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“Yeah,” Jack agreed.
We drove past three different houses that showed no sign of anyone being home. Most people were still at church, and wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours yet.
Jack turned off the road into a rutted driveway overgrown with weeds, and I saw a neat little box of a house, almost identical to Reverend Oglesby’s. Only this one was painted the color of watermelon and trimmed in vibrant green. Hanging baskets of clashing flowers hung from the tiny porch, and there was an old, rust red pickup truck in the driveway that looked like it wouldn’t make it down the block, much less start.
“Sweet mother of God,” I said. “My eyes.”
“Martinez got to interview the lady who lives here,” Jack said. “He said the inside was worse, but she was sharp as a tack and entertaining as hell. Martinez asked her about the afternoon Oglesby went missing—she wasn’t able to tell us anything because she was at her daughter’s for lunch, but Martinez didn’t know to ask her about the Saturday morning before he went missing.”
I got out of the cruiser and followed Jack up to the porch. He rang the bell, and I stifled a laugh as I heard a woman yell, “Fuck off,” from inside.
“It’s the police, ma’am,” Jack said, his lips twitching. “I need to speak with you for a minute.”
“Hold your damned horses,” she said. “Can’t an old lady watch her shows in private? It’s Sunday morning for Christ’s sake.”
I saw a shadow pass over the peephole, and then what sounded like a dozen industrial grade deadbolts being unlocked. The door creaked open and I looked down into the face of what had to be the oldest human being I’d ever seen in my entire life. She barely came up to my waist, and her thick white hair was piled on top of her head to give her a few extra inches in height. I’d never seen a person with as many wrinkles as she had, and all I could think was that I’d have to use a hell of a lot of putty and plumping agent when she finally passed on.
“I’m Sheriff Lawson,” Jack said, showing her his badge. “And this is Doctor Graves. She’s the coroner for King George County.”
“I know who she is,” the woman said. “Runs the funeral home. Are you here looking for business, girlie? I’m not dead yet.”
“No, ma’am. I’m here in an official capacity to assist Sheriff Lawson.”
She gave us both a shrewd look. “Looks like you’ve been assisting him in unofficial capacities as well. I miss sex,” she said with a sigh. “It’s one of the many things that sucks about getting old.”
I felt the heat rush to my face, but Jack was as calm as ever. “Can we come in, Mrs.—”
“It’s Miss,” she said. “Miss Pilcher. I never got married. Men are a pain in the ass, and the ones of my generation more so. I figured I’d rather be single than have to ask a man’s permission to wipe my ass.”
She stood back and opened the door wider, and I followed Jack inside. I had to imagine that living to the century mark would give you plenty of time to amass a collection of useless things and keepsakes, but I hadn’t been expecting wall-to-wall cuckoo clocks. They ticked in a frantic rhythm, each trying to outdo the other, and I hoped to God we made it out before the hour struck. Where there weren’t clocks, there were photos. Hundreds of them.
And then I remembered what Jack had said about Miss Pilcher having a daughter. I must have had a confused look on my face because she turned and pointed out a photograph to me.
“You’re wondering about my daughter,” she said, smiling. Her false teeth were large and blindingly white. “She was an accident of course. Birth control in my day wasn’t as reliable as it is now. I’m pretty sure her father was a travelling salesman. Or maybe one of the Rockefellers. I could never be sure. I was an outcast, being unwed and pregnant, but I’d rather be an outcast than a hypocrite.”
Jack nudged me as we followed her down the hall, and I peeped into a little sitting room with a giant screen TV and Playstation 3. My eyes got wider as I saw what we’d been interrupting on Miss Pilcher’s Sunday morning. Miss Pilcher had exotic taste in porn. I could only be thankful she had it muted. I looked over at Jack and he waggled his eyebrows at me, and I shook my head no at the unspoken question. I wasn’t ready to add dirty movies into our repertoire just yet.
She led us into a tiny kitchen with bright yellow countertops and clean white appliances. The cabinets were painted lime green and there were parrots painted into a jungle of leaves on the wall by her kitchen table.
“I’ve got fresh coffee if you’d like some,” she said. “I can’t drink it because it makes my teeth fall out, but I’m so damned cold all the time I just carry a cup around to warm my hands. Getting old sucks.”
Jack and I both declined the coffee and sat in the tiny wooden chairs at the table. Miss Pilcher had to boost herself into hers.
“I knew your parents,” she said, looking at me. “Not well, of course. I went to buy a plot and a burial plan about twenty years back. Thought I’d have to use it by now, but I’m still here, so it turns out I made a good investment. Inflation and all that. They were assholes, if you don’t mind me saying. Are you an asshole too?”
I blinked slowly and felt my lips twitch. “No, ma’am.”
“Well, you don’t look like one, but you never know. Sometimes assholes can be deceiving. I’ll let you do my funeral then. I’m sure it’ll be any time now. Are you going to ask me questions, Sheriff, or are you just going to sit there and think about how you’re going to get into Doctor Graves’ pants?”
“I can do both, Miss Pilcher,” Jack said with a smile.
“I like you,” she said, cackling. “I’m assuming this is about that poor Reverend Oglesby. I talked to the police about him Friday. I told the officer I was off visiting my daughter, so I didn’t see the Reverend that day. It’s terrible that something like that can happen so close to home. I knew as soon as he moved here he’d have a hard road ahead of him. Being gay in these parts is difficult enough, but being a preacher on top of it would never have ended well.”
“You knew Reverend Oglesby was gay?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. I have a keen eye and I’m very observant. I also like to sit at my front window and watch the neighbors with my binoculars. Sometimes I get tired of watching porn. They don’t make the storylines as good as they used to.”
“Hmmm,” I said.
