The Mourning Mail (final release candidate #7)

Chapter 24

My arm was still in a cast when I last talked to anyone about Leo Hartley Wynn. I'd suffered a spiral fracture, a parting gift from Dennis, my second boyfriend. Dennis was finishinghis first month of a three-month stint in the hospital, an old-school goodbye present from a couple of guys on Dad's construction crew. Lindsay had just opened her new salon, and I was among her first clients.

As Lindsay worked her magic, we conversed about jerks in general, migrating to specific examples from our pasts.

"In our family, it was Leo the Loser," I told Lindsay. "As a child, you couldn't call him that to his face, of course – the rumors said that kids who mouthed off ended up in a freezer in his basement, and adults were afraid to tell on him."

"It's easy to scare someone littler than you," Lindsay offered.

"Despite being an embarrassment to the Wynn family name, Leo's had a pretty strong influence over me even though he's gone now."

[An influence that James Seaver just reminded me is still with me today.]

"He became a permanent part of in my psyche when he set his sights on me for a week of sheer terror one summer. I've not forgotten a single moment, and I doubt I ever will."

"Your mom and dad are awesome – what's Leo's connection to your family?" Lindsay asked.

"Leo is my great uncle on Dad's side. He was a throwback stuck in the 50s and 60s. As Dad explains it, in those days, otherwise unworthy individuals could claim manhood by the number of babies they made with submissive wives."

"Neanderthals with clubs, then..." Lindsay mused.

"Pretty much. Leo had five children. He ruled with an iron fist, and he believed in two things. Keep the wife barefoot and pregnant, and children were to be seen but not heard. He left all the non-disciplinary parenting duties to his second spouse."

"What we she like?" Lindsay asked as she clipped away with her scissors.

"Her name was Donna," I answered. "She was petite, kind of mousey, eight years his junior. She was a fulltime housewife, took part-time jobs when they needed money. The only things that really stood out about her was that she worked hard and wouldn't talk back."

"Classic enabler, I'm guessing?" Lindsay said, and I nodded my head.

"Leo owned a collection agency in a small rural town, Spencer, Iowa," I continued. "It was a time when those businesses were largely unregulated. I have to give the man some credit. It was through him I became intimately familiar with his intimidation techniques. Now I recognize them when I have to interview bullies."

"Are we talking busting kneecaps, that kind of thing?" Lindsay asked.

"I'm sure he did, but I never saw that part of it," I answered. "Most of what he did was one step above that – he'd plant scary thoughts in their heads. I didn't see Leo break any legs, poison any dogs, or deflower anyone's underage children. But I did see him go to extreme lengths to make people think he might."

"Got it – what they call 'mental abuse,' " Lindsay said.

"Exactly. He'd do anything to harass debtors," I added. "Things like taking Social Security and other checks from roadside mailboxes. He'd hold onto them for ransom until he got payment on the debt he was collecting."

"That's a federal crime, right?" Lindsay asked.

"Maybe, but things were so different back then. The state capital was one hundred ninety miles away. This was long before the Internet, and the only way he could be reported was through the mail. Or several weeks of exchanging long-distance telephone calls, which were very expensive in those days."