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“When are you gonna get Donny’s results back?”
Pescoli just shrugged, waiting.
“Well . . . a week ago Friday, I don’t know. Uh . . . oh yeah, I was with Kip, for a while, Friday night, then later I went over to Reece’s. It was Triple Pool Night, that’s what we call it. We do a little betting, pool our money for lottery tickets, then play pool. We go there a lot of Friday nights. Reece’s dad has a bitchin’ rec room.”
“With a bar?” Pescoli asked.
“Well, yeah, I guess, but they also have a swimming pool with a hot tub and waterfall. It’s cool. We were there all night. Crashed and got up around eleven, I think.”
“Everyone was there all night?” Pescoli asked.
“I think so. Like I said, I crashed.”
“But when you woke up, the same people were there.”
He shook his head. “Nah. Just Reece, of course, in his room and, uh, Tophman, I think—no wait, he had to get back. His dad’s a prick.”
“The minister?” Pescoli had met Reverend Raymond Tophman at various community events, starting with the Good Feelings Preschool years before.
He snorted. “Some minister.”
“What’s wrong with Reverend Tophman?” Pescoli asked. She had her own feelings about the severely strict man, but wanted to hear Kywin’s.
“Doesn’t it say somewhere in the Bible that it’s okay to hit a kid or whale on him or something?”
Before Pescoli could respond, Alvarez said, “There’s an old proverb, ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child,’ but I think the actual translation from the Bible, book of Proverbs, is a little more precise. It suggests that you need to discipline your children.”
“Well, whatever. The preacher is all in his kid’s business. If I were Tophman, I’d move out.”
“What about the rest of the weekend?”
“I had chores. I always have chores. My old man doesn’t care that I work my ass off all week, so I mowed the lawn, cut brush. A lot of fun stuff like that.” When she didn’t say anything, he said, “You can check with him.
”
“You live with your father?”
He squinted against the cigarette smoke. “Things didn’t work out with Mom. She’s got younger kids and thinks Kip and I, we should be on our own.” He scowled slightly, and it was obvious to Pescoli that Kywin thought he’d been given a raw deal in life. Maybe he had.
Alvarez asked, “Did Destiny have any known enemies?”
His big shoulders lifted into a shrug. His neck was thick, his entire body fit and packed with sinewy muscle, not the long muscles of a basketball player, but the shorter, denser muscles of a running back in football or a wrestler. “The girls were always fighting. Besties with this one for a week, then hatin’ on her the next. Weird as shit, if ya ask me.”
“Anyone in particular who didn’t like her?”
“Nah . . . well, I did hear that Simone and she didn’t get along all the time.”
“Simone Delaney,” Alvarez clarified.
“But Simone’s a bitch.” He took a deep drag and threw a glance over his shoulder to look at the loading area, where String Bean and another guy, older and with a big gut, were in discussion. “They fought a lot. At school and, I guess, at work.”
“They worked together?”
“Volunteered at the same hospital, or somethin’. Oh, shit. Look, I gotta go.” With that, he hopped off the wall and dropped his second cigarette, crushing it with the toe of one huge boot.
“What size shoes do you wear?” Pescoli asked as a flatbed truck turned from the upper parking lot and rumbled down the steep road, kicking up dust, the driver giving them a quick once-over from inside the cab.
“Fuck! That’s my boss.”
