Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 137, No. 2. Whole No. 834, February 2011

Beer Money by Shane Nelson

Shane Nelson’s last short story for EQMM, “That One Small Thing” (February 2009) was selected as a Distinguished Story of 2009 by Best American Mystery Stories 2010. Since then, the Canadian author and sometime teacher has had several more stories published, including one given an honorable mention in Best Horror of the Year, Volume 2, edited by Ellen Datlow. He is currently managing to find time to write while also working as a stay-at-home dad of twins, “the hardest job I’ve ever had,” he says!

I was leaning against the counter in Frank Gosselin’s store, talking to Frank about the weather, when Edwin Rhodes came inside. A snowy gust of wind followed him, rustling the papers tacked to the corkboard by the door. He heaved the door closed and the papers on the corkboard fell still again. Edwin began knocking snow off his boots with his cane and pulling snow from the old metal leg braces he wore.

I was new to town and had only met a handful of people, but I’d seen Edwin before. He was at least seventy, as old as Frank, and had a shock of white hair that he kept tucked under a grey toque most of the year. Stoop-shouldered, he wore a seemingly permanent scowl on his craggy face. The most noticeable thing about him, however, was his old-fashioned metal leg braces. I wondered why, in this day and age, he wore braces that looked as if they belonged on the country’s first polio victim.

“Morning, Ed,” Frank said from his perch on a stool behind the counter. “Mighty ugly out there.”

“It’s been nicer,” Edwin agreed.

I felt like I should say something. The best I could come up with was, “Morning.” Edwin glowered and made his way down the first aisle, his oversized peacoat shedding clumps of half-melted snow.

“Don’t mind Ed,” Frank said. “It takes him about twenty years to warm up to folks.”

I smiled. “Have you known him that long?”

“My whole life,” Frank said. That surprised me, as Edwin didn’t seem all that fond of Frank.

“Anyhow,” Frank continued, pushing back the sleeves of his cableknit sweater, exposing hairy forearms. “You think your Internet weather forecast is more accurate than my almanac?”

Frank had a copy of the Old Farmer’s Almanac hanging behind his desk. It was dog-eared, stained, and worn. For Frank, it was a weather bible.

“I put more faith in technology than I do a book.”

“In my day,” Frank said, “we got smarter as we got older.”

I was about to say something in response to Frank’s barb when the telephone in the back room started to jangle. Like the almanac, Frank’s telephone was also a relic. I wondered if the phone company knew that he had a rotary-dial wall phone hanging back there.

“Back in a sec,” Frank said. He clumped into the back room and grabbed the phone mid ring. I heard him say, “H’lo?” and then I tuned him out, putting my back to the counter and playing my eyes around the store.

While most businesses boasted electronic cash registers and plastic shelves, Frank’s store was a throwback to simpler times. His shelves were handmade, his floor hardwood. There was a working woodstove in the back corner — simmering orange today. The only things that looked out of place were the shelves of liquor at the back of the store and the beer cooler.

Edwin was near the cooler. He moved with slow, heavy steps, burdened by the cane and the braces. As I watched, he opened the beer cooler and removed a six-pack of Newcastle Brown Ale. Then, without so much as a backward glance, he tucked it under his peacoat.

Edwin thumped his way back up the aisle between the shelves. He looked ridiculous with the six-pack under his jacket, but he didn’t seem to give a damn. He went straight past me, one hand on his cane and the other holding the six-pack in place. His eyes caught mine and he hooked his lip into a smile. He was daring me to say something. I didn’t.

He opened the door and the wind rushed inside, bringing swirling ghosts of snow. The papers on the corkboard did their noisy dance. Edwin looked at me. The sky behind him was grey and muted, stormy light the consistency of old milk. Still, I could see the red veins in his eyes and the grey stubble on his cheeks. In the back, Frank was still yammering on the telephone.

Edwin grinned. It seemed to say: Now we’re in this together. Then he stepped outside, head bent against the howling wind. The door banged closed, and he was gone.

I listened to the hiss of the woodstove in the corner and watched the second hand on the old John Deere clock on the wall. Was it my place to tell Frank about Ed’s theft? I was trying to decide when Frank hung up the phone and returned to his stool.

