The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

any more questions about Ralph, but I also couldn’t leave her in this condition. I waited while she blew her nose into a tissue she extracted from her purse and then changed the subject. “So you work with Ed.”
    “Yes.” Her face lit up with a wan smile for the first time. She said, “Ed is a riot. He’s fun to work with. And I love his accent.”
    “Do you write stories for the paper?” If she wrote stories, she must interview people, and if she interviewed people, she must talk.
    “Yes, I write stories, and I type the stories up on stencils, so we can make copies of the paper for distribution. Ed’s not a very good typist.” She actually giggled.
    I knew stencils well since I had typed many of them while putting the school paper together at Atherton. They were difficult to work with, required great accuracy on the typewriter, and could be messy while making reproductions.
    I said, “I really do write. I wrote for the school paper at Atherton.”
    “Oh.”
    We chatted about the newspaper business the rest of the way to her house.
    ***
    Dinner at my aunt’s house was a somber affair. Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Jeff had not gotten over Ralph’s death. Ralph was an only child, so the house would have been completely quiet if it weren’t for me. I think that’s why they agreed so readily to let me come and live with them. They saw me as a replacement for Ralph. But so far, I had been a failure in that regard because they rarely smiled.
    Uncle Jeff had a job with an aircraft company near the Buffalo Airport. He used his mathematical background to calculate reliability. If an airplane part had one chance in a thousand of failing over a certain period of time, then adding another part to back it up would mean that the chances of both parts failing in the same time frame was one in a million. That sort of thing.
    Aunt Dorothy was a substitute teacher at Atherton, although she was also available to teach at Carter. It was a good thing that she was usually called to teach several days a week, because she needed something to keep her busy.
    She was a good cook. We sat down to eat in the dining room of the old farmhouse. Through the window we could look up the lane that went between the fields, which had been harvested by the neighbor who farmed it and were bare at the moment. Uncle Jeff was a gentleman farmer; he liked the ambiance of the farm, but he didn’t want to do farm work.
    Tonight’s meal featured locally grown corn on the cob, which I loved. As I buttered and salted an ear and chowed down on it, I realized that my noisy chewing reverberated through the room like a million termites. I needed to talk. I had moved in last Sunday. This was my fifth dinner here. I didn’t know whether I could stand nine months of silent meals without becoming a stark, raving lunatic.
    I swallowed a mouthful of corn and said, “I met Ruth Allen today.”
    Uncle Jeff and Aunt Dorothy looked at me. Uncle Jeff still wore his white shirt from work, but he had taken off his tie. He had a kindly face and laughed easily. At least, he used to. Aunt Dorothy was wearing a print housedress and had her graying hair in a bun, the way she wore it for teaching.
    At first they remained silent, and I thought I had said the wrong thing. Then Aunt Dorothy said, “How’s she doing? She’s such a sweet girl.”
    Relieved, I said, “She’s doing all right, considering everything. She’s a cheerleader and she’s working on the school paper.”
    Uncle Jeff actually smiled and said, “She’s got a great figure. Ralph had good taste in women.” Aunt Dorothy frowned at him, but he ignored her and said, “So, Gary, are you thinking about working on the school paper?”
    “Dr. Graves made me promise not to.”
    “Trying to stifle your creativity, eh? Well, it’s only for a few more months. Then you’ll be in college where I trust you’ll have more freedom.”
    Uncle Jeff hadn’t bought into the line of reasoning that accused me of committing a heinous crime. Perhaps that’s why he was willing to take me in.
    “Would you like to play a game of chess after dinner? That is, if you aren’t overburdened with homework.”
    I had enjoyed playing chess with him in the past, but this was the first time he had mentioned the game since I had arrived.
    “Sure.” I wasn’t one to let homework get in the way of fun. I was emboldened to try another topic. “I-I took a look at the auditorium balcony where Ralph fell. It isn’t that long a