“This some sorta trick?”
A gurgling groan comes from the supply room.
“No time to explain now,” I say. “Sounds like Jimmy Lee is comin’ to and the sheriff’s gonna pull up any second.”
Cooter glares at me with the eye that isn’t closed up tight like a string purse and finally gives the cell door a push. He’s gimping. 'LeRoy piped my bad knee.”
“Ya need help?” I ask, offering my arm to steady him.
On our way past the supply room, Cooter hops in and slides the deputy’s gun free from his holster, saying, “Been my experience, the Lord helps those who help themselves.”
“Amen to that, brother,” I tell him, patting the.22 and my dead Mr. Buster pictures. “Now how’s about we get the hell outta here.”
Vengeance Is Mine
Cooter doesn’t want me to stop at the hospital. Since he’s almost always in trouble with the law, he knows that when you’re on the lamb, it’s best to skedaddle. But what he
After I get done parking us way back in St. Mary’s lot, I instruct, “Visitin’ hours are just about over. Stay low in the seat. When I come back, we’ll go get Billy and he’ll fix that leg up for ya.”
Cooter is, I think, a year older than me, but looks a
“Why you doin’ this, Gibber? Takin’ a chance like this. It ain’t like we’re friends no more,” he says, sleepy. The sheriff musta kept him up the whole night givin’ him the third degree.
“Miss Lydia says sometimes old friends will loiter on the edge of your life, hopin’ for a chance to get close again,” I say, but I can tell right off that Cooter, being naturally on the tart side like his gramma Florida, ain’t buying that sweet talk.
“What about me stealin’ that map from y’all last night in the woods? Ya tellin’ me ya ain’t mad about that?”
“Maybe you’re sufferin’ from some sort of confusion from that hit on your head. Like me.” I point to his noggin… then mine. “I have no idea what map you’re talkin’ about.” I run my eyes down his body, looking for more serious injuries. “Ya know, when the sheriff comes huntin’ for us, he’ll spot that red shirt ya got on from a mile off.” I rummage behind the driver’s seat and take the plaid rodeo one outta Grampa’s box. But instead of putting it on the way I meant him to, Cooter balls it and rests his head down. “All right. That’s fine. Ya must be beat.”
“Ya could say that.”
“Didn’t I?”
“No, I meant-”
“Cooter, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t have time for a visit right now. Go ahead and grab a little shut-eye, but whatever you do… stay outta sight,” I say, rushing outta the truck. I simply can’t wait to see Grampa. For once in his life, he won’t be able to walk off when I tell him how much I love him.
At the welcomin’ desk, Darlene Abernathy is doing what they pay her for, greeting and keeping track of who comes in and out the hospital doors. Up until a few months ago, she worked at the high school. Until she got caught making out in the boiler room with the janitor. With her egg white hair and lips the color of strawberry jam, I gotta admit, the girl stands out in this lobby like Top O’ the Mornin’s #6 special.
“Darlene?” I say, approaching on guard. (She and me don’t exactly make beautiful music together.)
“Sign in,” she says, not glancing up from her beauty magazine. (Like I figured, she’s still harboring a grudge against me since I mighta mentioned that boiler room meeting of the mouths in
Balancing Grampa’s box of stuff on the ledge of the desk, I write my name into her reception book, barely able since that smell coming off her mouth is so sickeningly fruity. AND familiar-lookin’. Lordy. It’s the same strawberry lip color I saw covering Sneaky Tim Ray’s neck when he ambushed us in the woods! Darlene must be the “lady friend” Holloway was visiting the night he snatched up Keeper outside Grampa’s room.
“Well, nice chattin’ with you. Gotta get these things to him,” I say, hurrying down the hospital hallway, feeling repulsed.
“Hold up,” Darlene calls after me in that smoky voice of hers. She’s got something in her stretched-out hand. Grampa’s wedding ring, his gold watch. His rubbed-worn wallet. “You’re too late,” she says, when I come back to the desk. “Ya can take these things home with the rest of the stuff.”
“Are visitin’ hours over?” I ask, doubtful.
“They are, but even if they weren’t… your grampa ain’t gonna be needin’ his things.”
“
Darlene looks down. Hems and haws. Looks back up. “He’s gone.”
“They took him off just a little while ’fore you got here.” She pats my hand. “I’m sure sorry you didn’t get to say good-bye. Didn’t I overhear Miss Jessie tell ya on the phone to hurry?” she says, unnaturally sweet.
The overheads are haloing and the hallway tilting. “When?” I ask, barely able.
“Just a little while ago.”
Darlene stares at me with subzero eyes, then says, “The ambulance took him…”
“What?”
“… out to the airport. They’s flyin’ him all the way to a hospital in Texas on Mr. Big Bill Brown’s private airplane. Ya knew ’bout that, right?”
Her words aren’t coming out at the same time her mouth moves. “What did ya just say?”
“And then they’re gonna open his chest up with a saw and operate on his heart.”
“Grampa’s
“Now,” she says, “I don’t recall tellin’ you he was
“Darlene Judy Abernathy, I’m… I’m on an important case at the present time, but I’d like you to know, I’m intendin’ to come back.” Scooping up Grampa’s valuables, I slip them into my back pocket, brushing up against the Mr. Buster pictures and the.22, one of which I am mightily tempted to avail myself of. “So might I suggest at your earliest convenience that you pay a visit to the Okins Funeral Salon to make arrangements?”
“Why’d I wanna do that?” she says so damn snippy.
“Because on my return visit you can count on me beatin’ the ever-lovin’ shit outta you with a rusty shovel. Twice.”
Her vengeful self is practically vibrating in victory when she hisses back, “Miz Tanner left this note for ya,” and spins an envelope across the desk at me that looks like it’s already been opened and licked closed again by her been-all-around-town tongue.
