The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

“I talked to Ruth, and she didn’t know about any problems between Ralph and Dr. Graves. We have no reason to believe that he had anything to do with Ralph’s demise.”
    “Okay, maybe he didn’t,” Barney said, “but even if all he’s doing is taking innocent boys up on the catwalk, don’t you think it’s our duty to do something about it?”
    “We can’t prove it,” I said. “My contact’s not going to testify, and we haven’t found anybody else who will admit to doing it. I say drop it.”
    “I’d like to pursue it,” Barney said. “I’ve got some friends among the freshman boys.”
    Barney and I started to argue. We were getting louder and in danger of drawing attention to ourselves when Sylvia stopped us.
    She said, “Barney, you can only talk to the kids in a way that doesn’t sound negative. ‘How do you like Dr. Graves?’ not ‘Have you had any problems with Dr. Graves?’ And don’t mention the catwalk.”
    Barney promised he would be discreet. I wasn’t sure how discreet he could be, but I settled for that solution since my name would not be linked to anything he did.
    ***
    I went to the Drucquers’ house after school. They lived in a hovel a few miles from the farm. That’s the only way I can describe it. The small, one-story house had seen much better days. It was in disrepair and needed painting. The roof had missing shingles, and I saw a cracked window. However, the small yard was neatly kept. The lawn was mowed, and although no flowers were in bloom, the flower beds were free of weeds.
    The Drucquers had emigrated from England two years ago, a few years after the war ended. From the accounts I had read, most of the English were very poor after the war. Friends of ours had sent boxes of canned food to relatives in Liverpool. From the looks of the house and the clothes they wore, the Drucquers were still poor.
    The doorbell was hanging by a couple of wires, so I knocked on the front door. The screen door was missing altogether. Kate opened the main door and smiled at me. She was wearing her school clothes, a skirt and a blouse. Although the skirt didn’t hang quite right and was frayed at the bottom, and the blouse was a faded pink, I had to admit that she looked good.
    She said, “I’m glad you’re here, Gary. Eddie wouldn’t tell me anything until you got here.”
    She led me into a small living room filled with old, tattered furniture and called, “Eddie. Gary’s here.” She turned to me and said, “He won’t let me go into his room. Secret stuff. Right. I already know about those girlie magazines he buys.”
    I saw an old, elegantly framed photograph on the wall and wondered if the man and woman depicted were Drucquers. They looked at me, stiff and unsmiling, in their formal clothes. The woman’s dress came down to the floor.
    “Our great grandparents,” Ed said from behind me. “He’s the first cousin of your Thomas who came here to Carter and bought the farm.”
    “They don’t look like very fun-loving people,” I said.
    “The state of photography in those days was such that they had to hold their pose for several seconds. They couldn’t afford to smile.”
    When I turned around, Ed said, “We’re only renting this place. We’re going to buy a house soon.”
    It was sort of an apology.
    “Not soon enough,” Kate said. “I can’t bring any of my friends here. And we don’t even have a telly, er, television set.”
    “That’s all right,” I said, feeling embarrassed for them. “Neither do Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Jeff.”
    “But at least they’ve got a big house,” Kate said. “And the barn. I hope we get to play in the barn again soon.”
    She smiled at me, and I was sure her words had a double meaning. I hoped that Ed didn’t notice.
    “Sit down,” Ed said, placing a binder on a scratched coffee table in front of a badly recovered couch. He sat down on the couch.
    Kate sat on one side of Ed, and I sat on the other.
    “Where’s your mom?” I asked.
    “She’s at work,” Kate said. “She works at the general store in Carter Center. She’ll be home in an hour.”
    “What does your dad do?” It was an innocent question, but neither of them answered immediately.
    After a pause, Ed said, “He works in the gypsum plant.”
    The plant was alongside the peanut railroad, not far from this house. Ed didn’t elaborate on the type of work he did, and I decided it wasn’t a good idea to ask any more questions.
    Ed opened the