Pineapple Lies by Amy Vansant

remember she was wearin’ a white blouse with a big red belt. She looked like a ghost. I was headed right for her. She was moving funny, y’know? Weavin’ back and forth. I remember because it confused me. I didn’t know which way to swerve.”
    “Like she was drunk?”
    “Yeah, I guess. I dunno. It all happened in a split second. She was stumblin’ back and forth. It seemed like she was everywhere. I swerved and I missed her.”
    Al paused and stared at her. She tried not to react; worried any judgment on her part would silence him. Maybe serving as his confessor had been a poor idea. There’d been murmurs in the neighborhood that Al was once connected to the New Jersey Mafia, but, that rumor followed almost everyone from New York or New Jersey whose name ended with a vowel. It wasn’t unusual for the victims of the stereotyping to not only embrace the rumor, but encourage it, much like Declan had done with his own tall tales. Pineapple Port was crawling with ex-Tony Soprano wannabes.
    “Charlotte?”
    Charlotte’s attention snapped back. “I’m sorry. My mind wandered.”
    Al grimaced. “That’s okay. I’m probably scarin’ you. You think I killed that poor girl.”
    “But you didn’t?”
    “No. No…”
    “You didn’t hit her with your car?”
    “No, I…I mean I don’t think so.” He paused to take another sip. “I didn’t hear a scream, didn’t see her on the road in the rearview, didn’t feel a thump. I told myself I’d imagined it. Like I said, she looked like a ghost, but—”
    Al finished his glass and put it on the table. He put his face in his hands and breathed deeply.
    “But what?”
    “But it was right here ,” said Al, sitting up and pointing at the ground with his stubby index finger. “Right where your house is; where they were building the new part of the Port. I never would have thought about it again, but it was right freakin’ here .”
    Charlotte looked out at the grave.
    “Did you bury her?”
    “No! That’s the thing! I didn’t bury her. I never got out of the damn car. I slowed down…but I never got out. I told myself I’d imagined her and I went home. I was pretty shaken up to tell you the truth. Laughin’ with nerves.”
    “You said everything is a little fuzzy. Are you absolutely sure you didn’t bury her?”
    “How could I forget buryin’ someone? I’m not that old. And I’m not that stupid to tell you I was in the same state the day she disappeared if I did bury her. Hell, I couldn’t live with myself all these years knowing I’d killed a girl and buried her! I know people got a thing about certain Italians buryin’ people under cement, but to be honest, the sight of blood makes me sick. I wouldn’t have been able to touch her.”
    Al leaned forward in his chair, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
    “Char, I was a plumber . I knew maybe one connected guy and he was a nobody. I might let people around here think what they want about my past. Maybe I don’t correct them when they start dreamin’ up stories, if you know what I mean. But I ain’t never killed nobody.”
    Charlotte sat back in her chair, deep in thought.
    “She couldn’t have been knocked into a hole somehow,” she mumbled. “They couldn’t have built over her; someone would have noticed.”
    “Unless they were afraid it would stop construction? I can’t stop thinking about it…thinking someone might have found her by the side of the road and thrown her in a hole just to avoid delays.”
    “Oh gosh…you think? I mean, even the greediest bastard wouldn’t pave over a dead girl to avoid stalling construction, would he?”
    Al shrugged. “Probably not, but I dunno. Stranger things have happened. Just because I wasn’t connected, doesn’t mean I didn’t hear stories, if you know what I mean.”
    “Are you sure it was Erin Bingham?”
    “No. Like I said, I’m not sure about nothin’ except I didn’t bury no one. That picture her kid brought, though, it