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I opened my mouth to ask something else, but George released me so I stumbled back a few steps. I fought the urge to rub at my wrist.
“I’ll tell Wormy you’re ready for him,” he said. “I don’t want to see you in my shop again. You’re nothing but bad news and trouble.”
“Who was the man in the white Cadillac?” I asked.
George stared at me like I was the Devil himself, and his face shut down so there was nothing but emptiness in those pale, pale eyes.
“I’ve never seen him before.”
George walked back into the bay area toward Wormy, and I flexed my hand, trying to get the circulation going again from where George had cut it off. I huddled into one of the orange plastic chairs against the wall and took comfort from the weight of the gun in my pocket.
I don’t know how much time passed, but I watched Wormy make the spray-paint on the Suburban disappear like magic, and I watched George get into his pickup truck and head south towards Newcastle. He gave me one last, long stare as he drove by, and I knew then that death hadn’t forsaken me when I’d lived this past winter. It was still out to get me, and I’d just looked it in the face.
Chapter Eleven
It was eleven-thirty by the time Wormy finished with the Suburban and handed me the keys. I’d decided to keep my mouth shut about questioning the other mechanics about the man in the white Cadillac and let Jack deal with it. George had scared me, and I didn’t want word getting back to him.
I still hadn’t heard from Jack by the time I backed out of the auto shop on $1200 worth of new tires, so I assumed something in Westmoreland caught his attention. I drove aimlessly around town, wondering how a place could never change or why the people who lived there never seemed to want it to. The businesses and houses were the same. So were the people for that matter. The family names written on the gravestones in the cemetery were the same names as those who occupied most of the town now.
Mr. Hardesty stopped sweeping his front walkway long enough to wave to me as I drove by his pharmacy, but Mrs. Conroy next door gave me a stony stare and crossed herself before she hurried back inside her quilting store.
I don’t know why I turned onto Queen Mary instead of heading back to the funeral home, but I found myself headed in that direction almost as if I didn’t have control over my actions. I saw Reverend Thomas’s old car at the church and knew he and Lorna must be back from seeing Mr. Oglesby, but I didn’t want to have anything to do with either of them in my present state of mind.
I let the Suburban idle at the crossroads of Queen Mary and Heresy. I wanted to see the house. Wanted to remember it for what it was. A miserable pile of rotting wood with blood stained walls, and the ghosts of parents who I’d once thought loved me. They’d never been overly affectionate, and they’d believed in letting me live my life and learn my lesson if I made a wrong choice, but I’d always thought that initial kernel of love that every parent should have for a child was in there somewhere. But the kind of people who were capable of doing the things my parents had couldn’t have possibly loved me. Not really.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and found my courage, and I was just about to turn left onto Heresy when my cell phone rang. I saw Jack’s name in the display and answered, more than a little relieved that I didn’t have to make that turn after all.
“How was the Sheriff in Westmoreland County?” I asked.
“Dead,” Jack answered. “Head to my office, and I’ll fill you in.”
“10-4. I can be there in ten.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Thanks for staying inside the funeral home like I asked. It was nice not to have to worry about your safety while I was gone.”
“Technically, you didn’t ask,” I said, looking in my rearview mirror to see Jack’s cruiser behind me. His sunglasses covered his eyes, but his mouth was set in an angry line. “You ordered. You know I don’t do well with orders.”
“I’ve noticed.” He hung up and then did a three-point turn in the middle of the road to head back to the police station.
I sighed and followed him. I’d been back in Bloody Mary for a little over twenty-four hours, but it was starting to feel like I’d never left.
I followed Jack all the way back through town and parked in front of the block of municipal buildings that sat dead center in the county square. The courthouse was in the middle—a gothic stone structure carved with what was supposed to be the goddesses of justice and mercy at each cornerstone, but they looked more like the gargoyle versions of Ren and Stimpy due to a rather untalented sculptor and a shortfall in the budget.
The police station flanked the left side of the courthouse and the fire station flanked the right. Jack pulled into the parking spot reserved for the sheriff and I took the spot next to him that was reserved for the county commissioner. I wasn’t really sure what the county commissioner did, but I was almost a hundred percent sure he didn’t work on weekends.
We didn’t speak as we entered the station. There was a buzz of activity—the ringing of phones and the hum of voices. All noise stopped, and a dozen faces started in curiosity as soon as we walked in.
“I need Colburn, Lewis and Martinez in my office,” Jack said, walking straight back to his square box of an office.
It was glassed on three sides, but he had the blinds closed so no one could see in. It hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d seen it. Same threadbare carpet, and a dented desk with a computer that had seen better days. It was piled high with files and an empty coffee mug. There was a door behind his desk that led to a little room he used if he needed a bed to crash in for the night. Jack’s office gave Spartan a whole new meaning.
Jack had a couple of boards set up in the corner and I took the chair that looked the least rickety and sat down. I was starting to get antsy with the silent treatment.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I said. “But I needed to go in with George so I could get the Suburban back for a pickup this afternoon. Mrs. Perry’s daughter called, and I need the business.” Jack stayed stonily silent and I rolled my eyes. “You should be glad I did go. I wouldn’t have seen that tattoo otherwise. Or the white Cadillac. Though it would’ve been better if I could’ve gotten the license plate,” I murmured. “AndI was in public. They’re not going to do anything in the middle of town in broad daylight. I’m assuming you got all my texts?”
No answer.
“Haven’t you grown out of the silent treatment yet? It’s very juvenile. And it doesn’t work on me.”
