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I hang a left onto Main Street and I realize I’m not sure where I’m going. Rhett is homeless, and therefore has nowhere to go.
I slow below the speed limit, buying time while I try to decide what to do.
Rhett makes the decision for me.
“We’ve got five hours to kill…” he says.
“Five hours until what?”
“One o’clock.” He nods to the clock. “Crystal told us things get, quote, real interesting here around one o'clock in the morning.”
In the aftermath of Stroud’s surprise appearance, I’d forgotten she’d said that. I look at the clock—7:47 p.m.
“Well…” I glance at Rhett, my mind racing with all the things we can do. “You hungry?”
“Yeah. Pull in here real quick.”
I flick on the turn signal and pull into a small convenience store.
Rhett jumps out, while I stay behind the wheel.
Through finger-smudged windows fogged with condensation, I watch as Rhett moves quickly through the store, piling items into his arms. Bread, lunch meat, a few bottles of water. Four packs of beef jerky—four.What is it with men and beef jerky? The man has little to no money to his name, yet will splurge on an eight-dollar bag of dehydrated animal flesh.
He pays, and I am acutely aware of the sneaked glances from under the cashier’s false eyelashes.
Rhett slides back into the Jeep and I reverse out of the parking lot.
“Well, looks like you’re all set, but I’m still hungry, so we’ll camp out at my house until one. Okay?”
He nods, ripping into his loot.
Rhett munches on jerky the remainder of the ride, devouring two packs by the time we get to my house. Once inside, I remind him where the spare bedroom is if he should want to take a nap before we go. He declines.
Rhett lingers in the living room, watching the news that I clicked on as we passed by, as I put away his convenience-store food in the kitchen. It is all strangely not awkward. That’s the thing about Rhett. Once you get to know him, the awkwardness quickly vanishes because you realize that he will simply say what’s on his mind, about whatever situation you are in with him. The guy will literally ask you to leave the room if he doesn’t want you in it. I find it very refreshing.
“Want some wine?” I ask, pulling down a bottle from the cabinet.
“No, thanks.”
I startle at the deep voice behind me and spin around, nearly dropping the bottle in my hand. “Jesus. You scared me.” I frown. “What?”
“I’d like to see this evidence folder you talked about in the car.”
“The what?”
“You said you have a folder on your mom’s case.”
Ah…
I slide the bottle on the counter.
Rhett Cohen didn’t come to my house to spend time with me before our next adventure. Rhett Cohen didn’t come to my house because he is mildly interested in me.
He just wants to see Marjorie’s Death Folder.
And I am so,sostupid.
25
