The Serpent King(39)

Travis went into the kitchen, where his mom had some warm biscuits and gravy, bacon, and eggs ready. He hugged her and told her where he was going, then texted Amelia goodbye. He wolfed some food, grabbed his toolbox—he suspected Dill wouldn’t have much more than a screwdriver and a pair of needle-nose pliers—and headed over to Dill’s. As a bonus, he didn’t even see his father, who had gone bowhunting.

Travis parked his red Ford pickup behind Dill’s mom’s Chevy Cavalier. Dill had the hood open and was studying the engine.

“You looking for the on/off switch?” Travis said, grinning, as he got out of his truck.

Dill smiled, stepped aside, and ran his hand through his hair. “I really hope you can help me figure this out.”

“Let’s see what it’s doing.” Travis took the keys, got in, and tried to start it. “Lights work fine, so it’s not the battery,” he mumbled. He turned the key. Nothing. No click, no sound whatsoever. He turned the key again. Nothing.

He thought for a second, running through some scenarios in his head. If it were the alternator, the battery would be dead and the lights wouldn’t come on. If it were the fuel system, the engine would turn and chug, but not start.

He got out of the car and closed the hood. “I think you’ve got a bad starter motor.”

“You sure?” Dill asked.

Travis readjusted his baseball cap. “Nope. But it’s the best guess I’ve got.”

“Are starter motors hard to replace?”

“Nope.”

“Are they expensive?”

“Probably fifty, sixty bucks for this car.”

The look on Dill’s face said that even that was expensive, but they’d have to manage.

They got in Travis’s pickup and rumbled off to the auto parts store. Travis had another reason he was glad to be helping Dill. Something else had been weighing on him. “So, I know she’s been gone most of this week looking at colleges with her mom, but have you talked to Lydia since last Friday?”

Dill took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. “No.”

“Not a word?”

“Not a word.”

“Don’t you think you should say something?”

“What would I say?”

Travis fiddled with the heater and craned to see any oncoming traffic before turning left. “I dunno. Sorry?”

“I’m not.”

“You should be.”

Dill snorted. “How you figure?”

“You sorta freaked out on her.”

“Yeah, so? I was having a bad day.”

“Even if I were having a bad day, I wouldn’t take it out on you or Lydia.”

“Don’t you think Lydia’s been acting different this year?” Dill asked. “Ever since she realized that she’s getting out of here? Snobbier or something?”

“No, not really. Maybe it’s your imagination.”

“I swear it’s not, dude. I swear she’s being different.”

“Man, I think you’re being hard on her. I mean, it’s good she’s getting out of here to go to a bigger city with lots of fashions, right? Be happy for her.”

Dill frowned. “Speaking of, do you ever read her blog?”

“Yeah, sometimes. Not religiously.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that for all the pictures she takes of us, and all the stuff we do together, neither of us has ever once been mentioned on there? Like she even put up pictures of the lady who owns that store in Nashville. They were friends for fifteen minutes. Doesn’t it seem like she’s embarrassed by us?”

Travis shrugged. “That lady was really pretty, though, and she wore nice clothes. You and I aren’t big fashion guys. Why would we be on there?”

“I guess. Still bugs me. Makes me feel like she thinks we’re less than her or something.”

They pulled up to the auto parts store and went in. An older man and a younger man, both wearing green vests and baseball caps, stood behind the counter, chitchatting.

“What can I get for you, bud?” the younger man asked.

“Need a starter motor for a ’92 Chevy Cavalier. Four cylinder,” Travis said.

“See what my computer tells me.” He squinted at the screen. “Says we got one in stock. Wait here a sec, let me put my hands on it.” The man wrote something on a slip of paper and headed for the back.

The older man nodded at Dill. “?’Scuse me, young man, you don’t mind my asking, you ain’t Dillard Early’s grandson, are you?”

Apprehension flashed across Dill’s face. “Yessir, I am,” he said quietly. He seemed to be hoping the old man would be careful with what he said. Travis had never mentioned to Dill that he knew anything about the Serpent King. Dill surely preferred it that way.

“My goodness,” the man said. “I used to work with your papaw. At the old Gulf station on North Church. It’s a Conoco now.”

“Yessir,” Dill said, looking at his feet.

“He was a hell of a mechanic, by God,” the man said with a nostalgic chuckle. “Fix anything. Could sense what ailed a car. Good with his hands. And he could sing. Sang the old-timey songs while he worked. Lord, he could sing. You take after him that way, son?”