The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

asked.
    “Carter.”
    “That’s…thirty or forty miles from here.”
    “Yes, ma’am. So I’d better get going.”
    “Do you have a car?”
    “No, I’m going to hitchhike.”
    “Good luck. Be careful.”
    “Thanks. I will.”
    I was out the door and jogging back to the road. I started walking in the direction of Carter. The first few cars to pass were full of people in their Sunday best. I faced them and stuck out my arm with my thumb up, but they didn’t stop. I continued walking during the gaps in the cars, even though I could never walk all the way. But at least I was doing something.
    It took a while, but finally an old car braked to a stop twenty yards past me. I ran up to it, opened the passenger door, and climbed in. The driver had a lined face and was dressed in farm clothes and a blue cap, with a cigarette between his lips.
    “Where you headed?” he asked, not bothering to take the cigarette out of his mouth.
    “Carter.”
    “Well, I’m only going up the road a piece, but I’ll take you within half a mile of the highway that goes toward Carter. Maybe you can hitch a ride from there.
    “Thanks.”
    He drove for several miles and let me off where he said he was going to. Not seeing any other cars coming, I ran-jogged as fast as I could with my limp, toward the highway. I reached it in a few minutes. Cars were moving faster here and might be harder to stop, but if I got a ride it could take me a good part of the distance I needed to cover.
    There was no point in walking along the highway, and the cars were going by frequently, so I stood in one spot. I tucked in the loose fabric where my jacket had torn, trying not to look down and out. I ran my hands through my hair. Having a short haircut meant that it never looked too bad, for which I was thankful.
    I stuck my thumb out. I was right about it being harder to get a ride here. A number of cars sped by me without slowing down. My ears and hands were cold. The sun wasn’t very effective yet. In between cars, I rubbed my hands together and jumped up and down to keep warm.
    A Chevy station wagon slowed down as it approached and stopped just a few feet beyond me. I ran up to the car.
    A man stuck his head out of the front window on the passenger side and said, “Get in the back.”
    I opened the back door and piled in as the driver, also a man, jammed the stick shift on the steering post into first gear and took off. Judging from their plentiful dark hair and their sideburns, the men weren’t that much older than I was.
    The passenger turned around and smiled at me. I smiled back, thankful for his friendliness. He kept smiling, looking me right in the eye.
    “I’m going to Carter,” I said, feeling exposed by his penetrating gaze.
    “We’re going to Rochester,” the passenger said. “Beautiful Rochester. If you don’t get snowed in.” He laughed.
    I smiled. Rochester was well past Carter. I told him where they could drop me off. It was close to twenty miles away still, but it was something to say. The driver kept his eyes on the road and didn’t look back. He drove at a steady fifty miles per hour. It wouldn’t take long for us to get there at this rate. That was good news.
    “Are you in college?” the passenger asked.
    “High school. I’m a senior at Carter High.”
    He asked me what subjects I was taking, what sports I liked, whether the girls at Carter were good looking. He was full of questions. All the while he kept smiling at me. His smile was making me uncomfortable. I answered his questions with a minimum of information. I didn’t want to tell him my life story. I didn’t tell him about my ordeal of last night. I sensed that it wasn’t a good idea.
    After I answered one of his questions, he said, “You might like Rochester. We’ve got a nice pad there.”
    “You go to the University of Rochester?” I asked.
    “No, we’ve been out of school for ages. But we live near the university. Are you interested in going there?”
    “I’d like to go to the University of Michigan.”
    “Too big. You should go to a smaller school. Come to Rochester with us and look it over. You might like it.”
    “I have to get home,” I said.
    “What’s the hurry? We can drive you home later. If you went to the University of Rochester, you could share our pad with us. A good looking guy like you, you’d fit right in.”
    I didn’t like where this conversation was going. I said, “You can let me off at that next corner.”
    “You