“I had an errand,” Amanda said.
She was aware she sounded terse and softened her reply with a smile.
“We got a lead from that newspaper article,” Larry said.
Amanda checked her phone.
“Nobody down here emails anyone. There’s a man in the market who wants to talk to us.”
The man was sitting on the bench reserved for locals, and Gertrude—her face now visible—was staring from behind her kitchen door. Her daughter just looked intrigued.
The man was wearing what appeared to be three jackets, one on top of the other. Larry could smell him from the door. Larry knew this hot, fecal smell from the streets. It was the smell of a man who had not bathed for weeks and, quite possibly, had a drug or alcohol problem on top of it.
There was dandruff on his once-shaved scalp. His blue eyes were embedded in pouches, and his mean little mouth looked collapsed.
“Ike Tressler,” he said.
“You wanted to talk to us?” Larry asked.
“Take him outside,” Gertrude said.
They stood under some trees near the market. Larry offered to get the man a cup of coffee, but all he wanted was a bottle of Mad Dog, which Larry wasn’t inclined to provide. Ike sat down on a log. He didn’t look tired but rather too restless to stand. He had big shoulders and ropy hands.
“I saw the article,” he told Amanda. “I knew your brother, at the center. Other boys too. One I remember—Reggie. He was a nice boy. I haven’t been the same since the place closed. Tried to get other work, but no one wants me.”
Larry looked at him skeptically. He knew men like this. He would ramble on until Larry and Amanda gave him what he wanted, which Larry suspected was more than fortified wine.
“What are you looking for?” Larry asked.
“I don’t know. Just wanted to talk. That’s what the paper said, right? You’re looking for information.”
“Right,” Amanda said, moving closer. She sat a distance from Ike, on another log. The wind whispered through the trees. Across the dunes, she could see the ocean. It was quieter today. Mist blew in great clouds, and the sun flashed off the water.
“What can you tell me about my brother?” she asked.
“He was okay. I mean, a bit of a brat, to be honest. Wouldn’t do his schoolwork, never smiled at anyone. Had to put him in the isolation rooms a lot, at first, to teach him. He never did learn, I guess. He tried to kill himself. You probably knew that.”
Amanda looked confused.
“I mean, not just at the end. Before then. I think Martha got tired of the boys here. They weren’t like other boys, she told me once. The ones she had before. The ones here were always fighting back.” He gave a chuckle, then coughed, spitting into the dirt. Larry looked away. He remained standing, his hands at his sides, a skeptical look on his face.
“Anyway, I was the teacher there, for a time. Then Martha put me in charge of other things. I liked it there. Like I said, I never found other work after that. The fishing boat captains, they didn’t like me. Can’t say I liked them either.”
There was a noise behind them. It was Gertrude, who had left the market. Her legs looked very thin under her flowered dress. She was wearing heavy brogans with a pair of men’s socks that were falling down.
“Those are Brett’s socks” was the first thing Ike said.
Gertrude looked uncomfortable being outside.
“You knew Brett?” Larry asked.
“We used to drink together at the bar in Wheel Stone. Before they eighty-sixed me and him together. Hey, would you get me some wine, Gertrude? A bottle of Mad Dog. I got money.” He reached into one of his filthy jackets, the one closest to his undershirt, and pulled out ahandful of dirty bills. Larry noticed they had blood on them. Ike smiled at him. “I hunt for my supper.”
“How do you make money?” Larry asked.
“Here and there. Odd jobs. Sometimes I chop firewood. Or I do what Brett used to do and collect the fallen antlers in the woods, saw ’em up, and sell them for a dollar a chunk at the farmer’s market in Wheel Stone. You can make forty dollars or more off a single rack.”
He held the bills out to Gertrude. She took them, silently, a look of distaste on her face.
