“Yeah. Bad habit of mine,” Skip replied, then pointed toward the floorboard on the passenger side. “That thermos there next to your left foot is full of coffee. It’s fresh.”
“You read my mind,” she replied with an almost thankful tone in her voice. Shifting in the seat, she leaned forward and reached for the dinged, gray metal cylinder.
“I just figured Artie still hasn’t put any coffeepots in the rooms,” he told her.
“You figured correctly.”
“Not surprising, the cheap old coot. Go on ahead and use the cap,” he offered. “It’s clean, and I already had my fill at home.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Oh yeah, and it’s just black. Hope that’ll do.”
“That’s fine. Right now I don’t care, as long as it’s hot and has caffeine.”
Skip was sitting slightly twisted in his seat, the back of his shoulder resting against the inner driver’s side door and his left hand lazily hooked onto the top of the steering wheel. Reaching up with his right hand, he used his thumb and forefinger to smooth down his mustache while regarding her quietly. After a few heartbeats had thumped by, he asked, “So… About an hour’n a half? Maybe two?”
“What?” Constance asked while twisting the inner cap back onto the top of the thermos she was now squeezing between her knees.
“Sleep,” he said. “No offense, young lady, but you look like crap.”
She took a sip of the freshly poured java, then nodded. “Oh… Yeah… About two, I think. Which makes a total of maybe six in the past two days. Last night I just couldn’t stop thinking about…”
“Yeah, I know,” he agreed as her voice trailed off. “That’s not all that unusual. Oh, and trust me, I wasn’t trying to insult you. I know I look like crap too. Three fingers of bourbon and a sleeping pill didn’t do me much good last night either. Never does this time of year.”
“Yeah,” was all Constance could think of to say in that moment. She took another sip of the hot brew, then stared thoughtfully at the thick fingers of steam rising from the metal cup. “Have you checked on her this morning?”
“Yep… Always do.”
“How is she?”
“On the outside, just like I said: starin’ off into space.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. “On the inside, I’m afraid nobody really knows what’s goin’ on except her. And since there’s not a damn thing I can do to fix it, I try not to think about it too much… Hard not to, though… Guess you found that out last night.”
Once again, words failed her. “Yeah.”
“So, do you want to stop over at That Place and grab breakfast first?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll grab something later.”
“Okay… Well, go on then. Buckle up,” the sheriff instructed with a wave of his hand, then shifted around in his seat and levered the cruiser into reverse. He cast his gaze over his shoulder and began to back the vehicle out of its parking space as he added, “We’ve got police work to do.”
IN the fresh light of morning, the house at 632 Evergreen Lane on the north side of Hulis Township was still a simple one and one-half story bungalow, sitting on an average-sized lot, with a bare-branched, somewhat malformed pin oak tree rising out of the front yard. The white paint on the clapboard siding was still dull and peeling, and the gutter was still separated from the fascia on the left front corner; and it was still held up only by the grace of the downspout that was barely clinging to the wall itself. And the weathered plywood was still covering the windows.
However, now the old dormant tree looked like nothing more than an old dormant tree. The house looked like nothing more than an old abandoned house, and the plywood looked like nothing more than what it was-weathered plywood covering windows.
And just as the light had washed away the eerie shadows, it also revealed a few other salient issues, such as the glass missing from the storm door, some absent shingles, and a desperate need for tuck pointing on the brick chimney.
However, the one thing that truly stood out to Constance was that in this light, the house gave no outward indication of the horrors that had occurred inside over the years. Still, even that fact couldn’t keep the uncomfortable prickling sensation from crawling across the back of her neck once again.
They had pulled in and parked behind a patrol car that was already in front of the house. After climbing out of his own cruiser, the sheriff ambled over to the driver’s side of the first vehicle while Constance waited in the yard. The deputy inside rolled down her window as he approached.
“Morning, Skip,” she said.
“Mornin’, Mel,” he replied. “Thought Johnson was supposed to relieve you around seven?”
“Clovis radioed. His kid’s sick and he’s running late,” she replied.
“Ahh, okay,” he grunted. “Didn’t know. Haven’t been by the office yet this morning. So, all quiet I guess?”
“Just like always,” Mel replied then nodded toward the yard where Constance was standing. “That the Fed? Clovis said they sent another new one this time.”
He rested an arm on top of the car and leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Yeah. Gotta do the annual tour.”
“Think she’ll figure it out?”
“Guess we’ll see. Not holdin’ my breath, but I gotta say, she’s different from the others. So… Maybe…”
“Different how?”
He shrugged with his eyebrows and continued to keep his voice low. “Just somethin’ about her seems a little driven.”
Mel glanced toward Constance, who was standing in the center of the yard with her back to them as she visually inspected the exterior of the house. Turning back to Skip she said, “So… Have you told her anything?”
Carmichael gave his head a small shake. “Just the official spiel, like always.”
“But if she’s really different-” Mel began.
He cut her off. “Different doesn’t mean she’ll believe… Nope… Better to just let things take their course…”
The deputy nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“Believe me, I know how you feel, Mel,” Skip offered in a fatherly tone. “It sure wouldn’t hurt my feelings to get an answer to all this either… Just don’t wanna get too hopeful, you know?”
“Yeah, Skip. I know.”
He shrugged, then straightened his posture and hitched up his belt. After repositioning the flashlight he was carrying tucked under his armpit, he nodded toward the house. When he spoke, he allowed his voice to return to a normal volume. “I expect we’re gonna be here for a bit. Why don’t you go grab some breakfast, and maybe Johnson’ll be in by the time we’re done, and that way you can go home.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mel replied, reaching for the steering column and cranking the engine on the patrol car. “Thanks, Skip. I’ll swing back by in a bit, unless I hear from you or Clovis.”
“Sounds good.”
The sheriff took a step back and waited for the car to drive off before meandering over to join Constance on the overgrown concrete walkway somewhere near the center of the yard.
“Everything okay?” she asked as he drew up alongside her.
“Yeah, nothing earth shattering,” he grunted as they began walking toward the house. “Got a deputy with a sick kid. Might mean rearranging some schedules.”
She nodded. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself to the deputy. I’m just not feeling overly social this morning.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he replied, motioning for her to go ahead up the stairs. “All she’s interested in right now is hitting the sack.”
“I can imagine.”
“I see you took my advice,” Skip said, nodding toward the porch in front of Constance as he stepped up and dug a hand into his coat pocket.