“Edwin gone?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

Frank removed a half-smoked cigar from behind the counter and tucked it into the corner of his mouth. Hooking an eyebrow, he asked, “Your lungs give a damn?”

Personally, I thought smoking in public was a nuisance, but this was Frank’s place and if he wanted to break the law I’d look the other way. Frank lit his cigar and puffed at it contentedly. Outside, the wind whooped. After a few moments he said, “You seem glum all of a sudden.”

“Not glum,” I said. “Just thinking.”

“ ’Bout?”

“Edwin,” I said. “You two are good friends?”

Frank chewed on the cigar and it bobbed in the corner of his mouth. “I think so,” he told me. “Least we used to be. Edwin’s a tough one to figure.”

“But you like him? You get along?”

“Sure,” Frank said. “He’s a great guy.”

That settled it. I couldn’t tell Frank on the off chance that it would put paid to whatever friendship these two old men shared.

“There are a lot of great folks in town,” Frank said. “You need to get out and meet them.”

“I know,” I said, though my voice mustn’t have sounded too convincing because Frank came back at me right away.

“Small towns are funny places, Sean,” he explained. “You’re a stranger until you’ve lived here half your life. But if you knock elbows and spend less time jawing with coots like me, well, who knows.”

I laughed. “You saying you don’t like my company?”

“Your company’s fine. I’m just saying that in small towns you have to push yourself. Once you do that, you’ll find there’s a lot of loyalty. Secrets, too.”

Loyalty and secrets. I’d seen both in action today.

“Maybe I’ll head out, then,” I said, pulling my gloves from my pockets. “Knock elbows.”

Frank puffed his cigar. “Come back tomorrow, we’ll play chess.”

“I don’t play chess.”

“Christ on a crutch,” Frank said. “What’s this world coming to?”

A week later, a blizzard socked in and I began doubting the veracity of the online forecast. Perhaps there was more knowledge in the Farmer’s Almanac than I was ready to admit.

I trudged to the end of Grand Avenue, snow swirling around me. It was bitter snow, like grains of sand. By the time I got to Gosselin’s, my hair and shoulders were covered. I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the front windows. I looked like I had been rolled in confectioner’s sugar.

The front door swung open and a man’s broad back filled the doorway. He grunted and strained as he backed through the door carrying one end of Frank’s woodstove. On the other side of the stove was Frank, red-faced and scowling.

“Frank, what’s up?”

“I’m... reading the... paper,” he strained. “What... does it look... like? Goddamn... stove has to go.” The muscles on his forearms bulged as he stepped through the doorway.

“Can I help?”

Frank jerked his head over his right shoulder. “Man the ship.”

“Okay,” I replied, slipping inside.

Through the door’s snow-frosted glass, I watched as Frank and the other man struggled the stove across the parking lot toward a white moving truck. It was tough slogging through the drifts, but they seemed to have a handle on it. I turned my attention to the store.

The back corner where the woodstove had sat looked empty and dirty. The floor’s big bare patch was emphasized by the discolored hardwood and the massive dust bunnies crouched in the corner. There were still lengths of duct and pipe on the floor and I half considered lugging them out to the truck. The high keening of the wind, however, convinced me that my place was behind the counter.

I’d been back there less than two minutes when Edwin came inside. When he saw me he paused. Then, without another glance, he pulled the door closed, banged snow off his cane, and thumped down the aisle toward the beer cooler.

He knew I was watching but he didn’t even pause. He opened the beer cooler and reached inside for a six-pack. Then he took one step to the side and the shelves blocked him from my sight. When he came back into view, cane bumping the floor, I could see the bulge under his peacoat.

This old sonofabitch was pushing me and we both knew it. I had to say something, and I wanted it to be angry and indignant. When I opened my mouth, however, all I managed was, “Can I help you?”

“I doubt it,” Edwin said. “You don’t work here.”

“No, I’m just helping Frank.”

“Real man would help Frank by toting that goddamn stove, not by standing at the counter, catching flies,” Edwin said.

