He is an accountant. His farm is not an active one, but has been in the family for more than a hundred years, he tells Lucy and me.
“I guess I’m just a history nut,” he goes on. “I’ve even found a few buttons from the American Revolution. Just never know what you’re going to find around here.”
We are in the kitchen and Mrs. White is getting a glass of water for Lucy.
“What about Benny?” I ask. “Was he interested in treasure hunting?”
“Oh, he sure was,” his mother replies. “Of course, he was always hoping to find real treasure. Like gold.” She has begun to accept his death and speaks of him in the past tense.
“You know, the old story about the Confederates hiding all this gold that’s never been found. Well, Benny thought he was going to find it,” Mr. White says, holding a glass of water as if he isn’t sure what to do with it. He sets it down on the countertop without drinking a drop. “He loved being outside, that one did. I’ve often thought it was too bad we don’t work the farm anymore because I think he would have really liked it.”
“Especially animals,” Mrs. White adds. “That child loved animals more than anyone I’ve ever met. Just so tenderhearted.” She tears up. “If a bird flew into a window, he’d go running out of the house to try and find it, and then he’d come in just in hysterics if the poor thing broke its neck, which is usually what happens.”
Benny’s stepfather stares out the window, a pained expression on his face. His mother falls silent. She is fighting to hold herself together.
“Benny had something to eat before he died,” I tell them. “I think Dr. Fielding might have asked you about that to see if he possibly was given something to eat at the church.”
Mr. White shakes his head, still staring out. “No, ma’am. They don’t serve food at the church except at the Wednesday-night suppers. If Benny had something to eat, I sure don’t know where.”
“He didn’t eat here,” Mrs. White adds with emphasis. “I fixed a pot roast for Sunday dinner, and well, he never had his dinner. Pot roast was one of his favorites.”
“He had popcorn and hotdogs in his stomach,” I say. “It appears he ate them not long before he died.” I make sure they understand the oddity of this and that it demands an explanation.
Both parents have baffled expressions. Their eyes light up with both fascination and confusion. They say they have no earthly idea where Benny would have gotten hold of junk food, as they call it. Lucy asks about neighbors, if perhaps Benny might have dropped by someone’s house before he went into the woods. Again, they can’t imagine him doing something like that, not at dinner time, and the neighbors are mostly elderly and would never give Benny a meal or even a snack without calling his parents first to make certain it was all right. “They wouldn’t spoil his dinner without asking us.” Mrs. White is certain of this.
“Would you mind if I see his bedroom?” I then say. “Sometimes I get a better feel for a patient if I can see where he spent his private time.”
The Whites look a little uncertain. “Well, I guess that would be all right,” the stepfather decides.
They take us down a hallway to the back of the house, and along the way we pass a bedroom off to the left that looks like a girl’s bedroom, with pale pink curtains and a pink bedspread. There are posters of horses on the walls, and Mrs. White explains that this is Lori’s bedroom. She is Benny’s younger sister and is at her grandmother’s house in Williams-burg right now. She hasn’t gone back to school yet and won’t until after the funeral, which is tomorrow. Although they don’t say it, I infer that they didn’t think it was a good idea for the child to be here when the medical examiner dropped in out of the sky and started asking questions about her brother’s violent death.