around. “Did your Mom leave a note or something to say where she’d gone?”
“Nope.” Quinn opens the plastic container on the counter, pulls out two chocolate chip cookies, jams one in his mouth.
“Well, call your grandmother, see if she’s over there.”
“Okay.” He pulls another cookie out of the container. “What’s for dinner?”
Rupe looks at the clock on the living room wall. “Far as I can tell, potatoes and beans.”
Quinn reaches for the phone. “I’ll call Grandma. She’s probably over there.”
“Well, tell your mother to come home because we’re hungry.” Rupe swigs the last of his beer, belches, and lets out a loud laugh.
By 7:45 P.M ., Rupe isn’t laughing. Evie isn’t at his mother’s, his sisters’, or any of his brothers’. He’s hopped in his truck and driven downtown looking for her car. Twice. No sign at St. Michael’s, or Furmano’s, though the manager, Bob Bell said he saw her walk in sometime in the early afternoon. Finally, with nowhere else to turn, Rupe pulls his truck up Brenda Coccani’s cracked cement drive.
The house is old with peeling paint and a front door that was red but has faded to pale pink splotches from too much sun. The screen door handle is broken and dangling from its frame. The bushes are overgrown and scraggly. Damn , but the place is a mess. The Coccanis need a man around, someone who’ll see to fixing up, but neither one of them has been able to keep one. It’s their mouths that send any prospects out the back door, faster than they’ve come in the front. Even Brenda’s father, Bud, left, probably barely escaped alive with all the nagging mouthiness from those two. The mother and daughter have more balls than most men he knows and damn if they don’t know how to use ’em.
He hates coming here, asking that bitch if she’s seen his wife. There’s something sad about a man running around town asking people if they know where his wife is. It makes him feel like a capon and look like a fool. But right now he’s run out of options; he needs to find Evie. He trudges up the cement steps, rings the doorbell, and waits.
“Hold on, hold on.” Brenda’s voice, which twangs like a badly strung guitar, sets him on edge. She reaches the door, dressed in bright pink baby-doll pajamas, her tan-in-a-bottle arms and legs more rust than brown. She wouldn’t be half bad-looking if she scrubbed her face and flattened the bees’ nest on top of her head. “What do you want?” But there will always be that mouth to contend with, a sure-fire killer to any man’s desire.
“You seen Evie?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Why?” She crosses her arms over her chest and her tits plump up and almost out of the baby-doll top.
Rupe shifts from one foot to the other, looks away, and rubs the back of his neck. He’s glad the screen door separates them; maybe she can’t see the worry on his face, and the near panic. “She’s not home, didn’t leave a note or anything, and I’m starting to get worried about her.”
Brenda snorts. “Maybe she finally got some sense knocked into her and took off.”
Why is she looking at him like that when she says “knocked into her”? Has Evie told her what he did? Dammit , he doesn’t like the tone Brenda’s using or the smart-ass look on her face. She knows.
“Look, I need to find her.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, can you help me out? Give me an idea where she might have headed? For all we know she could have rolled the wagon and is lying in a ditch, unconscious, or worse.”
“State boys would’ve found her by now.” Brenda snaps her gum, once, twice, three times, the sound of it exploding in his head.
She’s right. The locals know every square inch of Corville and the state troopers take over at Ebbons Road. And old Boo Whittaker covers everything in between. Rupe shrugs, itches the back of his neck. “I need to find her.” He doesn’t try to keep the panic from his voice this time and maybe that’s
“Nope.” Quinn opens the plastic container on the counter, pulls out two chocolate chip cookies, jams one in his mouth.
“Well, call your grandmother, see if she’s over there.”
“Okay.” He pulls another cookie out of the container. “What’s for dinner?”
Rupe looks at the clock on the living room wall. “Far as I can tell, potatoes and beans.”
Quinn reaches for the phone. “I’ll call Grandma. She’s probably over there.”
“Well, tell your mother to come home because we’re hungry.” Rupe swigs the last of his beer, belches, and lets out a loud laugh.
By 7:45 P.M ., Rupe isn’t laughing. Evie isn’t at his mother’s, his sisters’, or any of his brothers’. He’s hopped in his truck and driven downtown looking for her car. Twice. No sign at St. Michael’s, or Furmano’s, though the manager, Bob Bell said he saw her walk in sometime in the early afternoon. Finally, with nowhere else to turn, Rupe pulls his truck up Brenda Coccani’s cracked cement drive.
The house is old with peeling paint and a front door that was red but has faded to pale pink splotches from too much sun. The screen door handle is broken and dangling from its frame. The bushes are overgrown and scraggly. Damn , but the place is a mess. The Coccanis need a man around, someone who’ll see to fixing up, but neither one of them has been able to keep one. It’s their mouths that send any prospects out the back door, faster than they’ve come in the front. Even Brenda’s father, Bud, left, probably barely escaped alive with all the nagging mouthiness from those two. The mother and daughter have more balls than most men he knows and damn if they don’t know how to use ’em.
He hates coming here, asking that bitch if she’s seen his wife. There’s something sad about a man running around town asking people if they know where his wife is. It makes him feel like a capon and look like a fool. But right now he’s run out of options; he needs to find Evie. He trudges up the cement steps, rings the doorbell, and waits.
“Hold on, hold on.” Brenda’s voice, which twangs like a badly strung guitar, sets him on edge. She reaches the door, dressed in bright pink baby-doll pajamas, her tan-in-a-bottle arms and legs more rust than brown. She wouldn’t be half bad-looking if she scrubbed her face and flattened the bees’ nest on top of her head. “What do you want?” But there will always be that mouth to contend with, a sure-fire killer to any man’s desire.
“You seen Evie?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Why?” She crosses her arms over her chest and her tits plump up and almost out of the baby-doll top.
Rupe shifts from one foot to the other, looks away, and rubs the back of his neck. He’s glad the screen door separates them; maybe she can’t see the worry on his face, and the near panic. “She’s not home, didn’t leave a note or anything, and I’m starting to get worried about her.”
Brenda snorts. “Maybe she finally got some sense knocked into her and took off.”
Why is she looking at him like that when she says “knocked into her”? Has Evie told her what he did? Dammit , he doesn’t like the tone Brenda’s using or the smart-ass look on her face. She knows.
“Look, I need to find her.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So, can you help me out? Give me an idea where she might have headed? For all we know she could have rolled the wagon and is lying in a ditch, unconscious, or worse.”
“State boys would’ve found her by now.” Brenda snaps her gum, once, twice, three times, the sound of it exploding in his head.
She’s right. The locals know every square inch of Corville and the state troopers take over at Ebbons Road. And old Boo Whittaker covers everything in between. Rupe shrugs, itches the back of his neck. “I need to find her.” He doesn’t try to keep the panic from his voice this time and maybe that’s
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