Thomas Leverett - plays and writing
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A night on the town
I was coming through Pennsylvania and decided to stop in on an old college roommate who was always good for a night on the town; he was living in a small town near where he grew up and not far from the interstate where I was traveling. He came and got me and drove me to his small cabin in the country on his uncle's land, at about ten o'clock on a cool June evening. On the way we saw police in the road who seemed to be focusing their flashlights down in the ditch to our left. We were on a curve not far from his cabin, and we slowed down, kept to the right, and went by them. "Looks like Bentley's car," said my roommate, Jared, who was driving a small Honda but nevertheless got a pretty good look. The woods seemed to envelop us, but I could see a little gravel road going off to the right just beyond where the car was in the ditch.
When we got to his cabin we had a couple of beers and talked about old times, but Jared said he had to work early and that we would take a swim after that, on his uncle's land. "It's right there, going back into town, off to the left, right about where that car went off the road," he said. "Did you see that little gravel road? That road goes to the lake- it's on my uncle's land off to the left there. But I never take that little road; I always go up to corner beyond it, turn left there, and go in toward the lake past my uncle's house. My uncle always wanted me to do it that way, so I just did."
In the early afternoon we did in fact drive in to the lake by way of the uncle's house. The uncle was the mayor of the town, and it turns out that this Bentley character had in fact run off the road, and was killed, the previous night. The police were still looking for tracks and evidence at ten o'clock when we had driven by, but Jared hadn't seen them earlier because he hadn't driven that way. They had found precious little, according to the uncle. The uncle was concerned because the accident had happened right near where the little road came out onto the highway at the bend, the road that nobody ever used; that led from the lake. The uncle had requested that people stop using that road fifteen years ago, when Bentley's wife had gone off the road at that same place. "I was suspicious," he said, "that someone on the road had spooked her and made her run off the road." He admitted that he had no evidence. The death of his wife had never been pinned on anyone, he said, though some people had suspected Bentley himself.
After we swam Jared filled me in a little. Bentley ran the parks of the town, and had a special feud going with some of the young people of the town, not including Jared, who was already 23 or so. These young people would get arrested for loitering around the parks; Bentley had gone after them with a vengeance.
We stood at the lake discussing this situation, getting dressed and considering our evening plans, which were to go to town and get something to eat and drink. From the lake the road went back to the uncle's house, but also snaked down into the woods and back up to the highway at that particular spot. I talked Jared into walking that half mile up to the road to see what we could see, leaving the car at the lake to take back to town later. The woods were full and lively with crickets and other animals.
"Bentley has a daughter, Ellie," Jared said, "and this daughter is a kind of silent type, but I like her. She just graduated from high school, and of course these same boys she's gone to school with all these years, are the ones Bentley is harassing every time they set foot in one of the parks. It's like he doesn't want anyone to have any fun. They're just kids, you know?" He stopped and lit a cigarette. From where we stood, not far from the highway, I could actually see cars coming around the bend, coming closer to that spot where he had gone off the road. It was obvious that these cars could not see anything in the woods, but we could see them very clearly. Just over a small hill was the entrance of the little road onto the highway. We agreed to leave the "crime" scene alone, since they may not have finished with it. Jared put the stubbed out cigarette in his pocket as he didn't want to leave the feeling that somebody had been tramping in these woods, watching, smoking or anything else. It was his uncle's lake, he explained; very few people knew about it, or used it, though Bentley and his daughter were among those. None of the boys in the picture were ever invited out here.
In town we stopped at an outdoor hamburger stand where we sat in the little Honda eating hamburgers, fries and shakes. Jared started talking with a local guy, an ambulance worker, who told us that Bentley had not been shot, had died on impact down in the gully, and who knows why he ran off the road, though he wasn't known to drink or drive too fast around curves. "He was a parks commissioner, for god's sake. Sure he had enemies, Nick Cameron for one, and they've already arrested him, since he was known to have threatened Bentley just a couple of weeks ago," he said. "But there was no evidence of another car, no other tracks, no bullet casings, nothing. He just ran off the road. They'll probably have to release Nick if nothing else turns up."
