Point Blank

closet.”
    “How about your uncle Gordon?” Ruth heard the words come out of her mouth before she even realized what she’d asked.
    “Uncle Gordon? Hmm.” Rob looked over at Rafe, then said, “Fact is, we’ve never been gross around Uncle Gordon. He always looks so perfect, you know?”
    “So does your grandpa Chappy,” Ruth said.
    “It’s not the same,” Rafe said, shaking his head. “And when the two of them are together they’re so busy fighting we might as well not even be there.”
    “Isn’t that the truth,” Ruth said.
    “How about you, Ruth? What did you and your brother do that was real gross?”
    “Well, my favorite gross-out was chugging a Coke while I was ice skating. You come to a fast stop in front of one of your friends and belch really loud right in their face.”
    The boys laughed. Dix knew that until tonight his sons had been putting up a brave front, trying to act as natural as they could while all hell was breaking loose around them—three people murdered in their town in less than a week while their father was the one responsible for finding out who killed them. Rob stopped laughing first. He looked down at the pile of baked beans on his plate. Well, impossible to ignore reality forever, Dix thought. He said easily, “Thanks for the visual, Ruth. When we go skating, no soft drinks allowed,” but the boys looked thoughtful. Rafe said, “I saw Uncle Tony scratch his armpit once, and when we were playing baseball, he was standing out in center field and he scratched—”
    Rob cut his brother off. “Not in front of Ruth.”
    “You’re right, Rob, too much information,” Ruth said, and saluted him with her glass of tea. Dix scooped another spoonful of green beans onto his son’s plate. “Eat and don’t smash them in front of your bottom teeth.”
    Rafe shot his father a wary look and said faster than Brewster could swing his tail, “I went to see Mr. Fulton, you know, see where we might stand with his hiring me, you know, when my report card comes out.”
    “This is a hardware store, right?” Ruth asked.
    Rafe nodded. “Mr. Fulton said only six days had passed and nothing was any different at his store, and when would I have proof that my grades are up in English and biology.”
    Brewster was trying to climb Ruth’s leg. She leaned down to pet his head and slipped him a bit of hot dog. But Brewster wasn’t hungry, he wanted attention. He rubbed the hot dog on her shoe until she had to lift her feet off the floor to avoid him. The boys laughed until she scooped Brewster up and hugged him against her chest. “What are you up to, smearing hot dog all over my shoe, making everybody laugh at me? I thought you were my hero.”
    “Some hero,” Rob said, piling more potato salad on his plate. “Brewster was so small when he was a puppy we were afraid we might roll over on him during the night and squash him.”
    Dix chuckled, one eye on Brewster. “He was hero enough to find Ruth. I’ve rolled over on Brewster myself and he’s survived. Now, Rafe, what did Mr. Fulton say about the job?”
    Rafe swallowed a mouthful of hot dog bun. “Mr. Fulton asked me to spell ‘valedictorian.’ That wasn’t fair, Dad.”
    “Did you even attempt it?” Ruth asked.
    “Yeah, I did. I missed the e in the middle. It wasn’t fair,” he repeated. His father said, “I gather Mr. Fulton didn’t hire you?”
    “He told me to bring him my next report card. Then he’d speak to you again.”
    “Stup Fulton is full of surprises,” Dix said to Ruth.
    “Ah, he asked me what you’re doing about all this violent stuff, Dad. I told him you and the three FBI agents are working real hard on it. He just harrumphed.” He looked down at his plate. This time his voice was as thin as the kitchen curtains. “And there’s the kids at school. They’re saying that you’re not as good as everyone says you are, that everyone in town’s getting murdered.”
    “Well,” Dix said, “you don’t look banged up so I guess you didn’t get into any fights.”
    “It was close,” Rafe muttered.
    “I understand. But you managed to walk away?”
    It was Rob who said, “Sure, Dad. Right.”
    Ruth had noticed the bruise on Rob’s knuckles. It couldn’t have been all that bad a fight if his knuckles weren’t skinned. She smiled brightly. “Hey, I saw a baseball and glove in the hallway. Who’s the Barry Bonds?”
    Rob said eagerly, “Me. Didn’t Dad tell you I’m going to be the starting