about the abrupt closure of the county old folks’ home, as well as being highly suspicious that something dangerous is going on behind that fence. They’re demanding an explanation from me, and I don’t have one.”
Ignoring me, she got into the driver’s seat of a dusty black minivan. “Randall, I’m waiting for you. We haven’t even started unloading all the boxes in the back. We’ll be lucky if we get them unpacked and cataloged before dawn.”
“Sounds like you’re in for a fun night,” I murmured.
“No kidding.” He shook my hand, then got into the van.
I watched as they drove back up the road in the direction of County 104, which would take them to the Stonebridge Foundation. Where Brenda Skiller would unpack boxes and catalog the contents, all in order to “make people better.” I imagined a ghastly scene from a B horror movie, in which Brenda sat with a shipping list while Randall put the dismembered hands in one cabinet, the feet in another, and the jars of eyeballs on a shelf. “No, Randall,” she’d say impatiently, “the left hands on the left side, the right hands on the right. And do sort those eyeballs by color.”
I went into the PD, turned off the lights, and returned outside. I could go to a movie in Farberville, as I’d planned, or go to my apartment and call Jack—except he’d gone to shoot a series of commercials in some redneck country inn and wouldn’t be home until Friday morning. The lights were on in the back of Roy Stiver’s shop; I could, if I wanted, amble over and talk to him while we sipped whiskey. He’s the closest thing Maggody will ever have to a poet laureate, although he does enjoy composing ribald limericks along with the odes and sonnets. To wit:
’Twas a bleak day in June when Hizzoner,
Got caught with a floozy (he was on her).
His wife snipped off his thingie,
Stewed it up á là kingie,
And feasted on it like Miz Donner.
I haven’t asked Mrs. Jim Bob to embroider it on a pillow for me.
After standing there pondering my options as the stoplight went through several rounds of red, yellow, and green, I finally thought of something that might prove enlightening, if not entertaining. I drove over to the Dairee Dee-Lishus, where the usual suspects were perched on picnic tables, slapping at mosquitoes and drinking beer.
The beer cans vanished as I joined them. “Another wild night in Maggody, I see,” I said as I sat down on a bench.
“We’re not doing anything wrong,” Darla Jean said sullenly. “Billy Dick thought we ought to tunnel our way into the bank, but there isn’t one within twenty miles. Same problem with renting porn movies.”
Billy Dick burped. “Unless that new place on County 104 turns out to be Blockbuster’s. Now that’d be cool.”
“In your dreams,” said Heather. “Wet dreams, that is.”
“I need help,” I said. “I want to try to get some information off the Internet.”
Amberlynne smiled sweetly at me. “I’m sure Mr. Lambertino will give you the key to the computer lab at the high school. In fact, he’d probably go unlock it for you hisself if his wife would let him. I heard she still thinks you and him were a little too cozy at that church camp. My ma said Brother Verber was staring right at him during a sermon about adultery a couple of weeks back.”
I raised my eyebrows. “My goodness, Amberlynne, is that a puddle of beer you’re sitting in?”
“Shit!” she said as she hopped off the table. “I’m going to smell like the Dew Drop Inn. My parents will kill me.”
Darla Jean looked at me. “What do you want off the Internet?”
“Something that might help us figure out what’s going on at the Stonebridge Foundation, where the old folks’ home used to be. I’m not very good at this sort of thing. Even if I got in the computer lab, I wouldn’t know how to start.”
“Come on, then,” she said as she slid off the picnic table. “We can go over to my house. My parents went to some lame
Ignoring me, she got into the driver’s seat of a dusty black minivan. “Randall, I’m waiting for you. We haven’t even started unloading all the boxes in the back. We’ll be lucky if we get them unpacked and cataloged before dawn.”
“Sounds like you’re in for a fun night,” I murmured.
“No kidding.” He shook my hand, then got into the van.
I watched as they drove back up the road in the direction of County 104, which would take them to the Stonebridge Foundation. Where Brenda Skiller would unpack boxes and catalog the contents, all in order to “make people better.” I imagined a ghastly scene from a B horror movie, in which Brenda sat with a shipping list while Randall put the dismembered hands in one cabinet, the feet in another, and the jars of eyeballs on a shelf. “No, Randall,” she’d say impatiently, “the left hands on the left side, the right hands on the right. And do sort those eyeballs by color.”
I went into the PD, turned off the lights, and returned outside. I could go to a movie in Farberville, as I’d planned, or go to my apartment and call Jack—except he’d gone to shoot a series of commercials in some redneck country inn and wouldn’t be home until Friday morning. The lights were on in the back of Roy Stiver’s shop; I could, if I wanted, amble over and talk to him while we sipped whiskey. He’s the closest thing Maggody will ever have to a poet laureate, although he does enjoy composing ribald limericks along with the odes and sonnets. To wit:
’Twas a bleak day in June when Hizzoner,
Got caught with a floozy (he was on her).
His wife snipped off his thingie,
Stewed it up á là kingie,
And feasted on it like Miz Donner.
I haven’t asked Mrs. Jim Bob to embroider it on a pillow for me.
After standing there pondering my options as the stoplight went through several rounds of red, yellow, and green, I finally thought of something that might prove enlightening, if not entertaining. I drove over to the Dairee Dee-Lishus, where the usual suspects were perched on picnic tables, slapping at mosquitoes and drinking beer.
The beer cans vanished as I joined them. “Another wild night in Maggody, I see,” I said as I sat down on a bench.
“We’re not doing anything wrong,” Darla Jean said sullenly. “Billy Dick thought we ought to tunnel our way into the bank, but there isn’t one within twenty miles. Same problem with renting porn movies.”
Billy Dick burped. “Unless that new place on County 104 turns out to be Blockbuster’s. Now that’d be cool.”
“In your dreams,” said Heather. “Wet dreams, that is.”
“I need help,” I said. “I want to try to get some information off the Internet.”
Amberlynne smiled sweetly at me. “I’m sure Mr. Lambertino will give you the key to the computer lab at the high school. In fact, he’d probably go unlock it for you hisself if his wife would let him. I heard she still thinks you and him were a little too cozy at that church camp. My ma said Brother Verber was staring right at him during a sermon about adultery a couple of weeks back.”
I raised my eyebrows. “My goodness, Amberlynne, is that a puddle of beer you’re sitting in?”
“Shit!” she said as she hopped off the table. “I’m going to smell like the Dew Drop Inn. My parents will kill me.”
Darla Jean looked at me. “What do you want off the Internet?”
“Something that might help us figure out what’s going on at the Stonebridge Foundation, where the old folks’ home used to be. I’m not very good at this sort of thing. Even if I got in the computer lab, I wouldn’t know how to start.”
“Come on, then,” she said as she slid off the picnic table. “We can go over to my house. My parents went to some lame
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