back, returned—a fierce dancing struggle against the tears he wanted to shed at his frustration and sorrow, and the image he evidently felt he had to maintain: a boy, like a man, has no business crying. She wanted then to reach across the table to him, a simple gesture to tell him she knew and was sorry beyond the