The Haunting at Grays Harbor (The River Book 8) by Michael Richan Page B

Barbara stood back and walked
with Steven and Roy to the door.
    “I can’t take her back there,” Barbara said. “If you could
have seen how terrified she was, you’d understand. A parent can’t do that to
their child. It would be like torturing her. We’re going to be in this motel
until it’s solved, one way or the other.”
    “Have you all had breakfast?” Steven said. “We were just on
our way out to find some. You could come along.”
    “Thanks, we ate already,” Barbara said. “The girls were up
the moment their father left for work. I do wish I could join you for coffee, though.
The stuff they have here tastes like dirty socks.”
    “We’ll bring some back for you,” Roy said. “How do you take
it?”
    “Oh, that’s nice of you,” she said. “Black is fine.”
    “We’ll be back in a bit,” Steven said, and they left her with
the girls.
     
    ◊
     
    They took Barbara and her daughters out for lunch that
afternoon, but most of the day was spent killing time. They agreed not to
return to Barbara’s house, having no constructive agenda until Maynard arrived,
and not wanting to accidentally make anything worse. They thought about going
out to Eximere, but ruled that out also, considering it more dangerous than a
casual visit was worth.
    The day went slowly, with Steven imagining a broken-down
Maynard at the side of the interstate somewhere between Utah and Washington,
unable to get any roadside help, and unable to communicate. Each time he
thought of it, he reminded himself that they’d just have to hope Maynard made
it OK. It was an exercise in patience that was driving Steven crazy. There
wasn’t much to do in Aberdeen, either. Looking around the place, he assumed that
was why so many of Cobain’s songs were so dreary.
    The next day, Steven and Roy left the motel a little early to
secure decent coffee before they met Maynard. They brought back two extra cups,
one for Barbara, which they delivered, and the second for Maynard. They
considered inviting Barbara to join them for the meeting, but decided instead
to meet him first and find out what kind of fellow he was before introducing
him to her.
    They walked into the lobby with five minutes to spare.
Maynard was already there, waiting for them. As Maynard stood to greet them, Steven
was surprised to see that he was small, almost six inches smaller than Roy. He
was wearing an old trucker’s hat that added a few inches to his height. The cap
had a logo for “Stout Motor Supply” on it, with the logo of an arm reaching
through a tire, holding a wrench. He was perfectly shaven and his skin was
baked to a leathery dark brown. He was wearing a short sleeve shirt that was
worn so thin, Steven could see through to his undergarments. When he extended
his arm to shake hands, Steven noticed mounds of curly white hair covering his
forearms.
    “Hi, I’m Maynard Stout,” he said without a smile.
    Steven shook his hand. “I’m Steven, and this is my father,
Roy.”
    “Nice to meet you,” Roy said, sticking out his hand.
    Maynard shook it. “Likewise.”
    “Thanks for coming all the way up here,” Steven said. “We
brought you some coffee from a shop down the road.”
    Roy held out the cup to Maynard. “The stuff they have here at
the motel is pretty bad,” Roy said.
    Maynard looked at the cup but didn’t take it. “Don’t drink
coffee, but thanks.”
    Roy retracted the cup.
    “Let’s go out to my truck, so we can talk,” Maynard said,
glancing over at the front desk clerk. He turned and left the lobby, Steven and
Roy following.
    Maynard walked them to his old, white Chevy truck that was
badly in need of a paint job. Steven guessed it was a 1970s model. Behind the
truck, in tow, was a small storage trailer, also in need of a paint job. It
looked as though it had been patched a few times. There was a thick chain
wrapped through the handles of the doors on the back, and Steven saw three
large padlocks at different places on the