Willy nodded. "Guess that would help."
He hoped it didn't, given Joe's suspicions about why Andy had copped to a crime he'd never committed.
E. T.'s monotone response opened that door wider. "Not even close."
Willy smiled slightly in the darkness. I got you now, he thought.
Willy approached the farmhouse on foot, having parked at the bottom of the long driveway. This was a pure impulse, driven solely by nosiness. He could have called Joe or paged him, or even waited until morning to report on his purely social meeting with E. T. He'd just spent an hour with the old man at his home over a nightcap, further ingratiating himself. But he wasn't interested in seeing Joe-it was the serendipitous proximity of the Gunther farm that had become an irresistible attraction. Willy had heard too much about Mom and Leo and the farm and all the rest not to make at least a covert visit. In a way he couldn't-and certainly wouldn't-have verbalized, it had much of the appeal of catching an eminent presence during an unguarded, private moment.
The night was clear, cold, and brittle as ice, the sky overhead jammed with a shotgun blast of sharp-edged stars. Despite his heavy coat, Willy felt chilled to the bone. The snow under his boots squeaked as he walked.
Lights were still on, spilling over the white-clotted bushes under the building's windows. He could see dark wood-paneled walls of what was either a cluttered living room or a library, with book-lined shelves everywhere. A gray-haired elderly woman in a wheelchair sat surrounded by document-laden tables, a TV on in the background, its luminescence commingling with the flickerings from a glass-doored woodstove.
"It's more comfortable inside."
Willy whipped around, his feet slipping slightly on the packed snow of the driveway, making him flail out with his good arm for balance.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed.
"Of course," said Joe Gunther, standing in the shadows by the side of the house, "you'll have to clean up your language. My mother's old-school."
Willy recovered himself. "What the hell're you doing out here?"
Gunther chuckled. "You're asking me?"
Willy scowled. "I was around. You wanted me to hook up with Griffis."
"So I did," Joe acknowledged affably, gesturing with one hand. "Come on in. I'm freezing just looking at you."
Reluctantly, still embarrassed at being caught so flagrantly, Willy moved toward him. "How'd you know I was out here? You taking a leak or something?"
"I saw your headlights," Joe explained. "Plus, I placed a couple of sensors out there a few days ago." He waved into the darkness. "A little paranoia can be a good thing."
He led the way into the farmhouse's kitchen, around to the side, stamping his feet as he entered the small mudroom. "Better take your boots off. You'll catch hell otherwise. You want a pair of slippers, they're around the corner there."
Willy only grudgingly removed his footwear and skipped the slippers. He hated catering to anyone's precious house rules, even if it meant that his feet would remain cool.
They passed on into the house's true warmth after ridding themselves of their coats, entering an atmosphere redolent of a recent warm meal, a wood fire, and the odor of old books. Joe took him into the room he'd seen earlier and introduced him to his mother.
The old lady gave Willy's hand a firm shake and watched him closely.
"You're an interesting man, Mr. Kunkle. I know that already."
Willy snorted. "That's one word."
"A good word, though," she agreed, adding, "complicated."
He laughed, pointing to Joe. "Is that what he says?"
She smiled. "He says less than you might think. But I'm not too bad a judge of character myself. Would you like a seat by the fire? And maybe something warm to drink? You look like you could use both."
Willy hesitated.
"It won't be held against you if you accept, Mr. Kunkle."
He shook his head, caving in and moving toward the stove. "It's Willy, and I give up. I'll pass on the drink, though. Been doing that all night."
"Willy's been pumping E. T. for information," Joe explained, settling into an armchair.
"Really?" his mother commented. "How did you fare with that? He's a tight-lipped old grouch."
"I laid the groundwork," Willy admitted, picking up from his boss that the conversation was unrestricted. "I told him I lost a son and messed up my arm in a car crash-my fault. Drunk driving."
Joe's mother stared at her son. "You really do that sort of thing, don't you? Lie to people."
Joe laughed. "Yup. Sometimes." He asked Willy, "Did you get anywhere with him?"
"I got friendly," Willy answered, still taking in the surroundings, trying to fit Joe in as a child growing up here. "I figured it'd be better to just break the ice. I'll see him in the bar tomorrow. Pick up where I left off."
"How's that going, the bar thing?" Joe asked pointedly, painfully aware of Willy's alcoholism.
His colleague extracted the flask from his inner pocket and waggled it in the air. "I'm getting sick of this, if that's what you're asking."
Joe didn't laugh. "Maybe this angle's not such a great idea."
Willy's face tightened. "Maybe I can handle it."
"Did he talk about Andy at all?" Joe's mother asked, changing the subject.
Willy gave Joe an extra hard look before answering her politely, "Around the edges. What I got is that Dan is a shitty substitute for the apple of his eye. Sorry."
"That's all right," she answered him. "On that score, E. T. is absolutely correct. Dan has never amounted to anything worthwhile."
Willy eyed her appreciatively and paused a moment before asking her, "Did you know Andy? I mean, well enough to help me open the old man up?"
She nodded. "Oh, yes. A very sweet young boy. Loved by his father, hated and envied by that useless brother, and, until he went to prison, slated to take over all of E. T.'s business."
"You know that for sure?"
She smiled again. "It's a very small town, Willy."
He got her point. "Did Dan go after Andy regularly?"
"As a bully?" she asked, before answering herself. "I think that oversimplifies their relationship. Dan was all of that-still is-but Andy also looked up to him because of it, the way an abused child runs to his abuser for protection."
"Which explains why Andy might've taken the rap for Dan," Joe suggested.
"You know that," Willy said, "but would E. T.? He's no shrink. What happened to the mother, anyhow?"
"Two different mothers," Joe's mother said, adding, "The first one-hard as nails-left; the second one-a gentle soul-killed herself, which helps to explain the personality differences in the two boys. And you're right about E. T. not being a psychologist. But he does know men. He has to hire them and fire them all the time. I think he was aware of how his two sons interacted. That's why he tried to protect Andy to a certain extent-sent him to a better school, rode him harder to keep him out of trouble. Dan he let grow up on his own-the wild child of legend."
"But the old man wasn't there when the two boys were together in Brattleboro," Joe said. "And that's all it took."
Willy passed his hand through his hair. "Yeah, except, if that's true, why didn't E. T. raise hell when he heard Andy had covered for Dan? He could've reamed Dan a new… Anyhow, he could have set it right."
"Dan was facing the Bitch," Joe reminded him.
His mother laughed at Willy's quick glance in her direction, and added, "Dan is his firstborn. That matters to a man like E. T. I remember hearing at the time how everyone was stunned when Andy was sent to prison. That part wasn't supposed to happen."
Joe was nodding. "Meaning, our theory was probably right. The whole family gambled and lost."
Willy considered that for a moment, his eyes drawn to the flames in the woodstove. "That must be tearing the old man up," he finally said. "He threw his baby boy to the wolves for a loser who's using his business to sell drugs."