anatomy of a fairy tale (part 2)

May 7, 2005 – 2:05 am

[Click here to read part one.]

“I come down stairs, and there set this man–”

“A man was in your house?” deputy Phil Kelly asked skeptically, crunching his lips to the left. Why do these fellows never look at me when they’re talking? he wondered.

Frank Lomack swallowed, his adam’s apple sliding silently up and then down. He cleared his throat. “Ah, no sir, I was over at the Pony Club.” He trailed off, as if he expected the deputy to respond to this revelation. Phil kept quiet and waited.

Frank sensed the silence growing, so he darted back to his topic. “Ah, so this man set there eatin’ his breakfast–”

“They’re servin’ breakfast at the Pony Club?”

“Beg pardon?”

“You said he was eating breakfast. I didn’t know they served breakfast.”

“Well…I guess they do. At least this fella was eatin’ breakfast.”

“Ok, go ahead.”

“So I’m just mindin’ my own business and he pipes up and says, ‘Is there anybody else in here this morning?’”

“And what did you say?”

“I ain’t one to meddle or tell tales. Gentleman never tells.”

Phil sighed. “Frank, you ain’t a gentleman. So what happened?”

“Well, I said I reckon he ought to mind his own business, and then he came up out of his chair real fast, and come toward me.” Frank stopped, glanced at Phil, and then stared at the floor as if he were finished speaking.

“Go on.”

“That’s all that happened.” Frank leaned to the side in the metal folding chair parked in front of Phil’s desk, pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, and wiped his nose. Phil noticed the hand-stitched monogram that Lynn Lomack had stitched on the hanky: FWL.

Phil twitched his mouth back to the right, with a flash of amusement in his eyes. “That’s it? End of story?”

“Yeah, well–”

“Frank, that story ain’t even a story. What happened then?”

Frank paused, holding the folded hanky in both his hands on his lap. “I figured it’d be best to leave.”

“Is that right.”

“Yessir.”

“So you got right out of there.”

“Well, he was coming at me.”

“Did he have a weapon in his hands?”

“Don’t remember. Coulda had a concealed weapon of some sort.”

“Ok, this is a fine story, Frank, thanks for stoppin’ in,” Phil said brusquely, swinging his feet off the desk to the floor.

“Cam was there last night, and his truck was still there when I left.”

Phil leaned forward against his desk, his thick arms draped across the desk calendar, and scowled out through the venetian blinds at the overcast street. “Camerin Bonamy was there?”

Frank nodded vigorously. “Yeah, but he hadn’t come downstairs yet, least not before I left.”

Phil sighed. “Damn you people,” he mumbled, rubbing his bleary eyes. “I guess I gotta swing out there and check up on things.” He stood and pulled the keys to the SUV from the hook on the wall behind his desk. “Maybe I’ll get some breakfast out of it.”