Picture Them Dead by Brynn Bonner Page A

was the only choice, and I ought to know.”
    â€œOkay, no marker,” I said. “I just wanted to check with you about it; your father is buried on the old Harper place, right?”
    Miss Lottie looked at me, her eyes losing focus. It was as if someone had thrown a switch and the light went out. She looked around, confused, until her gaze came to light on a plate of store-bought cookies an attendant had brought over.
    â€œIs there nobody in this place knows how to make a good apple pie?” Miss Lottie said, loud enough to be heard in the kitchen, which I was pretty sure was her intent. “Sadie makes the best pie you ever tasted out of apples from our orchard. They’re small and nubbly, but sweet as a mama’s kiss, and Sadie’s crust is so light you have to stab it with your fork to keep it from floating off the plate. She always makes me a birthday pie instead of a cake. Is Sadie coming to fetch me soon? She’ll be afoot, she never has learnt to drive a car. Maybe she’s ­a-waiting for it to cool down outside. She said she’d come fetch me soon as she could get loose.”
    â€œI think you’ve lost her, sweetie,” Margaret said.
    *   *   *
    I stopped for gas at Joe Porter’s filling station. He runs the only station in town that still has full service, and I hate pumping gas. The stench gets into my nose and I can smell it for the rest of the day. It makes me queasy.
    I was hoping to have a chance to talk to Gavin Taylor, and as luck would have it, he was the one who came out to fill my tank. I risked the fumes to roll down my window.
    Gavin and I weren’t exactly buddies, but I’d known him all through our school years. He was one of those guys who blended into the background, popping out now and again to do something truly impressive—or truly stupid—before receding into the background again. He’d been suspended and sent for counseling in his sophomore year for coldcocking the gym teacher. That sounds like a terrible thing unless you knew, as the students all did, that the gym teacher picked mercilessly on small, weak kids. One of those kids happened to be Billy Hayward, Gavin’s next-door neighbor. Billy was a painfully shy, skinny kid who’d never have dreamt of talking back to a teacher. He’d left gym class each day for months with red-rimmed eyes and trembling legs. We’d had some class talks about bullying, but no one had ever given us guidance on what to do if the teacher was the bully. Gavin improvised.
    â€œHey, Gavin,” I said, my voice nasal as I tried to keep from inhaling the vapors. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
    I’d almost said, “Since you got out,” but saved myself from that foot-in-mouth moment. Apparently my hesitation hadn’t gone unnoticed.
    â€œIt’s okay, you can say it,” Gavin said with a sigh. “Since I got outta the clink.”
    â€œYeah,” I said, “what happened with that whole thing, Gavin?”
    He shrugged. “I just saw the car and wanted to drive it. I wasn’t going to keep it or try to sell it or anything like that. I just wanted to drive that sucker, just once. A 1971 Chevy Camaro, a classic muscle car. Fully restored. It was just sittin’ there, the sun shining down on it like it was in a spotlight. Seemed to me like it was beggin’ to be put through its paces, so I borrowed it for a spin. Figured I’d have it back before the owner got off work and nobody’d be the wiser. Turns out the owner has a window office with a view of the street and felt absolutely no inclination to share the pleasures of his sweet ride.”
    â€œHow long did you get?” I asked
    â€œSix months, which was a gift. Could’ve been worse. But now I’ve got a record. Couldn’t get my old job at the golf course back. I’m lucky Joe was willing to hire me.”
    â€œRemind me again what