The Hayloft: a 1950s Mystery by Alan Cook

infections when I have to answer questions in
class.”
    We watched as Joe Hawkins threw a touchdown
pass, making the score 6-0. The cheerleaders, led by Natalie, went
wild, as did many of the fans. Barney gave a halfhearted cheer, but
Sylvia jumped up and yelled. I clapped politely. A successful extra
point attempt made it 7-0.
    During the break in the action, Sylvia got
Barney’s attention and said, “Gary is interested in what happened
to Ralph Harrison.” And to me, “Barney and Ralph were good
friends.”
    Barney looked pensive, a look I hadn’t seen
on him. After a pause, he said, “Ralph was a smart boy. He would
have gone far. It’s a damn shame.”
    “Do you think anybody was with him when
he…fell?” I asked.
    Barney looked at me closely, as if trying to
figure out why I had asked the question. He spoke carefully. “The
official police report states that he was alone.”
    “But…” I said and stopped. My reporting
experience had taught me that sometimes remaining silent was the
best way to get people to say more than they wanted to.
    Barney was still choosing each word
carefully. “Given the circumstances, I think it is highly unlikely
that the accident would have happened if he had been alone. It was
the middle of the school day. He hadn’t been drinking. Although he
had a wild streak, he always calculated the odds and knew what he
was doing.”
    “So, who was with him?’
    Barney smiled a thin smile and said, “That’s
the 64-dollar question, isn’t it?”
    “You referred to it as an accident. If
somebody was with him, do you still think it was an accident?”
    “Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.”
Barney turned around as Carter kicked off to Atherton.

    CHAPTER 10
    The smooth voice of Perry Como wafted from
the jukebox in the corner of the cafeteria, crooning the words to
“Prisoner of Love,” as I attempted to glide around the dance floor
with Sylvia. Fred Astaire I wasn’t. The tables had been retracted
into the walls, and the chairs had been arranged along said walls,
leaving the tile floor open for a herd of couples engaged in slow
dancing.
    Most of the dancers shuffled their sock feet
roughly in time to the music without executing recognizable steps,
so I didn’t feel out of place. The beat was too slow for a foxtrot,
anyway. Bodies swayed in unison, close together, often touching at
key points. A few of the girls’ heads rested on their boyfriends’
shoulders. A handful of couples eschewed the classic dance frame
and had their arms wrapped around each other, clinging together
with teenage intensity, as if afraid that their partners would
disappear forever if they loosened their grips.
    Slow dancing was about as close as most of us
came to actual sex, and sometimes I wondered how many of us had
teeth marks on our bedposts. In the case of Sylvia and me, the
dance position was a little awkward because she was so much shorter
than I was, at an inch over five feet. I held her loosely so that
she wouldn’t get smothered by my sweater.
    I had danced with her several times because,
of the available girls, she was the one I knew best. Most of the
students had come stag to the sock hop, as I had. It was the
evening after the football game. Several teachers, acting as
chaperones, sat at the raised end of the cafeteria. Two were even
dancing with each other, more skillfully than most of the
students.
    Carter had beaten Atherton for the first time
in almost forever. Joe Hawkins had played a large part in the
victory. Maybe Carter was becoming an athletic power. I had talked
to some of my friends from Atherton at halftime. It was good to see
them again, but it brought back memories that depressed me. My
state of exile became more real to me.
    I was feeling better now, but I wanted to
branch out. When Barney came over and asked Sylvia to dance, that
gave me an opportunity. Barney and my cousin, Ed, among others,
were moving freely from girl to girl. For somebody whose clothes
were