the National Center for Missing & Exploited Children web site while Chrissy was busying herself at the cash register, and she didn’t like what she saw, not one bit. All those sweet faces—all those big trusting eyes—and the terrible facts: “Last seen with her mother’s live-in boyfriend…” “Last seen with his non-custodial mother…” If Pitt truly believed the boy was his, who could say what lengths he might go to?
It was better not to give Chrissy any more to worry about than necessary. By leaving the girl at the shop, Stella hoped Chrissy would pour all her attention into selling a few packages of elastic or fetching fixed-up machines for the ladies who came to collect them. And if she messed up the day’s receipts or rang up a package of straw needles as a box of silk pins, well, that was just part of the cost of doing business when you were breaking in new staff.
That particular thought was still on Stella’s mind as she pulled into Benning’s. No guard today; the big metal gates had been folded back, leaving the dirt entrance clear, and a couple more cars were pulled in the area between Benning’s trailer and the start of the rows of ruined and wrecked cars and parts.
She eased Chrissy’s ’96 Celica into a space between a dusty late-model pickup and a fenced-off dog run. Chrissy’s car, with its rust-spotted panels and rear bumper attached with a length of steel cable, was Stella’s ostensible reason for the visit, though Stella didn’t intend to need one. She meant to see if she could just deal straight with Benning, especially since it wasn’t too likely that his friends from up north would be hanging around the yard on a Wednesday morning when very little was stirring, including the drooping black walnut trees lining the fenced edge of the property, their branches looking like they were ready to give up from the heat.
As she turned off the ignition, the radio guy announced it would get up to a hundred again.
Stella wasn’t too excited about that, but as she walked around the front of the car, the fevered braying that went up in the pen next to her indicated that the dogs, at least, didn’t intend to let a little heat and humidity keep them from their duties.
Stella considered herself a dog person. Years ago she’d brought home a stray, a little dog that was at least part beagle, with some mystery elements mixed in. She’d named the dog Buttons for the spots that ran along her soft belly, but when Ollie took to kicking Buttons for no reason at all, Stella gave the dog to a family on the other end of town, crying all the way home, and swore she’d never put a pet in harm’s way again. Besides, there was Noelle to think about; even if Ollie never hit the child and mostly ignored her, it wasn’t good for a child to see acts of violence carried out right in front of her. While Ollie did most of his wife-beating when Noelle was asleep or out of the house, he kicked Buttons any old time he felt like it, no matter who saw him.
Stella had been meaning to get a dog ever since Ollie died, but she’d been waiting for things to calm down a bit so she’d have time to raise a pup up right. Unfortunately, her side business had remained strong, with a new client showing up every time she thought she’d finally hit a dry spell, and it was beginning to look as if Stella would just have to bite the bullet and get herself a broke-in dog. Not the worst thing in the world, of course; Stella had a fair amount of hard miles on herself, and she wouldn’t hold that against any potential canine pet.
But the huge, angry beasts throwing themselves against the fencing just inches from her hip were another story. With the boxy snouts and barrel chests that indicated pit bull blood, they had their dog-lips bared and their snapping teeth exposed, and the ruckus they were sending up had an edge of crazed fury to it that Stella knew only too well came from a particular dog-raising philosophy.
It took mean to breed mean. Always had, when it came to dogs. Unlike men, who’d produce a bad apple now and then even in the best environment—like Roy Dean, for instance—it was near impossible to raise up a mean dog if you just gave the thing a little attention and didn’t take to abusing it.
The pair in the cage, though, with their quivering, muscled bodies and drooling vicious grins, appeared to have developed appetites that were downright terrifying. Stella could imagine the huge jaws clamping down on unprotected flesh, the forearms scrabbling for purchase as they went in for the kill, and she backed away from the fencing.
“Aw, now, they wouldn’t hurt nothin’,” an amused voice said behind her.
Stella turned and found herself face-to-face with Earl Benning.
“What can I do for you today, young lady?” he continued, and then a curious thing happened: his eyes, which had been all squinty in the bright sun, opened a little wider, and the smarmy grin snapped off his face as though someone had knocked it down with a plank. “You’re Stella Hardesty, ain’t you.”
So much for the whole “just looking” ruse. Oh, well, Stella wasn’t one for subterfuge. Down and direct, that did the trick more often than not.
“I am. And you’re Earl Benning, am I right?” She jutted a hand out, but after Earl just kept staring at her face, making no move to shake, she finally withdrew it.
“You used to be a brunette, I think I remember,” he said. “Had a tight little figure, too.”
Stella hadn’t been planning on a tea party, but Earl’s manners were a little much even for the circumstances. “I’m
“Nah, I’m talkin’ about back when you first married Ollie. Course, I was still a kid then, but—mmm,
Stella, who was almost never at a loss for words, gulped air. What the hell? If it was just a matter of filling out her shirt, well, she could probably manage two for the price of one these days. She’d been a 34C when she walked down the aisle. Now she was a 40DD. But she doubted that was exactly what Earl Benning had on his mind.
“Thanks, I guess,” Stella said. “Course, I don’t recall ever checking out your package, so even if I wanted to now, which I don’t, I wouldn’t be able to do any comparin’. Look, this is real fun and all, but if you’re fixin’ to ask me out I’m not interested, and besides I got some other stuff to talk over with you.”
The expression on Benning’s face darkened from amusement to something a sight more cruel. “Ain’t it just my bad luck,” he said. “Here I was wondering if you were free for the prom. All right, what is it that I can do for you today, Stella
The way he enunciated each syllable of her last name gave Stella a chill that started around the bottom of her spine and snaked its way up her back, shivering along her nerve endings. She was glad to have extra insurance in her big purse.
“How about if we take a little walk?” she asked. “That okay?”
“I suppose that’d be all right,” Benning said. “Gimme just a sec here.”
He pulled a walkie-talkie-type device off the worn belt that hung low beneath his drooping gut and muttered into it for a minute.
“Why don’t we take this way?” he suggested, replacing the walkie-talkie and giving his pants an upward tug.
Stella followed without a word. They walked down a gravel lane through rows of automotive refuse that were arranged in rough rectangles. Most of the cars either had the front or back end caved in, or had taken a T-bone to the side. Some had apparently died of a series of unfortunate encounters, damage extending all the way around. A few looked as if they’d succumbed to old age. In the distance, a yellow front loader was moving scrap toward a towering pile of crushed cars.
“Let me get right to it,” Stella said. “I’m looking for Tucker Lardner. Little boy, eighteen months old, just a baby, really.”
Benning glanced quickly at Stella, his eyes narrowed; something flickered within their flinty depths. “No babies around here,” he said quickly.
“Just hold on,” Stella said, watching him carefully. “I ain’t saying there was. What I know is, Tucker disappeared last Saturday with Roy Dean Shaw. Now, I don’t have any business with Roy Dean. Don’t even care where he ended up, though I wouldn’t mind knowing just so’s I could, you know, cross all the t’s and dot the i’s on this.”
“Cross the t’s, huh,” Benning echoed, muscling his expression back into indifference. “I ain’t seen Roy Dean since, since ages, and I
“Well, okay, like I say, I’m really just looking to find the boy. Now, there’s some talk that Roy Dean was doing a little work for you and some of your, ah, business associates. That’s none of my concern, either. Hell, looks like a nice place you got here, all this… stock, and whatnot.”
“You like my place, do you?” Benning laughed, a short, percussive sound that was almost a bark. “Well, now, that’s a nice compliment, coming from a businesswoman such as yourself.”