The guy left us to our dinners, and I thought for a while, I'm just passing through, why do I have to get involved with this small-town guy, his life, his enemies, his untimely death? Even Jared was only casually concerned, apparently being more interested in pursuing a certain woman named Veronica, who was engaged to some other man at the moment, but who could certainly persuaded to change her course, if only Jared could talk some sense into her. He was, in fact, hoping to encounter this woman at some point in the evening, which, he explained, would mostly consist of hard drinking in a certain large outdoor beer garden, which we could see from where we sat, in the Honda, sipping what was left of our shakes. The night was getting more lively; though it was a small town, people clearly converged on this little part of it, and quite a few were either going to the bar or coming from it, particularly a beer garden behind it. So we headed over there ourselves, thirsty and eager to relive our college days a bit.
On the way, we encountered another man, Tim Sully, who was certain that Nick Cameron had done it., and that he would pay. Wasn't sure how he'd run old Bentley off the road, but he certainly must have done it, and deserved to be in jail for the weekend, if only to think over what he'd done. Sully pointed out that Nick must have known he was way out in the country there, where nobody would find any of the evidence, so they'd have to let him go eventually, and what's more, Cameron liked the daughter, Ellie Bentley, wanted to marry her no doubt, but the old man was in the way. Sully had it pretty well figured out, except for the method of getting Bentley to swerve off the road and into the ditch. Sully also seemed to have a special grudge against Nick Cameron- no sympathy for the guy, stuck in jail until Monday when a judge could hear why he ought to be let out on bail for a crime there was apparently no evidence for. Just threatening him was crime enough, said Sully.
But we were thirsty, so we didn't linger there, outside the beer garden, but chose to go in and start ordering, as Sully headed off into the night. It was one of those towns where Jared knew everyone, could tell you their names and stories, in spite of living there only a few years. Everyone knew the story about Bentley's wife, fifteen years back, how she'd run off the road, or had been run off the road, a the same spot; how they suspected Bentley of it but couldn't pin it on him; how Bentley had married right out of high school, had lost out on all that childhood fun, and seemed to hold it against everyone, especially his daughter and her friends, now that his wife was gone; how everyone knew that Nick Cameron was headed for trouble, whether he was implicated in this or not; but that you shouldn't necessarily trust anything that Tim Sully said, since he just as clearly had a grudge, and was furthermore indirectly related to the man that Veronica was engaged to. Beer and drinks were going down at this point; Jared looked around in vain for Veronica, but she didn't appear. We tried to talk about old times, but local folks kept approaching and talking to Jared about Bentley, though really, in most ways, Jared was a neutral observer. Or perhaps they wanted my audience, since I couldn't have been a more neutral observer. The problem was that with a couple of beers I was already more than drunk, whereas Jared and his friends could clearly hold more, and were more than willing to.
Nick's brother came by, angry that they were holding Nick for the weekend without bail, willing to swear for Nick's innocence, though he'd allow that there was a good chance old Bentley was murdered, since a guy like him never just runs off a road. Somebody must have shot at him, or come up behind him, or swerved in his path on the road there, and I know it wasn't Nick, because Nick was on my land all evening, though I can't prove it, he said. Yeah, Nick was in love with the girl, and she was in love with him. And sure, Nick had lots of reason to hate Bentley, but everyone did. Sure, Bentley had had Nick arrested, several times. Sure Nick had said a few words to him, but that don't amount to nothing. Why would Nick want to knock a guy off, that wouldn't make sense, wasn't like him, no sir. And furthermore you shouldn't believe a word that Tim Sully says, that guy lies through his teeth, never had a good word to say about Nick for any reason. But if you want to find motive, you don't have to look much farther than the wife's family, all those folks out there in the hills who still think that Bentley was responsible somehow for his wife's death fifteen years ago, on that same bend in the road, that woody patch out there. Nick ain't about to kill a guy just for harassing him, getting him thrown in jail, not letting him see the daughter, whatever, that kind of stuff happens all the time. But you talk about killing, now, if someone kills one of yours, you aren't going to let fifteen years make you forget it now, are you? I think it wss that brother of hers, someone out there maybe.
