The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

funeral. But being outside the church in the sun didn’t have the same emotional impact as being inside with the coffin and the members of the Rice family. Maybe it was just as well.
    I spotted Natalie walking toward the church along Main Street. She looked good in a dark dress that matched her dark hair. The dark colors were relieved by a wide, white belt that accented her tiny waist. She also wore a simple hat with a veil of the kind women wore in church.
    To my surprise, she walked up and stood beside me. We didn’t say anything to each other; the service had already started. When I looked around and saw that most of the other students outside were Willie’s age, I knew why she had chosen me for a partner. Joe was at football practice, which was being held as usual.
    The mood outside was somber at first, but as the service droned on with prayers, singing, and people speaking in monotones, we became restless and disconnected from what was happening inside. We couldn’t see the coffins or the weeping parents. It wasn’t real. Kids started talking to each other. Stories were being told about the wild antics of the Rice brothers, and there was scattered laughter. We weren’t showing proper respect for the dearly departed. I hoped the noise wasn’t traveling through the open doorway.
    Natalie took my arm and pulled me away from the others. “Damn kids,” she said.
    Someone started giving what promised to be a long, boring eulogy extolling the many virtues of Dennis and Willie, and I couldn’t concentrate on the words. I looked at Natalie and saw that she was having the same problem.
    “Don’t you have cheerleader practice today?” I asked.
    “I cancelled it. Nobody feels like cheering on a day like this.”
    “But they’re holding football practice.”
    “Yeah. That’s too important to cancel.”
    There was a certain irony in her tone. Perhaps Natalie was deeper than I gave her credit for. I had been trying to figure out how to talk to her. And now I had my chance. I took the plunge. “You never told me that you went out with Ralph.”
    She looked at me and shrugged. “You never asked me.”
    I didn’t have a comeback for that. But I did need to ask another question. “Your breakup with Ralph. Was it…amicable?”
    Natalie looked at me again and smiled. “You mean, did he leave me for another girl, and did I, the abandoned lover, in a thirst for black revenge, throw him off the balcony?”
    “Something like that.”
    “We can’t talk here. I sense that this…” she nodded toward the church “…is going to last until our children ship us off to the old folks’ home. And I’ve been to enough funerals to last me a lifetime. Let’s meet someplace.”
    “Where?” I pictured Sylvia finding us together.
    “Where? Right, we have to be careful about running into your commie girlfriend. I’ve got it. We’ll meet in the hayloft of your uncle’s barn.”
    “Do you know how to get there?”
    “What do you think?”
    Of course. She had gone there with Ralph. “You’re not dressed for it.”
    “Yeah, you’re right. Can you picture me sliding down the haystack in my nylons?”
    I could, but I had better not.
    “I only live fifteen minutes from there. I’ll go home and change and meet you at the barn in an hour.”
    “Park down by the railroad track.” I didn’t want Aunt Dorothy or anybody else knowing that I was in the hayloft with Natalie.
    ***
    In fact, as I shot baskets while I waited for Natalie in the hayloft, I grew more and more apprehensive about our meeting. Why had I agreed to meet her here? Was there a valid reason to quiz her some more in regard to Ralph? Had Barney put the thought that Natalie might have killed Ralph into my head because of some remaining lust for revenge that he was harboring?
    What if Sylvia found out we were together? She might excuse an innocent flirtation with Kate, but Natalie was a completely different story, especially since they were barely speaking to each other. And what about Joe? What if one of his friends spotted Natalie’s car near our barn? I was glad I had told her to park by the railroad tracks.
    On top of everything else, she was late. An hour ticked by and then another half. Maybe she wasn’t coming at all. I tried to convince myself that this was for the best, but even that failed. She still had some power over me.
    When Natalie finally climbed the iron ladder and poked her head through the hole in the floor, I was in a state of