“They saw him. He was with Becky all day.”
“Who’s Becky?”
“Becky Wynning. She’s some distant relation of mine. I don’t really know her too well. But you probably saw her this morning.”
“Oh?”
“Sure. She’s the Founder’s Day Queen.”
“Brown hair? Brown eyes? Tall? Big, uh...?”
“The biggest,” Sue Ann nodded. “Your friend and her were hanging all over each other, all day. But nobody’s seen ’em for the last hour or so.”
“Hmmm. Where does Becky Wynning live, Sue Ann? She and Wheat might’ve gone over to her house, to be alone or something. Is it close enough we could walk over and check?”
“Not really. She lives on a farm five or six miles outside of town.”
“Damn. Does she have a car of her own?”
“I don’t think so. I’m not really sure, though. Why, doesn’t your friend have a car?”
“He does, but it’s stuck in the middle of that street over there with a thousand other cars. Besides which, it’s a Volkswagen and I doubt both Wheat and the king-size Queen could fit inside at the same time.”
“Are you going to go looking for him, Fred?”
“I can’t. No time for it.”
“Why not?”
“Please, Sue Ann. I told you I couldn’t explain everything. You just have to trust me. Believe me, I wouldn’t risk something like this if there wasn’t a good reason.”
“Whatever the reason, it’s exciting! I hope you won’t mind me saying so, but I never met anybody with such... such... moxie!”
“Moxie?”
“It’s an old-time word. Daddy uses it sometimes.”
She would have to mention Daddy.
“Fred...”
“Yes?”
“Did you hear something?”
“When?”
“Now.”
“No.”
“I heard something.”
“What?”
“Fred, you’re shaking!”
“I’m running a quart low on moxie, Sue. Ann. What did you hear?”
“Sounded like somebody wrestling or something.”
“Could you be more exact?”
“Well, I think I could.”
“Be more exact.”
“It sounded like a zipper.”
“A zipper.”
“You know what a zipper is, Fred.”
“I know what a zipper is, and I also know you said you heard somebody wrestling, Sue Ann, and somebody wrestling doesn’t sound like a zipper.”
“The zipper was only part of it... wait... there, hear it?”
“No.”
“A rustling sound. Wait. Listen. See if you hear anything.”
I did, and I didn’t.
“I think it was just your imagination, Sue Ann. Frankly, I don’t see how you could hear a zipper with all that racket going on so close to us.”
Over by the bank, the rock band was playing something loud and fast, while people danced in the streets and Elam and Hopp leaned against the stolen Mustang.
“I have excellent hearing, Fred. There! Don’t you hear it?”
“More zippers?”
“More wrestling! Scuffling. Listen.”
“Hey. Hey, yeah. It’s coming from right over there.”
“We better check it out, don’t you think, Fred?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I think we should.”
She was right. If I was found here in the bushes with Sue Ann in a few minutes, when I was putting my idea into effect, I could really get caught with my pants down.
“Okay,” I said. “Careful. It’s coming from under the bandstand, isn’t it? Is that possible?”
“Yes. It’s hollow underneath. Shhh. They’ll hear us.”
Then I saw the feet.
Four of them, to be exact.
The four feet were naked. That is, had no shoes or socks on.
And I was suddenly embarrassed.
What else would the hollow area beneath a park bandshell be used for on a summer evening but making out? The sounds of kissing and cuddling and assorted affection prompted me to try and tug Sue Ann’s sleeve so we could retreat before my embarrassment was passed along to the happy couple under the bandshell, who as yet hadn’t noticed us creeping up on them.
Then I took a closer look at the four feet and recognized them. Two of them, anyway. The other two feet I could pretty well figure out. All four of the feet were large, though two of them were more feminine than the others. Large feet belonging to large people.
Wheaty and the Founder’s Day Queen.
“Wheat!” I whispered. “It’s me! Kitch!”
“Kitch!” Wheat said, sitting up, bumping his head on the roof (or rather, floor) of the bandshell.
“Wheat, get out of there. It’s important.”
“Well, gee, so is this, Kitch.”
The toes belonging to the Founder’s Day Queen had long since curled, and I now heard some terrified whispering from the Queen who had been quite understandably scared out of her socks (figuratively speaking) by the interruption.
First Wheat, then the Queen, peeked out. Neither Wheat or the Queen was undressed, just disheveled, unbuttoned, and, well, let’s just say there was nothing wrong with Sue Ann’s hearing. The Queen just sat there in her fetchingly disarrayed white dress (which was looking less and less virginal all the time) and tried to straighten her rhinestone tiara and blushed. Sue Ann apologized for our rude interruption, and said not to be embarrassed, because “Fred and I have been making out all afternoon ourselves.”
Everybody blushed then (except Sue Ann, of course) and Wheat asked me what was going on.
I said, “We’re going to help our friends get out of town.”
Surprisingly, Wheat understood at once. “Good,” he said. “How?”
“I’ll explain later. For right now, just do what I tell you, and trust me.”
“Sure, Kitch. I suppose I better be getting my shoes back on, huh?”
“Not exactly,” I said, and I took off my clothes and handed them to Sue Ann.
Chapter 36
“My mom’ll kill me,” Wheat said.
We were both crouched in the bushes at the edge of the park, a few feet away from the main street and the crowd of people who were still enthusiastically celebrating Founder’s Day. Right now there was a lull while the rock band left the stage (that is, the platform truck) and the country western band took over; the two bands had been alternating since late this afternoon. The country western band was getting its guitars slung around its necks and what not, and the pudgy, bald Mayor of Wynning was standing at the microphone announcing the winners of various events of the day, including the watermelon-eating contest, in which Sue Ann’s police chief Uncle Phil had come in second. I could see two of the reporters were still with us, the one from the Port City Journal and the one from the Des Moines Register, too. Both of them had their flash cameras out and were taking pictures of things, the Mayor at the moment; both of them seemed thoroughly sloshed on the nickel beer the local bar was still dispensing. There were still a lot of people here, in fact I’d guess just about everybody had stayed the duration: when the rock band was playing, the adults would stand along the sidelines (and sit, as many of them had brought lounge chairs along) and watch the kids dance; and when the country western band was playing, the kids would disappear off into the park and find a tree (or a bandshell) to neck under. A lot of the people were munching on tacos or snow cones or cotton candy, or drinking pop or the nickel beer. Everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves. What I’m saying is, Founder’s Day gave no signs of letting up. It could go on this way till midnight. Tomorrow.
Wheat and I crouched in the bushes and took all this in. Did I mention we were naked?