Where the Forest Meets the Stars(5)

“I heard scrambled eggs taste good.”
“There’s a guy who sells eggs down the road. I’ll go get some.”
The girl watched Jo walk back to her car. “If you’re lying and bring the police, I’ll run.”
The desperation in the girl’s eyes put Jo on edge. She spun the car around and turned onto Turkey Creek Road. About a mile from the cottage, she stopped at a hill where she was more likely to have a connection and dialed information to get the sheriff’s nonemergency number. After three unsuccessful attempts, she laid the phone in the console. She had a better idea.
She arrived at the outer road just in time. Egg Man had taken down his canopy and FRESH EGGS  sign, but he hadn’t put away the table or three unsold cartons of eggs perched on his chair. Jo pulled her car into the roadside weeds and grabbed her wallet. She waited behind Egg Man while he leaned over the table to fold its legs. She’d never seen his whole body because he’d been seated behind the table when she bought eggs. He was about six feet tall and muscular from daily hard work, the kind of proportional strength Jo preferred to weight-lifting bulges.
He turned around, smiling and making more eye contact than usual. “Sudden urge for an omelet?” he said, noting the wallet in her hand.
“I wish,” she said, “but I don’t have cheese. I’ll have to settle for scrambled.”
“Yeah, it’s not really an omelet without cheese.”
She’d bought eggs from him three times in the five weeks since she’d arrived, and he’d never spoken as many words to her. Usually his side of the transaction was a nod, a calloused hand taking her money, and Thank you, ma’am when she said he could keep the change. Egg Man was a mystery to her. She’d assumed a guy who sold eggs on the side of the road would be a bit slow, but his eyes, the only feature that stood out in his heavily bearded face, were as sharp as shattered blue glass. And he was young, probably around her age, and she didn’t get why a smart guy that age would be selling eggs in the middle of nowhere.
Egg Man dropped the folded table into the grass and faced her. “A dozen or a half?”
Jo didn’t detect any hint of the drawl common in most Southern Illinoisans’ speech. “A dozen,” she said, handing him a five from her wallet.
He took a carton off the chair and exchanged it for the bill.
“Keep it,” she said.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, stuffing the money into his rear pocket. He picked up the table and carried it to his old white pickup.
Jo followed. “Can I ask you something?”
He rested the table in the open bed of his truck and turned to her. “You can.”
“I have a problem . . .”
His eyes lit, more with curiosity than concern.
“You live on this road, don’t you?”
“I do,” he said. “Property right next to Kinney’s, as a matter of fact.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
“What’s the problem, neighbor?”
“I assume you know the people who live on this road—you probably sell them eggs?”
He nodded.
“A girl showed up on my property last night. Have you heard of any kids missing from home?”
“I haven’t.”
“She’s around nine years old, slim, long dark-blonde hair, big brown eyes . . . pretty face, interesting, kind of oval with a dimple on one cheek when she smiles. Does she sound familiar?”
“No.”
“She has to be from around here. Her feet are bare, and she’s wearing pajama bottoms.”
“Tell her to go home.”
“I did, but she won’t. I think she might be afraid to go home. She hadn’t eaten for a whole day.”
“Maybe you’d better call the police.”
“She says she’ll run away if I do. She told me this wild story about being from another planet and borrowing a dead girl’s body.”
Egg Man lifted his brows.
“Yeah, pretty crazy. But I don’t think she is. She’s smart . . .”
“Lots of crazy people are smart.”
“But she acts like she knows exactly what she’s doing.”
His blue-glass eyes sharpened. “Why can’t a person with a mental condition know exactly what she’s doing?”
“That’s sort of the point I’m making.”
“Which is what?”
“What if she’s smart enough to know what she’s doing?”
“Meaning?”
“She knows going home isn’t safe.”
“She’s only nine. She has to go home.” He opened the passenger door and set the two remaining egg cartons on the floor.
“So I call the police, and when the kid sees them coming, she runs, and who knows what happens to her?”
“Do it on the sly.”
“How? She’ll run into the woods before they even get out of the car.”
He had no advice.
“Damn it, I don’t want to do this!”
He studied her sympathetically, his arm draped over the top of the open truck door. “You look like you put in a long day.”
She glanced down at her muddy clothing and boots. “Yeah, and it’s getting longer than I’m up for.”
“How about I come over and see if I know the girl?”
“Would you?”
“Can’t promise it’ll help.”
Jo held out the dozen eggs. “Bring these when you come. I’ll tell her you ran out and had to go home to get more. Otherwise, you might scare her off.”
“This little girl has you in a state.”