“Do you feel okay, Mr. D?” I called him that to differentiate him from Chris Norman, who was Mr. N. They couldn’t both be Mr. N.
“Just a little headache, SusieJo,” he said. “We drank too many beers last night.”
Daddy was on his feet now. “Morgan? You gonna sleep all day?” He walked over to Mr. Wheedon’s tent and peeked in. “He’s not in here.”
Chris Norman looked around. “Car’s here. Did he hit the bathroom?”
“I didn’t hear anyone else when I was over there,” I said.
“Morgan?” David Norman called out.
Now all three men were up and moving, leaving me to cook breakfast while they started searching and calling for him.
An hour later, we were gathered around a park ranger and a deputy, while Daddy and the Norman brothers gave them a description of Mr. Wheedon and their activities the night before. We ate dinner, then I went to bed. The men sat up and talked and drank beer, then they all returned to their respective tents—Daddy to ours, the Norman brothers to the tent they shared, and they all saw Morgan return to his tent.
The deputy knelt and smiled at me. “How old are you, Susannah?”
I didn’t feel any fear talking to the man because I was used to how friendly the bailiffs were who worked at the county building where Daddy worked. They always had smiles for me.
“I’m seven, sir.”
“Do you like camping?”
“I love it. I want to be in the Boy Scouts, but I can’t. Our Brownie troop is lame. We just do crafts and stuff. Daddy takes me camping.”
“Did you hear anything or see anything last night?”
I started to say no, when I really thought about it. “I heard a gunshot last night that sounded close by.”
All the men exchanged a look. “Do you know what time?” the deputy asked.
“No, sir. I went back to sleep.”
“Was your dad in the tent with you?”
I solemnly nodded. “Yes, sir. Daddy snores.”
The deputy and the park ranger stepped off to the side. Then the park ranger used the radio in his truck to call someone, said some codes.
An hour later, the search party, led by a dog, found Morgan Wheedon’s body. He was sitting at the base of an oak tree about three hundred yards from our campsite, and had shot himself in the head.
He’d left a note. At the time, I was too young to hear the gory details.
It wasn’t until after we returned home Saturday evening, having packed and left the campground, including packing Mr. Wheedon’s things after the team of deputies finished going through all his stuff, that I thought about something I kept to myself.
When the gunshot awakened me, I didn’t remember hearing Daddy snoring in the other side of the tent, and I never got up to check to see if he was there. I simply went back to sleep.
Chapter Six
Then
It’s funny, in a sad kind of way, that Owen can’t accept how easily he won a spot on our HOA board, or how easily he won his primary while running for a seat on the Hillsborough County Commission.
Daddy’s old seat, as a matter of fact.
Owen is incapable of seeing himself the way others see him—smart, funny, articulate, and hot.
Haaawwwt.
