pan and some food and pretended I’d been cooking. ‘What are we having for dinner?’ he asked, kissing me and looking down at the assortment of crap I’d removed from the refrigerator. I looked too. Not good. The meat I’d had on the top shelf defrosting was fine. Even the bag of unsnapped green beans was OK. But how I would manage to make something tasty out of those two ingredients mixed with marshmallow fluff, lemon curd and hummus I didn’t know.
Willis raised an eyebrow at me. ‘The sketch artist is here,’ I said, having already filled him in by phone on the latest catastrophe. I got the desired effect. His mind was off the mess on the counter and onto the activity going on elsewhere.
‘Where are they?’ he asked.
‘Dining room,’ I said and followed him out – after putting away everything except the chicken and the green beans.
Megan and Bess were still on the sectional sofa, gazing dreamy-eyed at Calvin, who had yet to notice them. Alicia was busy saying take this out, add this, etc.
‘Hi,’ Willis said, extending his hand. ‘I’m Alicia’s dad.’
Calvin stood up and shook hands. ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Brooks,’ he said.
‘Ah, the name’s Pugh. Willis Pugh. I’m Alicia’s foster father.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ Calvin said and showed a terrific smile with dimples and oh-so-white teeth. I heard sighs from the living room. ‘We’re almost finished here, I think,’ Calvin said, turning to look at Alicia. ‘What do you think, Alicia?’ he asked.
She looked at the sketch. ‘That’s as close as I can get,’ she said. She nodded. ‘Yes. I think that’s him. Megs, Bess, come look.’
They didn’t really need an invitation. They were off the sofa and in the dining room in a flash, elbowing each other to get closest to Calvin.
‘At the picture, y’all,’ Alicia said and grinned.
Bess blushed but Megan just tossed her invisible hair again. Bess looked at the photo. ‘Yeah, that’s the tall one, right?’
Megan looked. ‘Yeah! He’s always riding shotgun.’
‘Did you get a decent look at the short one?’ Willis asked.
‘Yes, sir,’ Alicia said. ‘I think between us we can do him. If Calvin has time?’
Calvin smiled and I sighed. When Willis turned my way I coughed to cover up. ‘All the time in the world. My wife has taken the kids to her mom’s in Dallas for a week, so I’m free.’
The temperature in the room fell by several degrees. Shoulders slumped. Hair did not get tossed.
With very little enthusiasm, the three girls got to work on a sketch of the shorter stalker.
They could have walked back to BCR; they were very close to it. But since the BCR police were hot on their tails, they decided to walk to Codderville instead. Mr Smith’s shirt was torn in several places and his skin ripped on his right arm near the elbow and on his left arm near the wrist. The knee had torn through his jeans on impact; all the other injuries, to both body and attire, had come from the mesquite. Mr Jones had a scratch on his hand. And, of course, the divot in his foot, but that wasn’t from this accident – or the mesquite trees.
‘I hate walking,’ Mr Smith said.
‘Who hates walking?’ Mr Jones asked.
‘Me! I hate walking! That’s what I just said!’
‘I meant, what a dumbass to hate walking!’ Mr Jones clarified.
‘Shut up!’ Mr Smith said.
‘
You
shut up!’ Mr Jones said.
‘God, I’m gonna kill you first chance I get!’ Mr Smith said.
‘Not if I kill you first!’ Mr Jones said.
A blue-and-rust pickup truck pulled in front of them as they walked down the shoulder of the highway.
‘Hey, you boys need a lift?’ the old man inside the truck asked.
Mr Smith and Mr Jones both smiled at the old man. ‘Thanks! Our car broke down,’ Mr Smith said. He and Mr Jones jumped into the bed of the pickup.
‘I’m only going as far as Codderville,’ the old man said.
‘That’s fine,’ Mr Smith said. ‘Thanks!’
As Calvin Hedley left, Willis turned to
Willis raised an eyebrow at me. ‘The sketch artist is here,’ I said, having already filled him in by phone on the latest catastrophe. I got the desired effect. His mind was off the mess on the counter and onto the activity going on elsewhere.
‘Where are they?’ he asked.
‘Dining room,’ I said and followed him out – after putting away everything except the chicken and the green beans.
Megan and Bess were still on the sectional sofa, gazing dreamy-eyed at Calvin, who had yet to notice them. Alicia was busy saying take this out, add this, etc.
‘Hi,’ Willis said, extending his hand. ‘I’m Alicia’s dad.’
Calvin stood up and shook hands. ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Brooks,’ he said.
‘Ah, the name’s Pugh. Willis Pugh. I’m Alicia’s foster father.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ Calvin said and showed a terrific smile with dimples and oh-so-white teeth. I heard sighs from the living room. ‘We’re almost finished here, I think,’ Calvin said, turning to look at Alicia. ‘What do you think, Alicia?’ he asked.
She looked at the sketch. ‘That’s as close as I can get,’ she said. She nodded. ‘Yes. I think that’s him. Megs, Bess, come look.’
They didn’t really need an invitation. They were off the sofa and in the dining room in a flash, elbowing each other to get closest to Calvin.
‘At the picture, y’all,’ Alicia said and grinned.
Bess blushed but Megan just tossed her invisible hair again. Bess looked at the photo. ‘Yeah, that’s the tall one, right?’
Megan looked. ‘Yeah! He’s always riding shotgun.’
‘Did you get a decent look at the short one?’ Willis asked.
‘Yes, sir,’ Alicia said. ‘I think between us we can do him. If Calvin has time?’
Calvin smiled and I sighed. When Willis turned my way I coughed to cover up. ‘All the time in the world. My wife has taken the kids to her mom’s in Dallas for a week, so I’m free.’
The temperature in the room fell by several degrees. Shoulders slumped. Hair did not get tossed.
With very little enthusiasm, the three girls got to work on a sketch of the shorter stalker.
They could have walked back to BCR; they were very close to it. But since the BCR police were hot on their tails, they decided to walk to Codderville instead. Mr Smith’s shirt was torn in several places and his skin ripped on his right arm near the elbow and on his left arm near the wrist. The knee had torn through his jeans on impact; all the other injuries, to both body and attire, had come from the mesquite. Mr Jones had a scratch on his hand. And, of course, the divot in his foot, but that wasn’t from this accident – or the mesquite trees.
‘I hate walking,’ Mr Smith said.
‘Who hates walking?’ Mr Jones asked.
‘Me! I hate walking! That’s what I just said!’
‘I meant, what a dumbass to hate walking!’ Mr Jones clarified.
‘Shut up!’ Mr Smith said.
‘
You
shut up!’ Mr Jones said.
‘God, I’m gonna kill you first chance I get!’ Mr Smith said.
‘Not if I kill you first!’ Mr Jones said.
A blue-and-rust pickup truck pulled in front of them as they walked down the shoulder of the highway.
‘Hey, you boys need a lift?’ the old man inside the truck asked.
Mr Smith and Mr Jones both smiled at the old man. ‘Thanks! Our car broke down,’ Mr Smith said. He and Mr Jones jumped into the bed of the pickup.
‘I’m only going as far as Codderville,’ the old man said.
‘That’s fine,’ Mr Smith said. ‘Thanks!’
As Calvin Hedley left, Willis turned to
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