The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

know. But promise you won’t breathe a word to anyone else.”
    “All right. If you promise you won’t tell anybody that I was kicked out of Atherton. Or that I’m Ralph’s cousin.”
    Ed raised his eyebrows. “If that’s the way you want it. Ralph liked to show off. I was with him in the auditorium one time on a lark, and he stood on his hands on the barrier in front of the balcony seats.”
    “He stood on his hands?” My stomach felt queasy just thinking about it.
    “He was very strong. And he was coordinated. He put his weight on his hands and then he slowly raised his legs and arched his back. Although I almost vomited when I saw him do it, he was in such complete control of his body that it wasn’t all that dangerous.”
    “But you’re saying he might have done it when he was in an agitated state?”
    “He could have. And because he was agitated, maybe he wasn’t as careful as he should have been.”
    “So if he fell, he would have landed on his head.”
    “Well, actually, he landed on his back. Which makes sense because of the way he would have rotated. But I think the base of his skull hit the back of a seat and that’s what killed him. It broke his neck.”
    Ralph had been a daredevil. The times I had played with him, he had done some crazy things, such as climbing trees to much greater heights than I would. Our house in Atherton had a garage attached to it with a flat roof. Why a flat roof in snow country I’ll never know, but from the time I was old enough, whenever it snowed, I was elected to go onto the roof and shovel the white stuff off, so that the roof wouldn’t cave in. The roof had a low wooden fence around it, with a flat, wooden top. Ralph had walked around the roof on the fence. That had been scary enough. At least he hadn’t walked on his hands.
    “Have you told Ralph’s parents this?” I asked.
    “I haven’t told anybody, except you. And you’re sworn to secrecy. The poor guy’s dead. Does it matter exactly how it happened?”

    CHAPTER 6
    The next morning I was looking forward to my meeting with Sylvia and Natalie. I whistled on my drive to school. Well, maybe whistling isn’t the best way to describe it, because with my braces, the best I could manage was a sound like the wind moaning.
    As I walked through the auditorium, the lights were already on backstage. I leapt onto the stage and hurried to the dressing room. Natalie was there, but I didn’t see Sylvia. Natalie was dressed in a blouse without transparency, although the top couple of buttons were enticingly unbuttoned.
    “Hi,” I said in my friendliest voice. And then, stating the obvious, “I guess Sylvia’s not here yet.”
    “She’s not coming. She called me last night. She’s got a meeting or something to go to. She’s always got something happening.”
    “Oh.” Suddenly I felt awkward, alone with Natalie. With Sylvia I had felt comfortable from the moment I had met her, but Natalie was different. “She seems to be involved in a lot of things.”
    “Yeah. Now she’s trying to reform the school.”
    “Reform the reform school? I didn’t know it needed reforming.” Natalie gave a condescending chuckle, and I said, “Well, I guess we should practice nim.”
    “That’s what we’re here for.”
    There were things I would rather have done alone with Natalie, but we sat side-by-side and practiced nim. Over and over again. Until she caught on. Until she could respond to every move I made, instantly and correctly, almost without thinking about it.
    As we played, thoughts ran through my head as they always did when I was close to a good-looking girl. I wondered what it was like for two people with braces to kiss. I didn’t have a lot of experience in that area. The top of her blouse came open a little when she moved, and I saw a strap. One strap. She was not wearing a full slip today. Only a bra. That was very unusual. Most girls always wore slips.
    “I think I’ve got it,” Natalie finally said, jumping up and doing a little dance. “I’m ready for Barney.”
    “Are you sure?” I asked. Okay, it was partly because I didn’t want to lose this intimacy with her, but I also had real fears about whether she would clutch when faced with the overbearing Barney and forget the right moves.
    “I’m a cheerleader,” she said when I mentioned this to her. “I’m used to performing in front of crowds. I can handle the pressure.”
    The awkwardness began to come back now that we were no