lunging out into the grass.
“So what’s the reason?” Sterno asked. “For the rock.”
She stared at him, shaking her head slightly. “There aint no goddamn reason for the rock, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Are you gonna keep smoking your tobacco or are you gonna start chewin’ it like everyone else?”
Sterno finished his cigarette, flicked it into the air to be pulled away in sparking embers by the wind of the high sun.
“Hellfire! You gonna to burn the whole state down!”
“Don’t you have some chores or something to do, young lady?”
“Horseshit,” she said. She was pushing at the bay door again, and did so with some anger. "You gonna to help me or aint ya?"
"With what?"
"Pulling this buggy out for you to get a good look at it. What'd you think I meant?"
Sterno stood behind her, pushed with her until the barn door was opened all the way. Two black speckled hens leapt, squawked, fluttered out at their feet. The girl was inside with one side of the singletree in her hand before the second chicken had hit the ground. She pulled at it as though she fully intended to roll the buggy out by herself.
"They’re all full of shit, I tell you. Every goddamned one of them. High-piled, stinking horseshit, if you ask me."
“Who’s that?”
“Everyone,” she said, answering another stupid question.
Sterno knew now whose face he had seen at the window to the sheriff’s office. A born snoop, just like himself. "Here," he said. He took the other side of the singletree and like this the buggy rolled out into the sunlight. Millie panted in silence next to him.
"Even the mayor?"
"The mayor’s just the mayor, Mr. Sterno. He don't know any better than to think what all those rednecks at that garage tell him to think."
"You think that?"
"That's far enough, now drop it. Yes, I do think that. Hell, you met him, the man's too dang nice to be smart."
This made Sterno bark once in laughter. It had been so long that he didn't even recognize the sound of it. The scowl on her upturned face cut off the merriment.
"Now lookit here, mister. Lookit this buggy. Lookit it good. You tell me, can a grown man—which is what Tommy was, by the way, not some 'boy' like that no-star sheriff kept saying—tell me how a grown man can fall off the front side of a buggy and get caught up in it the way we found Tommy. Did you go see Doc Rozen-zeeg's photos, or didn't ya?”
“I saw them.”
“Then you saw there’s no goddamn way for anyone to get hung up in a buggy that way, the way they say. Even if you’re the clumsiest sonbitch’t ever put an ass in the seat of a buggy—and Tommy wasn’t that, not even close. So go ahead,” she said, motioning to the buggy. “Take your time."
The buggy was beat up a good bit. The canopy was gone from the metal frame, likely a result of the storm, the seat was falling off its brace and some of the buckboard slats had come off the sides of the bed. Sterno got on his haunches and studied the front axle of the buggy. He had to admit, it would be a tight fit.
"That Doctor Rosenzweig thinks he grabbed on to that reach bar there running to the back and hooked his legs over the axle."
"He didn't grab no reach bar. He didn’t have no grease or no marks on his hands. Did you think of that?"
Sterno sighed: he hadn’t.
He walked around the buggy, then hiked up a foot to the long step and lifted himself into the car. The girl watched him quietly. He leaned over the dash rail, so far over he had to hook the back of his shoe under the seat to keep from falling. From this angle Sterno was just inches from the spring bars that ran between the carriage deck and the axle. A pretty damn difficult feat of acrobatics, he thought. Drunk or no, and at full speed.
The girl read his mind again. "I told you it's impossible."
He leapt down from the buggy. "Not ‘impossible.’ Here," he said, handing
“So what’s the reason?” Sterno asked. “For the rock.”
She stared at him, shaking her head slightly. “There aint no goddamn reason for the rock, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Are you gonna keep smoking your tobacco or are you gonna start chewin’ it like everyone else?”
Sterno finished his cigarette, flicked it into the air to be pulled away in sparking embers by the wind of the high sun.
“Hellfire! You gonna to burn the whole state down!”
“Don’t you have some chores or something to do, young lady?”
“Horseshit,” she said. She was pushing at the bay door again, and did so with some anger. "You gonna to help me or aint ya?"
"With what?"
"Pulling this buggy out for you to get a good look at it. What'd you think I meant?"
Sterno stood behind her, pushed with her until the barn door was opened all the way. Two black speckled hens leapt, squawked, fluttered out at their feet. The girl was inside with one side of the singletree in her hand before the second chicken had hit the ground. She pulled at it as though she fully intended to roll the buggy out by herself.
"They’re all full of shit, I tell you. Every goddamned one of them. High-piled, stinking horseshit, if you ask me."
“Who’s that?”
“Everyone,” she said, answering another stupid question.
Sterno knew now whose face he had seen at the window to the sheriff’s office. A born snoop, just like himself. "Here," he said. He took the other side of the singletree and like this the buggy rolled out into the sunlight. Millie panted in silence next to him.
"Even the mayor?"
"The mayor’s just the mayor, Mr. Sterno. He don't know any better than to think what all those rednecks at that garage tell him to think."
"You think that?"
"That's far enough, now drop it. Yes, I do think that. Hell, you met him, the man's too dang nice to be smart."
This made Sterno bark once in laughter. It had been so long that he didn't even recognize the sound of it. The scowl on her upturned face cut off the merriment.
"Now lookit here, mister. Lookit this buggy. Lookit it good. You tell me, can a grown man—which is what Tommy was, by the way, not some 'boy' like that no-star sheriff kept saying—tell me how a grown man can fall off the front side of a buggy and get caught up in it the way we found Tommy. Did you go see Doc Rozen-zeeg's photos, or didn't ya?”
“I saw them.”
“Then you saw there’s no goddamn way for anyone to get hung up in a buggy that way, the way they say. Even if you’re the clumsiest sonbitch’t ever put an ass in the seat of a buggy—and Tommy wasn’t that, not even close. So go ahead,” she said, motioning to the buggy. “Take your time."
The buggy was beat up a good bit. The canopy was gone from the metal frame, likely a result of the storm, the seat was falling off its brace and some of the buckboard slats had come off the sides of the bed. Sterno got on his haunches and studied the front axle of the buggy. He had to admit, it would be a tight fit.
"That Doctor Rosenzweig thinks he grabbed on to that reach bar there running to the back and hooked his legs over the axle."
"He didn't grab no reach bar. He didn’t have no grease or no marks on his hands. Did you think of that?"
Sterno sighed: he hadn’t.
He walked around the buggy, then hiked up a foot to the long step and lifted himself into the car. The girl watched him quietly. He leaned over the dash rail, so far over he had to hook the back of his shoe under the seat to keep from falling. From this angle Sterno was just inches from the spring bars that ran between the carriage deck and the axle. A pretty damn difficult feat of acrobatics, he thought. Drunk or no, and at full speed.
The girl read his mind again. "I told you it's impossible."
He leapt down from the buggy. "Not ‘impossible.’ Here," he said, handing
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