Free Here Comes the Corpse by Mark Richard Zubro Page A

immediately respond, she said, “Ethan was not to be trusted. Look at all those divorces. Ever ask yourself why?”
    “I’m not sure I cared enough to think about it much at all.”
    “Then think about it now. Every single marriage failed in less than two years. You and he didn’t get along. Ethan and Ernie were estranged. It is not Ernie’s fault that Ethan didn’t get along with people.”
    I said, “I don’t think Ernie did it.”
    “Good,” she said. We rejoined the others.
     
     
    After they had left, Scott went to begin preparations for breakfast, and I went to take a shower. He slid back the door as I began to shampoo my hair. I smiled at him. “Did you want to join me?”
    He asked, “Why is there a stack of video equipment in the middle of the electronics room?”
    “Your nephew was making a pile. I don’t think he came all the way from Georgia to help us rearrange the furniture.” I told Scott what had happened when I’d awakened earlier.
    “He was going to rip us off,” Scott said.
    “I believe that would be the medical diagnosis.”
    “The little shit. You were right about him.”
    When I finished my shower, I joined Scott in the kitchen. The recently referred to piece of excrement walked into the room. He glared at me, smiled at Scott. Donny was wearing faded jeans, white socks, and a wrinkled T-shirt emblazoned with a picture of the rock group Metallica. His hair was mussed. Bags under his eyes indicated insufficient amounts of sleep.
    “You were ripping us off,” Scott said.
    “No, I wasn’t.”
    It was the blatant lie that did him in. Scott’s got a big heart, especially for kids, but he hates being lied to.
    Scott said, “What the hell did you think you were going to be able to do with that stuff? You couldn’t possibly walk out the door with it.”
    “I was just looking at them.”
    I loved the thought of Donny confessing the truth and pleading for forgiveness. The stubborn pout on the kid’s face didn’t lend itself to the possibility of that fantasy being fulfilled. The ensuing moments of extended silence added nothing to the situation. As he had earlier this morning, the kid simply shut down. Finally, Scott said, “Donny, you look like you could use a shower. Under the sink in the bathroom connected to your room, you’ll find clean towels and washcloths.” The teenager looked from one to the other of us, shrugged, turned, and left.
    I said, “Direct confrontations aren’t working.”
    “We could try to borrow a tank and run him over repeatedly.”
    “Much too tempting.”
    “We could look through his backpack while he’s taking a shower. Maybe we’ll find some clue to what he’s really up to. Although maybe that would violate his rights. I’m not sure I care about his rights. The little creep lied.”
    I said, “I like it when you do both sides of an argument.”
    “Come on.”
    We trooped down the hallway. Through the bedroom door we could hear the shower running. Scott tapped softly. There was no answer. We walked in. The jeans, socks, and T-shirt Donny had been wearing along with a red-and-graystriped pair of boxer shorts lay on the floor. I checked the pants pockets while Scott rummaged in the backpack. I found two quarters and a penny in one front pocket. I extracted a wallet from the left rear. I found three five-dollar bills and two ones, a learner’s permit from the state of Georgia, a picture of a pleasant-faced girl, a picture ID from General Gwinnet High School, and a condom.
    Scott whispered, “I found something.” The shower water continued to run. I hurried over. Scott had scattered the contents of Donny’s backpack onto the bed. I saw a comb, a toothbrush but no toothpaste, deodorant, three more pairs of boxer shorts in muted reds and grays, two more T-shirts with rock-group logos, and two more pairs of white socks. Scott held out a pencil pouch, the kind they used to have when I was a kid, ten inches by three inches of vinyl that zipped on