why’d you marry her then?”
“Do the words SHOTGUN and WEDDING mean anything to you?”
I couldn’t keep a straight face anymore and burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry, Wayne,” I said, trying to control myself.
Thankfully, Wayne Dugan was still able to laugh at himself.
Never the brightest bulb in the bunch, when he did something truly stupid he would always admit to it, (no matter how much teasing his friends continued to heap on him).
“You’re sorry? How do you think I feel?” he said with his trademark lopsided grin. “We were both nineteen, got real drunk at a beach party, did it once in the bushes, and three weeks later her father is ready to break down my parents’ door. What was I to do? My mother said she would disown me.”
“And your father?”
“He caved to my mother’s will - as usual.”
“That’ll teach ya,” I smirked.
“What about you - married or anything?”
“Sort of between relationships at this time.”
“Come back to town to check up on Maria?”
“Does she need to be checked up on?” I asked nonchalantly, washing the remainder of my chicken order down with beer.
“You did some number on her when you left, Stevie-boy,” Wayne said dryly.
This was definitely not what I had wanted to hear but I remained silent as Wayne continued. “Trudy and Maria work together at Fleming’s Flower Shop - where Masson’s Electronics used to be.” I nodded, acknowledging I knew where the shop was located. “Anyway, Trudy says Maria still drops your name from time to time - you know, when they’re talking about high school and stuff.”
“Is she married?”
I hadn’t intended to be so blunt about the topic. After years of interrogating criminals, I knew the best way to get the information I was really after was by subtly working up to it in casual conversation. The direct approach rarely worked. However, my need to know anything about Maria - no matter how trivial - had caused me to fall out of my tried and true routine.
Wayne suddenly seemed hesitant and ill at ease. He obviously knew the answer, yet appeared to be debating with himself if he should tell me or not.
“I don’t know what happened between the two of you - and I’m not here to judge you, Steve - but whatever it was just seemed to kill Maria’s spirit to live. Since you left I think she’s gone on maybe four or five dates, all with guys from school. Friendship dates more than anything.”
Like Ebenezer Scrooge, I wanted Wayne to just stop talking. I didn’t want to know the hurt I’d caused, or the effect I’d had over someone else’s life, due to my own selfish and immature actions. Especially when it came to Maria.
Wayne could see how his words had affected my mood. “You were probably looking for a simple yes or no, weren’t you?”
“I just wanted to hear the truth,” I said, “and that’s what you gave me.” I polished off my beer and pushed away the plate of discarded chicken bones.
“Do you want another one?” Wayne asked, pointing to the empty beer bottle. “I’ll treat.”
Without waiting for a response, he went to the bar and promptly brought back two more beers.
“To old friends,” I said hoisting my bottle in the air.
“And to new beginnings,” Wayne added, as we hit our bottles together. “What brings you back here anyway - aside from wondering whatever happened to Maria and me?”
“Believe it or not, I’m working,” I replied, hardly believing it myself. “Do you remember a guy named Barry Jones - lived on Duke Drive with his wife and kids?”
“Yeah.”
“Well I’m here to find him.”
Wayne looked perplexed. “You’re here to find a dead guy?” he asked incredulously. “Is there money in that kind of work? Cause I could make a fortune just walking down to the cemetery.”
I laughed out loud. Old Doogie wasn’t as slow as he pretended to be. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Wayne. Unless . . . you know where Jones’ body is stashed after all these years. In that case my investigation would be pretty short.”
“Investigation, huh? Are you a cop or something?” Wayne asked, dropping his voice to a near whisper.
“At one time, Wayne, I was something of a cop.” My friend seemed impressed.
“Is that where you got that nasty scar?”
“A drug deal gone bad, yeah.”
“It adds character,” he said casually. “So what are you doing now?”
“I’m working as a private investigator.”
“Get outta here!” Wayne exclaimed, acting as if suddenly star struck. “A P.I. - like Magnum?”
I didn’t have the heart to tell Wayne that the P.I. business rarely consisted of Hawaiian locales, red Ferraris and beautiful babes hanging off one’s arm.
“Just like Magnum,” I said in my own conspiratorial whisper. “In fact, when I work undercover my code name is Tom Selleck.”
It took a few beats for Wayne to realize that I was pulling his leg.
“Ha, ha,” he finally said. “You tricked a dumb pig farmer. You should be s-o-o-o-o proud of yourself.”
“Chill out, Wayne. You may be a pig farmer but I’d never say you’re dumb. It’s too mild a term to fully describe your intellectual deficiencies.”
“Thank you, Steve,” Wayne said, raising his beer bottle in the air. “Your apology is accepted.”
“So can you tell me anything about Mr. Jones prior to his disappearance?” I asked in a semi-serious tone, figuring talking to the locals would make up the bulk of my final report.
“There was a lot of talk at the time,” Wayne said trying to think back. “It was quite the scandal.”
“Scandal?” In the notes I’d been given or the police papers I’d reviewed, there was never a mention of any type of scandal.
“There was talk that Jones and his wife were each having an affair.”
“Both of them?”
“You know gossip, Steve. Another story circulating was that he had been abducted by a religious cult - or was that by aliens? I can’t remember,” Wayne said throwing his hands in the air. “It was all b.s.”
“Anything of substance ever come out of all
