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eleven
Sunny parked in a thin grove of trees a ways down from 13 White Fern Road. She’d made one pass, initially, then driven back around and settled her gaze on the house with a set of binoculars. Everything was old, dried up and rotting. Unlike the sparse neighbors, there wasn’t a single holiday decoration in sight. There weren’t a million cars in the driveway, as if all the family relatives had converged for Thanksgiving Day. The only life around the place was the black dog, out near the faded red barn. Even with the binoculars, she couldn’t see much more than his head, due to the height of the grass around him.
Might as well get a little closer. She tossed her binoculars in the passenger seat and drove up to the house. She made no attempt to hide herself, even though that old car was parked out front. She’d just made her way in the direction of the dog when the front door of the house opened and a stout woman stepped out onto the rotting porch.
“Who’re you?” she barked.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.” Sunny cleared her throat. “I’m from the county. Just coming to assess the property.”
The woman wrapped her brown knit sweater tight around her lumpy chest. She narrowed her eyes beneath her wiry gray hair, which looked to have been set with old-fashioned curlers. “You been here before? Driving a—” she pointed her nose at Sunny’s truck “—dumpy old van?”
A dumpy old van?
Cici.
Sunny strode a little closer, wishing she had a clipboard or something else official looking. She hadn’t decided on the county assessor angle until the moment it came out of her mouth. “That must’ve been my associate.”
The old lady’s face relaxed a little but the deep wrinkles in her cheeks were permanent. “I’ll be watching,” she said. “Don’t you go near the dog, neither.”
Sunny glanced in the direction of the barn. The dog had sat up, exposing skinny shoulders with brown patches. He looked more mutt and less rottweiler at a closer distance. He gave a sharp bark, followed by another.
“Actually—” Sunny patted herself “—I’ve forgotten the forms I need. I’ll be back later in the week. Maybe you can make sure the dog’s put inside?”
“The dog don’t go inside.”
“Ever?” Sunny drew the chilly air into her lungs. “It’s cold.”
“He got a coat.” She drew a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her brown polyester pants, knocked one out and lit it with a plastic red lighter.
“He seems like a nice dog.”
The dog kept barking.
“He was my grandson’s. He don’t live here no more. Don’t know why I didn’t take him to the pound. Still might. Shaddap!” A stream of cigarette smoke escaped her thin, cracked lips.
“Oh, I could give him a ride.” The words slipped out before Sunny could stop herself. “I could take him to the shelter for you. Save you the trip.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed inside the curl of her cigarette smoke. “Like I said. Don’t go near my dog.”
“Okay.”Don’t do or say anything suspicious, thought Sunny.Keep your head straight.“Well. You have a nice day. I’ll be back.” Sunny turned slowly, like the old woman was a snake who might strike if she moved too quickly, and made her way back to her truck. The old bat watched her drive away, cigarette between her fingers and free arm smashed around her thick waist.
Oh,Sunny thought,I’ll be back.
The traffic light was clearly broken. Sunny tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and sighed. This is what you get when you leave your kitchen to your sister and go scouting for abused dogs on Thanksgiving Day.
“Five minutes,” Sunny muttered. “I’ve been sitting here for five minutes.” There were two people behind her and three to her left. She kept waiting for the guy next to her to decide first that the light was never going to change and push through, but the blue sedan just kept sitting there.
The car behind her honked. Sunny looked in her rearview. The woman pointed at her watch, mouthed,Go, and pushed her hands forward, as though shoving Sunny through.
Sunny glanced at the clock, then looked in both directions going across traffic. No one was coming. Six minutes had gone by. She edged through the light and got about ten seconds down the street before a siren blared.
“Are you shitting me?” She looked in her rearview again and saw that the blue sedan had a police light going. Of all the dumb luck. Sunny drew over to the side of the road, lowered her window, killed the engine and waited as the sedan pulled up behind her. She sat there, not even moving to get her license and registration. “Officer,” she said as he approached. “That light clearly wasn’t going to change. We sat there for six minutes...” Her voice trailed off as her eyes locked into his.
Detective Callahan.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Sunny,” he said, devoid of smile. “Are you aware that you ran a red light?”
The emotions that rolled through her were varied enough to keep her in silence for well past a sufficient amount of time to answer the detective’s question. Yet, he just stood there, waiting for her answer. She silently admitted that she’d been thinking about this man, the way he smelled and the cold authority of his eyes, ever since he’d shared her very, very,veryexpensive Scotch, but this wasn’t the way she’d wanted to run into him.
