'Yeah,' Knox snarled.
A female nurse came to their cell later. They were stripped, searched and then shackled while she stood and watched surrounded by guards.
Through the open door and into the hallway outside, Stone could see a video camera bolted to the wall. He gauged that whenever a cell extraction was done the camera was perfectly positioned to, at best, capture a nice shot of the guards' backs while they pounded the crap out of the unseen inmate.
The nurse cleaned their injuries and bandaged them up while the guards made snide comments about sissy wounds.
Neither Stone nor Knox said a word.
However, when the nurse was finished Stone did say, 'Thank you, ma'am.'
He was instantly hit in the mouth with a toweled billy club, the blow felling him. 'You don't talk to the lady, asshole,' screamed Manson the one-eyed guard as he leaned down into Stone's bleeding face.
The nurse smiled graciously at her defender as they headed out.
Knox helped him to his feet. 'We've got to get out of here, Oliver, or we're dead.'
'I know. I know,' said Stone as he wiped fresh blood off his face, and then he froze.
The guard was looking in at him, his hand curled around the cell door as he was closing it. He wasn't a young punk one-striper. He was older, and gray hair peeked out from under his cap as he stared at Stone. Right before the door clanged shut the guard gave one brief nod at Stone.
CHAPTER 67
WHEN REUBEN hooked back up with Annabelle and Caleb later that day at the campground, the big man didn't have much to report. Yet he did have one observation.
'We been to all these little towns up here, but Divine is different.'
'Different how?' asked Caleb.
'There's money here,' answered Reuben. 'Thriving shops, new cars, renovated buildings, a courthouse and a jail. Went to the church, even did a little praying. I talked to the padre, he said it was all done in the last few years.'
'What cover are you using?' Annabelle asked.
'Said I was a writer looking to set a novel in a small mountain town. Everybody seemed to accept it okay. I guess I look like a writer,' he added smugly.
Caleb stared up at his giant friend with the long, curly black hair and beard shot with gray. 'I'd say you're more bohemian-looking, but that's probably just splitting hairs. But I think I see what you're saying. The library was really beautiful. The librarian said it had been recently redone too. Brand-new media center, computers, the works.'
'And who'd you tell 'em you were?' asked Reuben gruffly.
'A wandering bibliophile. I think I fit that role rather well.'
'You really told them that?' asked Annabelle.
'No, I actually said I was looking for work as a short order cook and was checking the classifieds. For some reason she accepted that without question, though I hardly look like a Fry Daddy connoisseur,' he added stiffly.
'Sure you don't. What'd you find out, Annabelle?' asked Reuben.
She told them of her conversation with Shirley and Judge Mosley.
'The woman knows something, that's for sure. I think we should follow her and see what else we can find out.'
'Sounds like a plan.'
'When will Alex get here?' Caleb wanted to know.
'Soon, at least I hope.'
'Missing the lawman, are we?' Reuben asked.
'No, I'm just tired of doing all the thinking.'
'Well, here's another one for you to think about. Where are we going to be crashing?'
'Not in town,' she said. 'How about we just sleep in the van out here?'
'In the van?' said Caleb with a stricken look. 'What about bathroom facilities?'
Annabelle pointed to the woods. 'Nature's own.'
'Oh, for Chrissakes,' began Caleb.
Reuben held up a hand. 'Caleb, if a bear can shit in the woods so can a librarian.'
'And what about that reporter?' Caleb pointed out.
'I've sort of got a plan, but I need Alex's help.' She turned to Reuben. 'So why do you think Divine is so prosperous?'
He said, 'Maybe if we answer that, we can explain why people keep getting murdered and/or blown up.'
'Do you think something's happened to Oliver?' Caleb asked.
'I've never met anyone better able to take care of himself than Oliver,' Reuben answered quite truthfully.
CHAPTER 68
WHEN SHIRLEY COOMBS left the courthouse it was already seven in the evening and the darkness had fallen solidly on mountain-bound Divine. She stopped at one store, and when she came back out she toted a plastic bag full of wine bottles. She put this in her car and then walked into Rita's. When she came back out a couple hours later she climbed in her late-model red two-door Infiniti where it was parked behind the courthouse. Apparently so absorbed was the woman in her thoughts that she never saw the white van behind her as she pulled on to the road and sped off.
She arrived home and went inside, staggering slightly.
Caleb pulled the van to a stop a little ways down from the house. Shirley Coombs lived in a one-story vinyl- sided house with a small front porch decorated with tubs of pansies. A gravel drive led to a detached garage. Twenty yards behind the house was thick forest. In a side yard a vegetable garden had been laid out, though the only things planted in it now were a couple of bare and leaning tomato stakes. A pile of rusted lawn chairs and a stack of firewood dominated the small backyard. The lady had no neighbors; hers was the only house down here.
Reuben hunched forward between the two front seats and stared at the house as lights came on inside.
'Do we wait till she passes out and search the place?'
'Why don't you go and see if you can get a look inside one of the windows,' said Annabelle.
'I'll go with him,' said Caleb.
'Why?'
'Four eyes are better than two.'
They slipped out of the van and headed to the house, keeping to the tree line until they neared the house. Then the two made a beeline for the back porch.
Five minutes later they were back in the van.
'Talk about your diamonds wrapped up in a tin can,' said Reuben.
'What do you mean?' asked Annabelle.
'What he means is the inside of Shirley Coombs' humble abode hardly matches the outside. The furniture is all high-end, the paintings on the walls are real oils, a couple by artists I recognized, the rugs are authentic oriental, and she's got at least one sculpture that is museum quality.'
'Shirley the small-town court clerk is living high on the hog,' added Reuben.