And on and on he went, with me sipping on my drink, getting steadily drunker, and trying to imagine if this Bentley guy had actually gotten killed, or if perhaps he'd just run off the road because he was tired of it all. But suddenly I sensed a change in Jared, and that was because, clearly, Veronica had walked into the room. The woman who had caught his attention was quite beautiful, and was clearly with a tall man who appeared to be her beau, but he was talking to some people near us, and she was getting herself something to drink, and was headed our way. Luckily Nick's brother, still talking about the accident, got a sense of Jared's withering interest, and staggered off, having made his point.
Veronica, a stunning beauty, but partially drunk herself, was interested in talking about anything but Bentley, and this was somewhat of a relief, especially to Jared. Jared asked her about the wedding plans, how many were coming and what the weather would be like, and is it really true that she wanted to spend her entire life with this guy. This of course Jared said with a slightly lower voice, as the fiance was not that far away, deep in conversation with the older people at the nearby table, about members of the family of Bentley's wife, and about Ellie, the daughter, how they'd just seen all these people at graduation, and she looked so grown up and all, so serious, so ready for adulthood, that she was even driving these days.
I'm having my second thoughts about this wedding, said Veronica quietly, on the other side of me, and Jared's face lit up just a little, but I think I was a little more prepared for this than Veronica was; she shifted a little, as if she had never thought that he would react at all. She went on to say that this fiancé was actually a little overbearing, a little overprotective, wanted to control everything, though she loved him dearly. It was like, if a girl had a chance to marry a successful man, shouldn't she take it?
At this point my view of the beer garden became a little woozy, swirling light, the old brick of the back of the bar, and the old brick of the buildings of the town around it; the neon signs, and misshapen people everywhere in a kind of kaleidoscope, beer seeming to spill in various corners of my mind. I considered collapsing on the floor, so these two, Jared and Veronica, could slip out in the ensuing fuss, and prevent, by merely being together, what would surely be a tragic marriage. Don't let these things get started, I figure, since they all seem to be trouble.
And in fact the fiance's conversation, loud enough for me to hear bits and snatches of it, especially when I more than wanted to back out of Jared and Veronica's hushed discussion, followed this same course. Bentley's marriage had been unhappy; these relatives had tried to control everything about their lives and their daughter; had even made a scene at the mayor's lake on that same day, that lake behind his house out there, that has the little gravel road that comes out on the highway right where the accident was; they'd had a big fight there, and that was the last they'd seen of Bentley that day, he took off; maybe he'd taken that little gravel road, or maybe not, but next thing everyone knew, the wife was in the ditch, on her way back to the party from home where she'd gone to get some kind of victory cake. The party was some kind of post-election party for the mayor (Jared's uncle) and Bentley, both of whom had gotten elected right around then, but these relatives of the wife's, one brother in particular, had been on the other side, of course, had made a scene somehow, and everything is political, as you can imagine, even in a small town like this. This theory kind of stirred everyone up at the table where the fiancé was talking; how could anyone kill over politics? So this brother would kill Bentley fifteen years later? So he got elected and murdered his wife on the same day? Stranger things had happened, etc.
I was losing my concentration. Jared and Veronica's conversation was far more interesting, and they were practically right next to me on the bench, getting closer to each other, not to me, but I couldn't keep my mind on anything, nor even walk straight to get out of there. I was suspended in the swirling drunken night air, right in the center of the beer garden. I had the clear sense that Jared and Veronica, on one side of me, were considering just walking away, though I may have never heard anything exactly to that effect. The animated conversation at the table on the other side was completely drawing me in, much as I had to despise the fiancé, and take Jared's side on however that turned out.
Fifteen years ago, nobody had seen the daughter, Ellie; wasn't she at the party? Wasn't she about three at the time? After the accident she had just appeared, she had been with Bentley, up on the highway, or at the hospital. But was she with him when Bentley and his wife had gotten into a fight? Or when the brother jumped in to harass and belittle Bentley? When the wife went home, taking the long way around past the uncle's house, to get the cake? When the relatives had lit into him again later? Several of the people at the table had actually been at the party in question, fifteen years ago, though the fiancé himself had not, being closer to our age. With an intensity the fiancé lit into their ideas and seemed to be ignoring, or not worrying about, the fact that he was in danger of losing Veronica, even as he spoke.
