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Everyone bursts out laughing, and Ellis looks around in surprise that his joke got that big of a reaction.
“I said the same thing,” Harvey explains, and Ellis and Candace join the laughter.
Over dinner, Josie sits next to me and I talk mostly to her. The others are busy feeding their children and doing their best to eat their own food in between cutting up hot dogs and getting refills of Kool-Aid. Afterward, as the sky darkens and the children occupy themselves chasing lightning bugs, Josie and the other wives are cleaning up and Parker brings over a wheelbarrow full of wood from the back of the lot to build a fire. I see this as my chance to talk to Harvey and Ellis, and I ask them what they do. I don’t want to question them too hard, but I figure I need at least something to report to Carlos.
“I work at an auto shop in town,” says Ellis.
I notice he’s wearing a blue T-shirt withNAVYin big bold letters. Remembering his son’sFUTURE DIVERshirt, I ask him if he was a diver in the Navy.
He nods like he’s got nothing to hide.
“I did some commercial diving for a while,” he says. “Underwater welding on oil rigs in the Gulf. But I botched an ascent once and got the bends. Did some permanent damage to my lungs. I had to give it up.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “So you can’t dive anymore?”
“Not deep,” he says. “Candace convinced me to move inland and find a new career.”
Over by the newly lit fire, Parker and Josie are helping the kids spear marshmallows so they can roast them over the fire and make s’mores.
“What about you?” I ask Harvey, meaning to inquire about his career, not old injuries, but he gives me an answer to both.
“Worked in aggregate mining for a while,” he says, “but then I went and blew myself up.”
He holds up his left hand, which is missing the ring finger and littlest finger. The tissue around the missing digits is white and bulbous, like melted wax.
“Now I’m a landscaper,” he says, grinning with the toothpick sticking from his teeth.
The hairs are standing up on the backs of my arms.
CHAPTER 11
AS MUCH AS I was ready to write off this investigation as a fool’s errand, I can’t help but think there might be something here. Ellis was a diver and Harvey—judging by his injury—used explosives when he worked in mining. The armored-truck robbery required accomplices with experience in both.
Can it be a coincidence?
I want to continue this conversation with Ellis and Harvey, see what else I can find out about them, but before I can say anything else, Parker calls out to me.
“Hey, Rory,” he says. “These kids just ate about a pound of sugar each.” He gestures to my guitar case sitting in the grass. “How about you play a song or two so they can dance and burn off some of that energy?”
I excuse myself from Ellis and Harvey and pick up my guitar case. I pull out the guitar—a gift from Willow a while back—and sit down on a stump. I strum the pick across the strings and take a deep breath.
In my experience, kids don’t care much what you play as long as it’s upbeat. They want something fast-paced and fun to dance to, so I hit them with songs like John Denver’s “Thank God I’m a Country Boy,” the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band’s “Fishin’ in the Dark,” and Mel McDaniels’ “Louisiana Saturday Night.” The kids dance around outside the circle of the bonfire, and a lot of the parents join in, too. Everyone’s laughing and clapping and singing along. I believe in quitting while you’re ahead, so I play a quick rendition of Tanya Tucker’s “Texas When I Die” and call it a night.
I set my guitar down to a round of applause. Then I finish my last swallow of beer and excuse myself to use the restroom.
“I think Candace is in there changing a diaper,” Josie tells me, out of breath and glowing from dancing with her two kids. “There’s another bathroom in the basement.”
Parker and Harvey share a look—like maybe they don’t want me to go down there—but I can’t be sure if it’s just a trick of the firelight or maybe my overactive imagination. As I walk toward the house, I tell myself to get my head back in the game.
I worked up a sweat playing and singing for the kids, so the night air feels cool away from the fire.
I’m not really going in to use the bathroom.
I want to snoop around.
I can’t believe one minute I’m having a blast playing for people who seem like friends, the next I’m switching to detective mode looking for clues.
The bathroom door is closed, and I hear Candace in there talking to the toddler. Otherwise, the house is as silent as a cemetery. I move as quietly as I can—which isn’t easy with cowboy boots on a hardwood floor—and find the stairs to the basement. I descend and grope in the dark for a light switch.
