“Somebody’s dead?”
“Well, since they only found the feet, they’re not sure. But, that’s what they suspect,” Davenport said.
“Ah, man, how old?”
“Six, eight weeks. The newest two, anyway,” Davenport said.
“The newest two?”
“Yeah, they found three feet. People down there are talking cannibals.”
“Ah, boy…”
Davenport said, “I can hear a shower running… so… I guess I’ll hang up now. But call me tomorrow, as soon as you’re clear of the Haden thing. You gotta get down to Wabasha.”
“All right… tomorrow, I’ll let you know.”
Virgil sat on his bed, naked, a bottle of Leinie’s on the nightstand, a white towel over his thighs. Listened to the shower, and thought, So damn many good women in the world. Chapman and Gretchen the snake woman, Good Thunder and even O’Hara. Lee Coakley, for sure.
He sighed, and stood up, headed for the bathroom. The fact was, Davenport had called just as he was adjusting the temperature control. There was nobody else in the shower.
Nobody but Virgil, a little drunk, looking up at a showerhead at the Holiday Inn, on a starry night in beautiful downtown Butternut Falls, Minnesota.
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