“Maybe there’s something you want to pay for,” I said.

He looked at me. “I don’t know who you are,” he said, “but mind your own business.”

“I’m doing what Frank asked.”

Edwin went out the door. I grabbed my jacket, meaning to follow him outside. I was just coming around the counter when Frank stepped inside. He was covered in snow and soot, his face red from cold and exertion.

“Where you running off to?”

“Um, Edwin, he...” I trailed off.

Frank had a curious look on his face, as if he knew damn well what was bothering me. “What about Edwin?”

“I thought...”

Frank gave me time. “Yeah?”

“I thought he might have... taken something without paying for it.”

After brushing as much of the snow and soot from himself as he could, Frank went behind the counter. Hanging his coat on a wall hook, he said, “You mean to say Edwin stole something?” He looked amused.

“More like he just forgot to pay,” I said.

Frank shook his head. “Not Edwin. He never forgets anything. Trust me.”

“But Frank—”

Frank raised a hand. “Edwin didn’t steal anything, Sean. It might have looked that way, but I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

I sighed inwardly. There was nothing I could do and, to be fair, it wasn’t my responsibility. Whatever friendship Frank and Edwin had, it didn’t involve me.

“What happened to the stove?” I asked, wanting to get as far away from my accusation of Edwin as I could.

“Damn thing’s had it,” Frank said. “Getting old, just like me. Sooner or later things get old and you have to let ’em go. It won’t be the same without that old bitch, though.” He sighed. “Let me wash up and get out the chessboard.”

“You’re determined to teach me that game, aren’t you?”

Frank nodded. “I’ll make you a smart man yet.”

Frank was good to his word and by the first week of December he’d taught me the basics of chess. I didn’t play very well, but Frank went easy on me. Still, he kept tormenting me about the weather. I’d claimed we were in for a mild winter but Mother Nature — and Frank’s Farmer’s Almanac — had put egg on my face. We’d had nothing but snow for five days straight.

I had my fingers poised over one of my pieces. Frank said, “You sure you wanna do that?”

In the middle of my contemplation — I did a lot of it during chess, and Frank usually muttered about how long it took — Edwin came into the store. His toque was pulled low over his brow. Hectic red patches stood out on his cheeks.

“Howdy, Ed,” Frank said.

Edwin’s reply was a muffled grunt. I was sitting on a stool opposite Frank and I swiveled around so I could see Edwin. He caught my eye and glared. Then he made his way to the beer cooler.

“Sean?” Frank said. “You gonna make your move?”

Frank had that curious look in his eyes. I said, “In a second.” Edwin was at the beer cooler, the door open. The cooler’s refrigeration unit hummed and steamy air breathed out around Edwin in a sigh.

“Sean?”

“Just hold your water,” I said, using one of Frank’s favorite phrases. He raised an eyebrow as if to say, Oh, really? Is that how it is?

At the back of the store, Edwin removed a six-pack and tucked it under his jacket. The cooler door thumped closed and Edwin came up the aisle, passed the front counter, and went out the door without a backward glance. I turned to Frank.

“Well?” I said.

“Well what?”

I pointed at the door. “Edwin just walked out of here with a six-pack.”

Frank’s eyes never left mine. “I didn’t see anything.”

“He pulled out the beer and put it under—”

Stepping into my words as neat as you please, Frank nodded at the chessboard and said, “Are you going to move?”

I couldn’t believe it. Here we sat, two adults, and Frank was going to pretend he hadn’t just seen Edwin lifting a six-pack. I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Then, finally, I plucked up my piece and moved it.

“It’s funny,” Frank said, eyeing up the chessboard with calm precision. “Sometimes what you see isn’t really what you saw. Leastways, not the way you think you saw it.”

I let Frank continue.

“Ed and I grew up together. Trusted each other. Of course, like I said, sometimes things aren’t what they seem.”

His fingers touched a knight. Paused. He chewed his lower lip, concentrating. I felt as if he was on the cusp of revealing something — one of those “small-town secrets” he was prone to remark about, the ones that made you an insider.

