"I guess," I shrugged. "I don't know," I mumbled as her icy eyes melted my resolve.
"Michael Manson used to be a friend. Michael had a lot of problems with his father and used to stay with his Uncle. Michael's Uncle was an evil man. He used Michael to lure Shannie into his house. He molested her." Diane said after drawing a deep breath, "If Michael can be believed, he forced Michael to molest her."
I was shocked into silence.
"Shannie didn't tell me immediately. She was ashamed. Eventually she told Russell who was afraid to tell me or go to the police."
"Why would he be afraid?"
"That's another story. Russell was afraid I would have him arrested. So he called the only person he knew he could trust: Mr. Lightman. That night Mr. Lightman came over and told me what happened and together we decided what to do."
"Did you call the police?"
"Sort of. Mr. Lightman has a friend who's a cop. He told him what happened and said he would like to take matters into his own hands. Mr. Lightman, Leroy Jr., and the unnamed officer paid a visit to Manson's house the next night and persuaded him to leave Pennsylvania or else."
"Or else what?"
"Use your imagination."
***
"Hello," Counts tired voice answered the phone.
"I know what happened to Shannie in Manson's house."
"Oh good for you," he droned.
"Inquiring minds want to know, how did you persuade Manson to leave?"
"Listen Dip Shit, I've just got to sleep an hour ago; I've been plowing while you've been playing Sherlock Holmes. If you don't hang up and let me get back to sleep, I'm going to persuade you to leave town."
"Sweet dreams."
"Up yours," Count snapped.
Three years later, before leaving for basic training, Count told me what happened. We were standing in the base of the giant maple tree drinking beers and watching traffic on the Expressway. The late summer sun was losing its grip, afternoon shadows faded to evening dusk. "I have something to tell you," he said as he finished a beer and sent the bottle in a towering arc into the Junkyard. As the bottle shattered among the rusting carcasses, old Duke erupted in a chorus of angry barks.
"What's that?" I asked.
"We damn near killed him."
"Killed who?" The subject had long stopped being an obsession of mine.