white caftan billowing around her long legs. She would never kill herself. What had happened after the guy in the Bill Clinton mask had chased me? Had he gone back to the rental to finish strangling Barb? I could totally see this happening. But what had he done with her body?
“Teeny?” Lester’s voice rose up from the receiver. “Are you still there? Hello?”
I pushed the phone against my ear. “I’m here. But I’m in shock. Barb’s really dead?”
“Yes, we’re all stunned,” Lester said in a dry-as-Georgia-dirt voice.
I didn’t want to pry, but I had to know more. “What makes you think she killed herself?”
“She left a note. Blaming me, of course. She must not have been thinking clearly, or she couldn’t have ended her life at the Motel 6 in Sweeney, Georgia.”
That rat hole? Sweeney was a speck of a town on Highway 25, about thirty miles south of Bonaventure, noted for Vidalia onions and crystal meth. If Barb really had killed herself, wouldn’t she have picked a grand hotel in Charleston? Or even a cozy bed-and-breakfast in Bonaventure? Why would she drive to Sweeney?
Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe the masked guy had gone back to her house. Maybe he’d squeezed her neck for four minutes. He could have tossed her body into the truck of her car. Serial murderers did this all the time. Still, he’d picked a strange place to dispose of her body. The land between Charleston and Sweeney was filled with wetlands. Wouldn’t it have been easier to dump her in a marsh?
I almost blurted my theories, but I stopped myself. I couldn’t tell him about Bill Clinton, not without discussing it with Coop. Not without incriminating my damn self.
“I’ve got to plan my wife’s funeral,” Lester said. “Please tell Mr. O’Malley that I pulled a few strings for the DNA test. Georgia Genetics will swab Emerson tomorrow morning at my drugstore. The problem is, I don’t have time to fetch her tonight. I’d send my mother, but she’s in a tennis tournament. Can Emerson spend the night with you?”
“Why, of course.”
“I knew I could count on you. Just bring her to the pharmacy at seven thirty in the morning. We’ll need Mr. O’Malley’s saliva, too. One more thing. Don’t tell Emerson about her mother. Or the test. She’ll run away. She’s done it before.”
“I won’t.” My feet prickled, as if ants were biting my ankles. The sensation spread up the backs of my thighs, changing into a pants-on-fire burn. I kicked out my leg. No ants. No bites. Nothing but nerves and shock.
I didn’t remember hanging up the phone. The air turned grainy, swarming with tiny black dots, as if the ants had sprouted wings and were flying out of my ears and mouth. Had Barb really and truly killed herself?
A sick feeling waved over me. Bile hit the back of my throat. I darted to the sink, yanking the phone cord behind me, and spit into the stainless-steel bowl.
The screen door creaked open, and warm air blew into the kitchen, smelling of hickory smoke. Red gripped a platter of hamburger patties, each one scored with grill marks. He set the dish on the counter, then he turned his pockets inside out. “You seen my handcuffs?”
Coop stepped around him, carrying the buns. “You probably left them in the van.”
“They were right here.” Red squinted at me. “Sheesh, are you okay? Your face is green.”
Coop put the buns on the table and glanced at me, his brow puckering. “What’s wrong?”
“Barb’s dead.” As I repeated my conversation with Lester, Coop leaned against the counter, looking a little green himself. The screen door opened, and Emerson skipped into the room, trailed by the dogs.
“If I eat a mad cow burger, will you take me to McDonald’s?” She tossed the water pistol onto the counter and twirled around.
No one answered. Red piled lettuce and onions on his hamburger. Coop rubbed his face.
“Sure, we’ll take you,” I said.
“Pinkie swear me.” She hooked her little finger
“Teeny?” Lester’s voice rose up from the receiver. “Are you still there? Hello?”
I pushed the phone against my ear. “I’m here. But I’m in shock. Barb’s really dead?”
“Yes, we’re all stunned,” Lester said in a dry-as-Georgia-dirt voice.
I didn’t want to pry, but I had to know more. “What makes you think she killed herself?”
“She left a note. Blaming me, of course. She must not have been thinking clearly, or she couldn’t have ended her life at the Motel 6 in Sweeney, Georgia.”
That rat hole? Sweeney was a speck of a town on Highway 25, about thirty miles south of Bonaventure, noted for Vidalia onions and crystal meth. If Barb really had killed herself, wouldn’t she have picked a grand hotel in Charleston? Or even a cozy bed-and-breakfast in Bonaventure? Why would she drive to Sweeney?
Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe the masked guy had gone back to her house. Maybe he’d squeezed her neck for four minutes. He could have tossed her body into the truck of her car. Serial murderers did this all the time. Still, he’d picked a strange place to dispose of her body. The land between Charleston and Sweeney was filled with wetlands. Wouldn’t it have been easier to dump her in a marsh?
I almost blurted my theories, but I stopped myself. I couldn’t tell him about Bill Clinton, not without discussing it with Coop. Not without incriminating my damn self.
“I’ve got to plan my wife’s funeral,” Lester said. “Please tell Mr. O’Malley that I pulled a few strings for the DNA test. Georgia Genetics will swab Emerson tomorrow morning at my drugstore. The problem is, I don’t have time to fetch her tonight. I’d send my mother, but she’s in a tennis tournament. Can Emerson spend the night with you?”
“Why, of course.”
“I knew I could count on you. Just bring her to the pharmacy at seven thirty in the morning. We’ll need Mr. O’Malley’s saliva, too. One more thing. Don’t tell Emerson about her mother. Or the test. She’ll run away. She’s done it before.”
“I won’t.” My feet prickled, as if ants were biting my ankles. The sensation spread up the backs of my thighs, changing into a pants-on-fire burn. I kicked out my leg. No ants. No bites. Nothing but nerves and shock.
I didn’t remember hanging up the phone. The air turned grainy, swarming with tiny black dots, as if the ants had sprouted wings and were flying out of my ears and mouth. Had Barb really and truly killed herself?
A sick feeling waved over me. Bile hit the back of my throat. I darted to the sink, yanking the phone cord behind me, and spit into the stainless-steel bowl.
The screen door creaked open, and warm air blew into the kitchen, smelling of hickory smoke. Red gripped a platter of hamburger patties, each one scored with grill marks. He set the dish on the counter, then he turned his pockets inside out. “You seen my handcuffs?”
Coop stepped around him, carrying the buns. “You probably left them in the van.”
“They were right here.” Red squinted at me. “Sheesh, are you okay? Your face is green.”
Coop put the buns on the table and glanced at me, his brow puckering. “What’s wrong?”
“Barb’s dead.” As I repeated my conversation with Lester, Coop leaned against the counter, looking a little green himself. The screen door opened, and Emerson skipped into the room, trailed by the dogs.
“If I eat a mad cow burger, will you take me to McDonald’s?” She tossed the water pistol onto the counter and twirled around.
No one answered. Red piled lettuce and onions on his hamburger. Coop rubbed his face.
“Sure, we’ll take you,” I said.
“Pinkie swear me.” She hooked her little finger
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