crunch loudly beneath his shoe. His eyes found a tiny piece of porcelain lying on the rug. Kneeling, he picked it up with the tips of his fingers.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Wondering why you just lied to me.”
She shuddered. “I’d like you to leave. I was taking a nap. Please go.”
“No,” he said.
A swinging door led him into the kitchen. He went to the sink and started pulling open the large cabinet doors beneath it. She followed him uncertainly into the room.
“What are you doing? Please stop whatever it is you’re doing.”
“No,” he said again.
The back door was ajar. He opened it and stepped outside. A short flight of wooden stairs led to her garden. The garden was meticulously kept, with three rows of red, white, and yellow roses. They were all in bloom. Her babies, he guessed.
At the foot of the stairs he spied a cardboard box. He walked down the steps and picked up the box with both hands. It was heavy, and he felt its contents shift. He walked up the stairs and went into the house, dropping the box onto the kitchen table. Mary Alice jumped.
“You’re a lousy liar,” he said.
“Please don’t be angry with me as well.”
He peeled back the lid. Inside the box were porcelain statues that had been shattered into tiny pieces. One of the pieces was a little boy’s head, and he held it on his palm and stared at the painstaking detail that had gone into its creation.
“You collect these?” he asked.
She fumbled pulling a chair out from the kitchen table. Then she sat in it. “Yes. They’re from a town in Germany called Meissen. There’s a shop in Palm Beach that used to sell them. Every year I would save up my money and treat myself to one.”
“How many did you have?”
“Twenty-two. I gave each one a name.”
He put the head back into the box and closed the lid. Her other babies, he guessed. He pulled a chair out from the table and sat down beside her. He reached over and put his hand on her arm. A wall of resolution rose in her face.
“I would prefer if you didn’t touch me.”
He withdrew his hand. “When did I become the bad guy?”
“My friends in town called me. They told me what you did.”
“What did I do?”
“You shot the two bank robbers in cold blood. They were trying to talk their way out of it, and you shot them. The casinos sent you. You’re some kind of hit man.”
A porcelain bowl filled with white candy sat in the center of the table. He stuck his hand into it. Some of it was hard, while other pieces were soft. He put some into his mouth and chewed. It was sweet and disgustingly good.
“Do you know Roland Pew?” he asked.
“I taught Roland to read,” she replied.
He took the cordless phone off the counter and called information, got Roland’s number, and punched it in. Roland’s familiar voice answered on the second ring. Valentine handed Mary Alice the phone. “Roland was there during the robbery,” he said. “Ask him to tell you what really happened.”
Valentine ate the entire bowl of candy while Mary Alice talked to Roland. She made him repeat himself a number of times, and Valentine guessed she was comparing his version of things against that of her friends. She hung up shaking her head.
“I can’t believe my friends lied to me,” she said.
“Maybe someone lied to them,” he said. “This candy is absolutely delicious. You’ve got to give me the recipe.”
She broke into a faint smile. Her hand reached across the table, and Valentine realized she was trying to touch him. He put his hand on top of hers and left it there.
“I’m sorry I doubted you,” she said. “I hope you weren’t offended.”
“I’ll get over it.”
“The candy is made from peanuts, raisins, and Golden Grahams cereal. Put everything in a small garbage bag, then add melted chocolate, melted peanut butter, and a cup of confectioners’ sugar. Shake the bag hard, and you’re done.”
“It’s addictive. What do you call it?”
“White Trash.”
He repeated the recipe to himself. He was lousy in the kitchen and would have to entice Mabel to make up a batch. “Did you know the four men who threatened you?”
“Their voices were unfamiliar.”
“Spanish accents?”
“Yes.”
“They told you to stop talking to me, didn’t they?”
“Yes. They said you were responsible for all the horrible things that were happening.”
“Which one of them hit you?”
She shook her head, this time smiling.
“I really did fall down when I was outside,” she said.
Stuck to Mary Alice’s refrigerator was a list of important phone numbers, along with names of friends and family. The phone numbers were printed in English and in braille. He studied it for a few moments, then said, “Do you have any friends nearby you could stay with? I think it would be best if you got out of Slippery Rock for a few days.”
“I have a cousin in Brevard. It’s ten minutes away.”
“I’d like to drive you, if you don’t mind.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” she said.
Ten minutes later Mary Alice was sitting in his car, her suitcase in the trunk. He hated taking her away from her house and the things she knew, but saw no other way to protect her. As he was backing out, his cell phone rang. He picked it up and stared at the caller ID.
“For the love of Christ,” he muttered under his breath.
“What’s wrong?”
It was Lucy Price, the last person in the world he wanted to talk to right now. He flipped the phone open and punched the power button. The phone went dead in his hand.
“Nothing,” he said.
“You killed the power on your phone.”
“It was someone I didn’t want to talk to. How do I get to Brevard?”
“Who might that be?”
He had reached the end of her driveway. He didn’t know which way to go and threw the car into park. There was suspicion in her voice, and he said, “It was a woman I met in Las Vegas last month. I tried to help her. It didn’t work out. Now she calls me ten times a day.”
“How did you try to help her?”
“If you don’t mind, I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“I do mind,” she said stiffly. “I’m letting a strange man drive me someplace. I want to know who you are, or I’ll get out right now and go back in my house.”
She crossed her arms in her lap. She impressed him as someone who’d wait all day to get a straight answer. He killed the engine and turned sideways in his seat. “Her name is Lucy Price. She’s a degenerate gambler. She’s addicted to slot machines and owes money all over Las Vegas. I felt bad for her and gave her twenty-five thousand dollars to help her out.”
The figure made her head snap. “Seriously?”
