11
After a shower I was hungry for lunch and also eager again to be away from the Lancelot for a while. I assumed Carl would be returning soon, wondering what had happened to Eileen, so for one reason and another I didn't want to be around to run into him.
I headed down Main Street on the lookout for a place to eat, and as I went I pulled my phone from my pocket. I was surprised to see a new message, and from a new number.
--Sorry about earlier. Couldn't reply. This is my burner--
I saved the number and named the contact Kim2.
--Good. Someone saw my message?--
--Dan was sitting right there. Had to fake it--
--You work Sundays?--
--We're the police! Rolling schedules--
--Can you talk?--
The phone started buzzing immediately.
"That's better," I said. "My thumb was getting tired."
"How are you doing, Freddie?"
It was good to hear Kim's voice, soft and calm; it was reassuring, somehow, despite reminding me of the storm gathering three states to the north in Pennsylvania.
"I guess I'm okay. You? Any news I need to hear?"
I'd moved to the inside of the sidewalk along the west side of Main Street and stood by a low brick wall to one side of the doorway to a glass-fronted deli.
"How far did you make it? The area code's North Carolina?"
"That's right. I'm up in the hills. But you dodged my question."
"Yeah, sorry, I didn't want to be all doom and gloom from the get-go."
"Ah, damn it."
"It's not all bad, but the rape kit came back with recoverable DNA. Not really a surprise, but now they think they've got probable cause to seek a warrant to get samples from suspects."
"You mean suspect, singular."
"Well, yeah, they only like you for it, that's true."
"'They' meaning Krapke and who else?"
"Well, the chief. Though he pretty much lets Dan do what he wants if he figures he's onto something."
"Or up to something. But the rape kit doesn't prove anything. Calling it a 'rape kit' doesn't mean rape is what happened."
Saying that word out loud into the tranquil late-summer morning on Main Street just didn't feel right. I lowered my voice and turned to face the wall.
Kim said, "Right, I know that. Anyway, they're likely to come knocking any day, so next will be them finding out you left town. I honestly didn't think it would happen this quick, Freddie."
"Nobody knows I left town but you, Kim."
"They only need to knock a couple days in a row to add it up."
"I've been thinking it wasn't a good idea to leave in the first place. It doesn't do me any good and it just looks bad. I should have stayed put and fought it. I am innocent, after all."
"I believe you, Freddie, but I think I might be able to help if I can get a couple more days to look into Kevin and Penny Booth. I have to keep it on the down-low, that's what takes time. But any background that introduces doubt might make a prosecutor back off on bringing charges. They only like to indict on slam-dunks if they can help it."
"Whatever you can find, I guess."
"Yeah, I'm thinking I can tie it into the general inquiry, make it part of the coroner's report. There might be enough leeway to get things on the record that would make them back off on you."
"Okay. That would be great, obviously. Is there any chance you could find enough to bring charges against them? Against Kevin and Penny, anyway. Maybe Krapke, too?"
"Let's see what I can find out. First job is find enough to clear you. Indicting those guys would be a cherry on top."
"For you, too, right?"
"Sure. I believe in karma."
"Maybe talk to Penny Booth first. Blood's thicker than water. Might be easier getting her to talk."
"I'm way ahead of you, Freddie. She's top of my list."
"You'll keep me posted?"
"Of course. And if you need me, use this number from now on."
"Thanks, Kim."
"Bye, Freddie."
Hungrier than ever, I entered the deli in search of lunch.
12
I dawdled over my food because I was in no hurry to be anywhere else--in particular the Lancelot--but the four-inch-thick turkey Rachel I'd eaten was starting to kick in, bringing on increasingly strong waves of post-lunch sleepiness. I continued thumbing the pages of the current issue of the Dickson
Bugle
, which I'd picked up from a rack inside the front door that also featured glossy real estate ad magazines and much less elaborate auto-trader classified papers. The second half of the
Bugle
was much like the first, heavy on ads by local farms and businesses related to the upcoming apple harvest, and slightly less heavy on articles related to the upcoming apple harvest. Apple-picking, evidently, was the kick-off to an extended period of town festivities in the Fall--most targeted at foliage tourists--culminating in a grand Halloween parade down Main Street on October 31st. (Main Street would be closed to vehicular traffic, the paper sternly advised, more than two months out.)
The last few pages contained high-school sports news, of which several stories were continued from the headlines and stubs on the front page. The joke there being that even though school was out for the summer, high-school sports were still the top stories of the week. And there I'd been thinking this particular version of America had vanished for good. Perhaps I should have moved to Dickson instead of Moundville.
I wandered around town a little more, trying to fight the urge to nap, but by mid-afternoon I headed back to the Lancelot where I gave into it. When I woke, the windows of my room showed darkness outside, with streetlamp glare striping the ceiling and walls.
The room was quiet, but I had the dream-heavy impression I'd been woken by noise. I lay quietly listening for confirmation. The clock on the nightstand read 8:25. Some nap. I recalled how little sleep I'd had the previous night, and how this morning had been similarly full of exertions; so the nap could be forgiven, particularly after a sandwich containing roughly a pound of turkey.
But why had I woken up now? Had there been a knock at the door? Something roused me, but whatever it was had stopped now. The Armstrongs had left in the morning to go look for Beth. Perhaps they were getting home now, causing the usual homecoming slams and clatters.
No use lying there wondering about it. I got up to go see.
Lights were blazing in the downstairs foyer and as I descended the stairs I saw the inner door of the vestibule closing behind a brown wool coat, calf-length with a black furry fringe. No one else was about. I walked to the front door and looked out. In the driveway off to the right a small car was idling with its lights on. The trunk was open, and back there I recognized Inez struggling to load a large suitcase.
I trotted down the porch steps and went over to see her.
"Need a hand?"
She looked at me in surprise, then her face twisted into a complicated expression dominated by fear and worry.
"Thanks."
I lifted the suitcase into the trunk and said as casually as possible, "Heading out on a trip?"
"I'm going to meet Jim."
Beautiful, dark, unreadable eyes.
"You're picking them up somewhere?"
"No. Something's happened. Jim went on to Roanoke Rapids to meet Lee-Ann. They're there now. Jim says it might take a while."
"That's a hell of a drive. Did they find Beth?"
The question made her gasp and choke simultaneously. Her hand went to her chest and her shoulders came forward, and suddenly there were enormous tears rolling down her cheeks, diamonds in the porchlight.
"Jesus, Inez. What is it?"
She made fists with her hands and held them in front of her uselessly as the sobbing began. I had no choice but to take her in my arms and hold her while the wave hit the shore.