I don't remember much of the next hour or two; for example, the fiancé eventually coming and grabbing Veronica away from Jared; which happened a little later. I don't remember Jared and myself, staggering out of the garden and into the center of the town, and sitting on a park bench, trying to get a little more sober before we tried to drive home, knowing full well that the police would be watching for us, as they apparently were likely to do from any point near this large beer garden. Don't remember one more drunk old man, who maintained that Bentley had just in fact gone off the road, things weren't going well, whatever the reason, he didn't need enemies to get out of that situation. The daughter was grown; he'd made his trouble, he didn't want to stick around, it's that simple.
But finally, the uncle, the mayor himself, came in his pickup truck to get us, as he of course knew where we'd been all along, and didn't want to be embarrassed by a drunken nephew getting arrested on the way home after a long evening, which was sure to happen if he waited any longer. It was maybe two or three in the morning, but where else would he find us? There weren't all that many other places we could be. He got out, parked Jared's Honda in a spot where it could stay until morning, put us in the cab of his truck, and set off to take us home to dry us off until morning.
The alcohol was beginning to wear off now, and I relaxed into the corner of the truck listening to him tell us what he knew about the party fifteen years ago, the day that the wife was killed. "Yes, there was a party that day at the lake," he said; "the wife had gone off to get the cake; gone back home, only to return in a few minutes; Bentley was clearly unhappy with her; and after he fought with the brother he left the party angrily. "
"And I know he took the little gravel road to the highway, too, because he stopped for a second to say something to me on his way out. And I know one more thing, too, though I don't tell this to a whole lot of people. And that is that the daughter, Ellie, who was about three at the time, was sound asleep in the back of the car, at the time he stopped to talk to me. And I'm not sure Bentley was even aware of that; he was so worked up over the fight. Maybe I'll never know what he did or didn't know; he was pretty steamed about what had happened. He didn't seem to be aware of her as we talked, but, we didn't talk all that long, and I wasn't about to say to him, hey, you know you have a little girl asleep in the back of that car.
And you know something else? If you go down that road a ways, toward the highway but just down this side of it, you come to a spot where you can see the cars, up on the highway, coming toward us…can you imagine that?"
"Well, of course, I can't guess what happened up there on that highway fifteen years ago, whether Bentley saw his wife coming from that spot; whether he drove out onto the road and spooked her; whether she swerved and died because of him or for some other reason. I told the highway boys, I'll shut off that road, and you won't have to put up big guardrails there to keep it from happening again- after all, it 's way out in the country."
"And of course I can't guess what happened the other night, when Bentley himself swerved and got killed, in the exact same spot. But think about it- how many people know about that little road? Or about that spot- the spot where you can see the oncoming traffic, from down in the low part of the little road, right before you get up on the highway? Remember that the road is used so rarely, I can count on my fingers the people who even know about it. And there's only one person in this picture who could even have an idea about that."
"So it comes down to this: if that little gravel road was used to spook Bentley, it had to be Ellie who did it. She had to know about how it was done, and she had to do it just the way she'd seen it, or pretty close."
An eerie silence fell over the truck cab as we actually came to the spot where the gravel road came out onto the road; down to our left, the remains of the accident, the place where Bentley was killed. Between us, Jared had fallen asleep; having somehow lost his opportunity for Veronica, none of the rest of this mattered to him. And I, a traveler, would be leaving in the morning, what was the point of the uncle telling me more? It would just scare me, an outsider, and besides, running off the road, hitting deer, that kind of stuff is pretty common; people do it a lot, and you never know why; it's the price of living in the hills, on these steep and winding roads, though it is God's country, and to tell the truth, it's my problem, he says, how much of this to tell the police. There isn't much anyone can prove, anyway, the best I can figure, and besides, if it turns out that my land was part of it, I'd just as soon not get a whole lot of people poking around, trying to find stuff, talking about it, or maybe trying it themselves.
And with that, he dropped us off and went home- he was, after all, the mayor, and had to get back to town early in the morning.
7-06
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