Pink cajoled in the voice one might use on a distraught ledge walker. “You don’t have to sort those out now. This stuff’ll be here.” He squatted down beside her and began to close up the albums.
“Don’t,” she said. “I need a picture of Michele.”
“What for?” he asked miserably.
She felt a little sorry for him. He was clearly worried about her mental state, and perhaps, she thought, she had given him reason. He would never come out and ask her, of course. Pink had a horror of any talk of feelings, and over the years she had come to accept it. He showed affection with gifts and avoided discussions by turning on the TV and arguments by driving around in his car.
“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “I need it for the paper. The newspaper. Pink, I came by your office today.”
“I know,” he said. “I found your note in the door. What did you want?”
“Well, I’d just been talking to Wallace Reynolds. I wanted to see Royce but he’s out of town. He took Tyler to military school. Did you know about that?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Pink. “He told me he was going.”
“He did? He never mentioned it to me.”
“Maybe he thought you had enough to worry about. He’s had nothing but trouble with that kid,” Pink said irritably.
“Anyway,” said Lillie, “this is going to come as a shock to you. I know it did to me.”
Pink stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
Lillie told him about her encounter with Debbie Partin. Pink got up while she was speaking and sat down on the edge of the ottoman that matched his old club chair. He held the photo album on his lap and ran his fingers in and out of the embossed grooves on the cover.
“And these pictures?” he said.
Lillie got up and sat on the arm of the club chair. “I’m gonna put the best one we’ve got of her in the paper and ask people to call us with information. People who don’t want to go to the police. Like Debbie Partin. You see what I’m saying?” She put a hand on Pink’s shoulder. “There was somebody else. And somebody may be walking around town this very minute who knows about it. But they might be afraid to go to the sheriff.”
Pink sat silently for a moment, his chest heaving, as if trying to catch his breath. “This is a nightmare,” he whispered at last. “A goddamn nightmare.” He shook his head and ran one freckled hand over his thinning hair. “Why did this have to happen to us?” He stood up abruptly, and shiny photos fluttered around him to the floor. He went over and opened the window. “How long have you been cooped up in here?” he asked.
“Pink,” said Lillie. “We need to do something.”
He turned back to her. “What can we do? We have to let the sheriff take care of it.”
“Didn’t you hear me? Don’t you care?” she demanded.
“About my little girl being killed?” Pink cried, his wide face reddening. “Well, what the hell do you think? How could you ask that of me?”
“You’re right, Pink. I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“We can’t look for a killer. For God’s sakes. It’s all I can do to keep this family from falling apart. I come home and I’m afraid of what I’ll find. Afraid I’ll find you’ve gone off the deep end. You don’t eat half the time. You don’t sleep. Let the police take care of their job. You have to start taking care of yourself, Lillie. And what about Grayson? And me?”
“I’m home,” came a voice from the kitchen. Pink’s head jerked up, startled. Lillie frowned down at the fistful of pictures she was holding.
“We’re in the den, son,” Pink called out.
Grayson appeared at the door of the den and looked in at his parents. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Gray,” Lillie said stubbornly. “Maybe you can help. It seems as if that Partin boy didn’t kill Michele after all. Maybe there was someone else. Someone who didn’t like her, that you can think of. Maybe someone who was mad at her for something.”
Grayson
“Don’t,” she said. “I need a picture of Michele.”
“What for?” he asked miserably.
She felt a little sorry for him. He was clearly worried about her mental state, and perhaps, she thought, she had given him reason. He would never come out and ask her, of course. Pink had a horror of any talk of feelings, and over the years she had come to accept it. He showed affection with gifts and avoided discussions by turning on the TV and arguments by driving around in his car.
“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “I need it for the paper. The newspaper. Pink, I came by your office today.”
“I know,” he said. “I found your note in the door. What did you want?”
“Well, I’d just been talking to Wallace Reynolds. I wanted to see Royce but he’s out of town. He took Tyler to military school. Did you know about that?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Pink. “He told me he was going.”
“He did? He never mentioned it to me.”
“Maybe he thought you had enough to worry about. He’s had nothing but trouble with that kid,” Pink said irritably.
“Anyway,” said Lillie, “this is going to come as a shock to you. I know it did to me.”
Pink stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
Lillie told him about her encounter with Debbie Partin. Pink got up while she was speaking and sat down on the edge of the ottoman that matched his old club chair. He held the photo album on his lap and ran his fingers in and out of the embossed grooves on the cover.
“And these pictures?” he said.
Lillie got up and sat on the arm of the club chair. “I’m gonna put the best one we’ve got of her in the paper and ask people to call us with information. People who don’t want to go to the police. Like Debbie Partin. You see what I’m saying?” She put a hand on Pink’s shoulder. “There was somebody else. And somebody may be walking around town this very minute who knows about it. But they might be afraid to go to the sheriff.”
Pink sat silently for a moment, his chest heaving, as if trying to catch his breath. “This is a nightmare,” he whispered at last. “A goddamn nightmare.” He shook his head and ran one freckled hand over his thinning hair. “Why did this have to happen to us?” He stood up abruptly, and shiny photos fluttered around him to the floor. He went over and opened the window. “How long have you been cooped up in here?” he asked.
“Pink,” said Lillie. “We need to do something.”
He turned back to her. “What can we do? We have to let the sheriff take care of it.”
“Didn’t you hear me? Don’t you care?” she demanded.
“About my little girl being killed?” Pink cried, his wide face reddening. “Well, what the hell do you think? How could you ask that of me?”
“You’re right, Pink. I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“We can’t look for a killer. For God’s sakes. It’s all I can do to keep this family from falling apart. I come home and I’m afraid of what I’ll find. Afraid I’ll find you’ve gone off the deep end. You don’t eat half the time. You don’t sleep. Let the police take care of their job. You have to start taking care of yourself, Lillie. And what about Grayson? And me?”
“I’m home,” came a voice from the kitchen. Pink’s head jerked up, startled. Lillie frowned down at the fistful of pictures she was holding.
“We’re in the den, son,” Pink called out.
Grayson appeared at the door of the den and looked in at his parents. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Gray,” Lillie said stubbornly. “Maybe you can help. It seems as if that Partin boy didn’t kill Michele after all. Maybe there was someone else. Someone who didn’t like her, that you can think of. Maybe someone who was mad at her for something.”
Grayson
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