Page 51 of A Winter of Discontent for Henry Milch
Couldn’t possibly be true, but I got the point.
“Well, I’m sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Hal Buckwald. Bobbie’s son. I thought you might know where he lives.
Without another word, he wove an arm out the door, pointing at the mobile home in the back of the lot, the one with no siding, then closed the door. Okay, well, that was an answer.
I picked my way out to the trailer using other people’s footsteps. As nearly as I could tell, no one had shoveled a path to the trailer. There were multiple sets of footsteps through the recent snow leading to and from its front door.
I banged on the storm door. A few moments later, Hal opened the door. He, too, was wearing long underwear. He did have a pair of jeans covering the bottom part, which I appreciated.
“Hi, we haven’t met, I’m Henry Milch. I’m wondering if I could ask a few questions about your mother?”
“Are you with the newspaper?”
“No, no I’m not. You know it’s awfully cold out here, I wonder if I could come inside?—”
“No, you can’t.”
I suppose that was a blessing. From what I could see the interior of the mobile home looked like a picked-over yard sale, and there was a disturbing smell wafting out. Then again… frostbite.
“I’ve heard you didn’t get on with your mother. Is that true?”
“Nobody got on with my mother. Not for long. Is there a reward? Is that why you’re nosing around?”
“When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“About a year ago. If you get a reward, I want part of it.”
“There’s no reward. Don’t you care who killed your mother?”
“Not really.”
That brought me to a halt. I mean, if someone killed my mother, I’d want to know who it was. Finally, I asked, “What’s the deal with this… property? Why are you all living on it?”
He looked me up and down, seeming to decide whether he wanted to answer. “So, my great-great grandfather Malcolm Campbell, Scottish, got a land grant for a hundred and sixty acres. He was going to be a farmer, but he wasn’t great at it. Ended up selling off most of the trees for lumber. He died and left the land to his two sons. They weren’t much better at farming, and ended up selling off a lot of the land during the Depression. By the time my grandfather and his two cousinsinherited the land there wasn’t much left. Just four and a half acres.”
“How many people own this property now?”
“Five cousins.”
“So, you’ve been living on the same piece of property as your mom. How did you not speak to her for a whole year?”
“Easier than you think. She was always trying to borrow money. I finally told her to fuck off. She did.”
“What did she want to borrow money for?”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Doctor visit. Blinski.”
That did not need explaining. What did need explaining was why she thought her son would have any money to loan her. He certainly didn’t look like he had any.
He went on, “By the time I told her to fuck off she owed me about twelve hundred dollars. I knew I’d never see it again.”
“The night your mother died, did you see anyone on the property?”
“I already talked to a deputy. They know I didn’t see anything.” I thought he’d finished, but then he went on. “Two of my cousins live in the other singlewide. I was over there with them most of the night.”
“What were you doing?”
“Terminator.”
