“Redeye?” Travis asked.
“Whiskey.”
“And Sally Ann?”
“Salvation Army. A mission stiff is a man who spends a lot of time getting saved so that he can get free flops and food.”
“Old Dirty Face?” I asked.
He smiled. “A freight train.”
“And what’s a moll buzzer?” Deeny asked.
“Guy that mooches off women. That’s what old Bobby did, and his old man, Horace-why, he probably taught him all he knew. Then they got in some kind of trouble over it out in Boise back in the summer of ‘40 and the town clowns threw Bobby in the jail. Now, most fellows would see that as part of the deal and not fuss over it. But I think the charges must have been something out of the ordinary vag charges, because old Horace cried to his daddy about it.”
“What are town clowns and vag charges?” Deeny asked.
“Oh, sorry, honey. Town clowns are police. And vag charges are vagrancy charges. But they treated old Bobby like he was some kind of yegg, and as much as I don’t like him, I don’t think he was ever a yegg.”
“Which is?” she asked, not hiding her irritation.
“Well, I mentioned hoboes and tramps and bums, but there was another class of people out there, and they spelled trouble for everybody else-the yeggs. Those were the real hardened criminals-safecrackers and gangs of thieves and killers and people who did things I’d just as soon not mention. Horrible things. They were out there riding the rails, running from the law, raising the devil. They were really more dangerous to the hobo than just about anybody, but a lot of the local cops didn’t see any difference between a yegg and a hobo, so they treated us all the same.
“Anyway, Horace cried to his daddy and Papa DeMont bailed Bobby out. He brought them home and read Bobby up one side and down the other. Told him to haul himself up by the ass pockets and act like a man.
“I guess somewhere in all that Bobby heard what he needed to hear- but more likely he just had the jam scared out of him when he got arrested. But for whatever reason, Bobby got all respectable after that. Even fought in the war. And I hear tell that old Horace is still alive, but he must just be living on his meanness. Doug, his oldest boy, he died awhile back. I don’t know if Bobby’s still around or not.”
“You must have been fairly young when Bobby was arrested,” I said. “How do you remember that?”
“Oh, well, first off, because Papa DeMont liked my dad-Travis’s grandfather. And because my daddy knew his way around that part of the country, Papa DeMont sent him up there, along with Zeke Brennan-”
“Zeke Brennan?” Travis said. “He must have been young, too.”
Gerald laughed. “I’m talking about Ezekiel Brennan, Senior. He was the father of your daddy’s lawyer. Old Zeke didn’t drive, but your grandfather did. So they were going up there with the bail money and bring the two of them back. School just got out for the summer, and my dad took me with him. Papa DeMont let my dad take one of his cars, and that was my first ride in an automobile over any great distance. A big old Bentley. That was some car. I suppose that’s mainly why the trip stayed in my mind. And Papa DeMont didn’t usually lose his temper with people, so it was something to see him so mad at the two of them.”
There were a few other photos in the album, but not many. Most were of Arthur and Gerald together. A few were pictures of the sugar beet factory, apparently taken not long before it closed down.
“How long did you work there?” I asked.
“Oh, let’s see. We first came out here in 1938, when I was just about to start school. It was after the girls died; your grandmother decided she never wanted to live where it was cold again, and she found work in a cafe in the off-season, so she stayed here. Your granddad wanted me to get an education.”
“Were you able to go to school?” Travis asked.
“Oh, yes, for a time. And some of my schooling was on the road. Whenever work at the factory got a little slow, my father would take me with him and we’d go rambling, hire out wherever we could. I met some amazing fellows in those days. At the time, during the Depression, there were some highly educated men riding the rails. And the road itself will teach all kinds of lessons you won’t get in a classroom-some good, some bad. Anyway, we never left for very long at a stretch, because he didn’t like being away from your grandmother. I did go to school here pretty regular up until your grandparents died. Then it was up to me to take care of your daddy, and Papa DeMont always made sure I had work on his place after that.”
“What do you do for a living now, Uncle Gerald?”
“Oh, a long time ago, your father loaned me some money to start my own business,” he said. “I buy old houses, fix ‘em up and sell them. I’ve done well for myself, and I paid your daddy back. He wasn’t going to let me, but I did. I think he felt like I took good care of him, so…” His eyes clouded up, and he left the sentence unfinished.
He seemed to struggle with himself, then said, “I never did like the way he carried on with your mother. There, I’ve said it. I thought he was throwing his whole life away, and after Papa DeMont had been so good to us, I just figured your father had shamed our family. It was dishonest, really, and hurtful to someone who had never hurt him. Then he was mad at me, because I guess he did love you and your mother so much, and there were hard, hard words between us after Gwen was killed. We never spoke again.”
Travis slowly turned the pages of the photo album back, until the front cover was closed. “Do you think he killed her?” he asked.
“No,” Gerald answered without hesitation. “That wasn’t your daddy’s way. Never think that, not for one second.”
I looked at my watch. “We have to be going,” I said, to Gerald’s dismay and Deeny’s too-obvious relief.
“Can’t you stay a little longer?” Gerald asked.
Travis’s cellular phone rang, and he answered it, then said, “Yes, just a moment.” He handed it to me. “It’s for you, it’s Detective Collins.”
I took the phone, and said, “Hi, can I call you back in a few minutes?”
“Sure,” he said. “No privacy?”
“No.”
We hung up.
“A friend of my husband’s,” I explained to the Spannings, giving the phone back to Travis.
“We’d better go,” Travis said.
When we reached the van, Gerald gave Travis another hug, and this time, Travis returned it easily.
“Come over again,” Gerald said. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”
“I will,” Travis said. “Thanks for showing me the photos.”
“I’ll have some copies made for you,” he said.
“Thank you,” Travis said.
“How can I get ahold of you?” he asked.
Travis glanced over at me. “I’m staying with Irene.”
“You could stay here if you like,” Gerald said. “We’ve got plenty of room.”
Even without looking over at Deeny, who was pouting so openly she was shading her chin with her lower lip, Travis shook his head. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve got some other people to see in Las Piernas, so I might as well stay there. Maybe I’ll visit you after things settle down a little.”
“Sure,” Gerald said. “That’s fine.”
Travis gave Gerald his cell phone number. Gerald thanked him. “I’ve worked on a lot of places in Las Piernas,” he said to me. “What part of town do you live in?”
“We’re near the beach,” I said.
“You should see their garden,” Travis said.
Gerald smiled. “I’d like that. But mostly I’d like to see you again.”
Reed’s call was just a warning that Frank had already heard about today’s trouble. “But not from me,” he swore to me. “You know how it is around here; something this dramatic, the whole office is talking about it. He called in today before I could warn everybody to keep it quiet.”
I thanked him for the call and hung up.
The rest of the ride home was in silence.