An Ice Cold Grave by Charlaine Harris Page B

I’d have to admit it.
    â€œYou need to eat,” he said, and I thudded back down to reality.
    â€œYes,” I said. I did need something to eat, and it would help if we had a place to stay afterwards. I’d need to rest, whether or not the result was a fresh crop of bodies.
    â€œAll right then,” I said. “I’m going to go eat something, and then we’ll meet you.”
    â€œDon’t think you can get out of town without us seeing you,” she said.
    â€œI really don’t like you,” I said.
    She looked down. I don’t know what expression she wanted to hide. Maybe at the moment she wasn’t too fond of herself.
    We stole out of the back of the station and finally found a fast-food chain place that looked pretty anonymous. It was too cold to eat in the car. We had to go in. Fortunately, no one in there seemed to read the papers, or else they were simply too polite to accost me. Which meant there weren’t any reporters. Either way, I got to eat the food in peace. At least with food this simple, there was nothing Tolliver had to cut up for me. All the aid he had to supply was ripping open the ketchup packets and putting the straw in the drink. I ate slowly because after we finished I’d have to go to the damn barn, and I didn’t want to.
    â€œI think this sucks,” I said after I’d eaten half the hamburger. “Not the food, but the situation.”
    â€œI do, too,” he said. “But I don’t see how we can get out of it without more fuss than doing it will be.”
    I started to snap at him, to remind him that it was me that would be doing the unpleasant task; that he would be standing by, as always. Fortunately, I shut my mouth before those awful words came out. I was horrified at how I could have ripped up our relationship based on a moment’s peevishness. How many times a week did I thank God that I had Tolliver with me? How many times did I feel grateful that he was there to act as a buffer between me and the world?
    â€œHarper?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou’re looking at me weird. What’s the matter?”
    â€œI was just thinking.”
    â€œYou must have been thinking some bad thoughts.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œAre you mad at me for some reason? You think I should have argued more with the sheriff?”
    â€œI don’t think that would’ve done any good.”
    â€œMe, either. So why the mad face?”
    â€œI was mad at myself.”
    â€œThat’s not good. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
    I tried not to heave a sigh. “I do wrong things all the time,” I said, and if my voice was morose, well, I just couldn’t help it. I knew I wanted more from Tolliver than he could or should give me, and I had to hide that knowledge from everyone, especially from him.
    I was definitely on a “my life sucks” kick, and the sooner I got off of it, the better life would be.
    We called Sheriff Rockwell on our way back to the station so she could meet us outside. We parked our car and climbed into hers. “He doesn’t need to come,” she said, nodding her head at Tolliver.
    â€œHe comes,” I said. “That’s not a negotiation point. I’d rather talk to the reporters for an hour than go somewhere without him.”
    She gave me a very sharp look. Then she shrugged. “All right,” she said. “He comes along.”
    As she turned out of the parking lot, she turned yet again so she wouldn’t drive past the front of the station. I’d wondered if she might be a glory hound, yet she was avoiding the media. I couldn’t figure her out at all.
    Even though I’d had some food and some time out, by the time we reached our destination at the very edge of town I was realizing my body was far from healed. There were some pain pills in the pharmacy bag back in our car. I wished I’d brought them with us, but I had to admit to