“What happened was stupid. There was no reason for it. It was Saturday and we were doing what we always did. Only difference is that it was raining and Nicole was there. She was Ed’s girl at the time.” His eyes came up, caught mine, then went back to the chessboard. “We were hanging out at Ed’s house, drinking beer and watching the storm. We ran out of beer and had to get some more. We flipped for it and Ed lost.”

Frank closed his fingers over the knight but didn’t lift it from the board.

“He didn’t really lose, though. I had this two-headed buffalo nickel, some gag thing, and I used it. I tell myself I didn’t know, that I just had it in my pocket, but I knew. I liked Nicole and she liked me just enough to make me flip that coin.” Frank looked embarrassed. “So, I flipped the coin and sent Ed out in the rain to get the beer. He’d barely pulled out of the driveway when Nicole and I were all over each other.”

He put the knight down. He was frowning and his face had gone two shades of dark.

“We got carried away and the next thing I knew we were halfways undressed and on the bed. But then I heard something bang downstairs — the bedroom was on the second floor — and it put a block of ice in my stomach. I ran downstairs, pulling my shirt closed. The front door was open, banging in the wind. I found a case of beer sitting on the porch, but no Ed. I was fit to be tied. So was Nicole. We both had that dizzy feeling, like we just missed getting run down in the street or something.”

Frank looked at me. Looked through me. “We waited around for Ed for an hour before we finally went out looking for him. We met the police on the other side of town and I knew right off something was wrong. Turns out that Ed had been roaring down the highway when he lost control. He was in the hospital for a month. Mangled himself something bad and for a while they thought he’d lose his legs. That’s why he has those braces. He spent a few more months with Nicole — she barely left his bedside while he was in the hospital — and then they broke up. We stayed friends but something was always different.”

At last Frank looked back at the chessboard. He made his move, giving a determined nod. “Check.”

“Did he know?”

“He told me he got back and came inside when he realized he’d forgotten his wallet at the store. Set the beer on the porch and headed back out. Never made mention of anything.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Makes no difference,” Frank said. “It doesn’t matter what Ed saw, what matters is what he admits to seeing. Do you understand?”

“Not really.”

“He saw,” Frank told me. “Saw and took off out of there. I don’t know why he didn’t beat me senseless. Instead, he ended up crashing his car. Crippled himself for life.”

“Do you think it was your fault?”

Frank gave me a wry smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Leastways a little. I flipped a crooked nickel and jumped all over his girl.” He nodded at the board. “I’ve got you on the ropes.”

I examined the board, taking my time, letting my thoughts simmer. Finally I made my move, slipping out of Frank’s clutches.

“Do you still have the nickel?” I asked.

“Nah,” Frank said. “Lost it years ago.” He countered and leaned back from the board.

“Still,” I said. “Edwin comes in here every week and steals your beer. You know that. I don’t get it.”

“Sure you do,” Frank said. “You just ain’t seeing it yet.”

“Then just tell me.”

“Maybe Edwin does it because he likes to think he’s slipping one over on me,” Frank said. “But I doubt that. He does it because he likes Newcastle Brown, and he does it because I let him do it.”

“But why do you let him?” I asked.

“Forty years ago I did a real stupid thing,” Frank said. “I cheated my friend and sent him out to get beer. Then I cheated with his girl and sent him off to a car accident that almost killed him. So I’ve been buying his beer for him ever since. I owe him that much.”

Frank smiled. I didn’t know if he was serious or not.

I picked up my chess piece. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Do you think he’ll ever admit to what he saw? That he’ll forgive you?”

Frank took a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe. Maybe when I’ve bought him enough beer.”

I looked at him for a few moments more, then set my piece on the board. “Checkmate,” I told Frank.

He blinked down at the board, then scratched the side of his neck. “Well I’ll be goddamned.”

“Another?” I asked.

“ ’Course.”

He cleared the board and put the pieces back in place. Outside, the wind blew against the windows and the snow came down. I’d just taken Frank in chess, but when it came to the weather, Frank — and his Old Farmer’s Almanac — had me beat.

At least it looked that way. For now.

Copyright © 2010 by Shane Nelson