Free At the Twilight's Last Gleaming by David Bischoff Page A

romantic.”
    “Who knows about that, but they kind of gravitated together last year. That’s the first year I noticed them, anyway. Last year was Crossland’s first year, you know. It’s a very new place. They both came from different schools, I think. Word was that Emory could have gone to another public school, but Crossland worked out better politically for his father.”
    “That’s kind of what he told me, but from a different viewpoint.”
    “Well, he could go to a fancy school for certain, but probably wouldn’t fit in anywhere. So why not here.” His face grew a bit troubled.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Oh, nothing. I just remember something ….uhm… no, never mind.”
    “What is it, Harold!”
    “Okay. Well, you know how Emory’s a bit weird. In a good way from our outsider perspective, okay, but he doesn’t exactly make people feel comfortable. Well, last year, there was this collegiate. A junior named Bulmer. Ted Bulmer. Football player. Lineman. Jock. Big guy. Always said he wanted to go to Yale because that was William F. Buckley’s alma mater — but Yale didn’t have a good football team, so he was going somewhere else. Well, Ted picked on Emory something fierce. Just really ragged him. Like, when they were both in a room together, you could see hackles going up. Well, ther was a couple of months of this. And then one weekend about a year ago, Ted Bulmer went to Canada to cross country ski. He got lost…and they found him…. It looked as though a pack of wolves got him.”
    “Yikes!” I said. “Ouch! “
    “Well, there were others who bothered Emory — not just collegiates but some of the more , you know, red-necked blocks. They just laid off him after that happened.”
    “In Canada? You’re not linking Emory with murder, are you? Sounds like an act of Mother Nature, so to speak.”
    “Well, no, of course not. And there was no connection made by anyone. It was just something that I noticed, you know?” Harold shook his head. “Don’t mention Ted Bulmer to Emory tonight!”
    “Of course not!”
    “You do blurt sometimes.”
    “No blurting… And never that kind of nonsense, ever!” Hmm, though I thought. It did intrigue my inner Nancy Drew, though. I knew that I was going to check into Emory Clark and Emory’s family and background a bit with my library skills. If only for something to talk to him about with.
    “Well okay. You say he likes
Star Trek
, so there’s plenty to talk about there.”
    “And Cheryl? Does she like
Star Trek
too?”
    “Not particularly, but she watches it sometimes.”
    I kind of fudged that. I’m not sure why. I wasn’t exactly sure I liked my weird best guy friend getting to know Emory Clarke’s best gal friend. Why? I am not entirely certain. But then, as I look back on all of this, I’m not at all certain why I did any of this. It just seemed so important, so very very important at the time.
    I had a very nice fried chicken and mashed potatoes dinner at the Browns. My mother hadn’t been surprised at all, but admonished me to make sure I did my homework. It was supposed to snow though, so if it did, could I stay in the Brown’s guest room? Mrs. Brown was happy to oblige.
    As we were eating dessert — jello pudding with that new fangled non-dairy topping — a pair of headlights splashed through the front window. I looked out through the dining room, and sure enough, a large car was easing into the apron of the front driveway.
    “Good grief!” said Mr. Lumpkin, taking out his glasses and sliding them on as he peered out the window. “That’s a Rolls Royce!”
    With the motor still purring, a tall slender chaffeur in cap and jodphurs got out the car. He opened the back door. Two figures got out, one even taller than the chauffeur, the other short and stumpy.
    “They say he’s independently wealthy, that Senator,” said Mrs. Brown, still a bit taken aback that a Senator’s son was coming to her house. “That he donates his government