The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires(46)
She knew that Carter spent so much time at the hospital because he wanted to be head of psychiatry, but she wondered what else he did there. She was relatively sure he wasn’t seeing a woman, but she also knew that since his mother had died he was spending fewer and fewer hours at home. Was he at the hospital every time he said he was? It shocked her to realize how little she knew about what he did between leaving the house in the morning and coming home at night.
What about Bennett, and Leland, and Ed, who all seemed so normal? She was starting to wonder if anyone really knew what people were like on the inside.
She ordered pizza and let Blue watch The Sound of Music after supper. He only liked the scenes with the Nazis and knew exactly when and where to fast-forward so the three-hour movie flew by in fifty-five minutes. Then he went upstairs to his room and closed the door, and did whatever it was he did in there these days, and Patricia’s mood darkened while she washed the dishes. It was too late to run the vacuum cleaner and vacuum her curtains, so she decided to take a quick walk. Without meaning to, her feet took her right past James Harris’s house. His car wasn’t out front. Had he driven up to Six Mile? Was he seeing Destiny Taylor right this minute?
Her head felt dirty. She didn’t like thinking these thoughts. She tried to remember what Grace had said. James Harris had moved here to take care of his sick great-aunt. He had decided to stay. He wasn’t a drug dealer, or a child molester, or a mafia hit man in hiding, or a serial killer. She knew that. But when she got home she went upstairs, took out her day planner, and counted the days. She had taken the casserole to James Harris’s house and seen Francine on May 15, the day Mrs. Greene said she went missing.
Everything felt wrong. Carter was never home. Mrs. Savage had bitten off a piece of her ear. Miss Mary had died terribly. Francine had run away with a man. An eight-year-old boy had killed himself. A little girl might do the same. This wasn’t any of her business. But who looked out for the children? Even the ones who weren’t their own?
She called Mrs. Greene and part of her hoped she wouldn’t pick up. But she did.
“I’m sorry to call after nine,” she apologized. “But how well do you know Destiny Taylor’s mother?”
“Wanda Taylor isn’t someone I spend a lot of time thinking about,” Mrs. Greene said.
“Do you think we could talk to her about her daughter?” Patricia asked. “That license plate you saw, I think it belongs to a man who lives here. James Harris. Francine worked for him and I saw her at his house on May 15. And there are some funny things with him. I wonder if we could talk to Destiny, maybe she could tell us if she’d seen him out at Six Mile.”
“People don’t like strangers asking after their children,” Mrs. Greene said.
“We’re all mothers,” Patricia said. “If something were happening to one of ours and someone thought they knew something, wouldn’t you want to know? And if it turns out to be nothing, all we’ve done is bother her on a Friday night. It’s not even ten.”
There was a long pause, and then:
“Her light’s still on,” Mrs. Greene said. “Get out here quick and let’s get this over with.”
Patricia found Blue in his room, sitting on his beanbag chair, reading The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich.
“I need to run out for a little while,” Patricia said. “Just to the church. There’s a meeting of the deacons I forgot. Will you be okay?”
“Is Dad home?” Blue asked.
“He’s on his way,” Patricia said, although she didn’t really know. “Will you answer the phone? I’m going to lock the front door. Your father has his key.”
“Okay,” Blue said, barely looking up from his book.
“I love you,” Patricia said, but Blue didn’t seem to hear.
Patricia hesitated in her bedroom for a moment. She had never lied about where she would be before, and it made her feel nervous. She decided to leave a note for Carter on their dresser telling him where she was and giving him Mrs. Greene’s phone number. On it she wrote, Need to give Mrs. Greene a check. Then she got in her Volvo and hoped Grace was right and this was all just a product of the overactive imagination of a stupid little housewife with too much free time on her hands. If it was, she promised herself, tomorrow she would vacuum her curtains.
CHAPTER 16
There were no other cars on Rifle Range Road and the drive felt lonely. The streetlights stopped at the state road, and the narrow, crumbling one-lane road winding through the trees and chain-link fences felt too narrow. Patricia’s headlights brushed across mobile homes and prefabricated sheds and she worried she might be waking people up. She checked her dashboard clock—9:35 p.m.—but the absolute dark of the country road made it feel much later.
She parked in front of Mrs. Greene’s and, after looking around to make sure no one was on the basketball court, she stepped out of her Volvo and into a buzzing, razzing night, furious with insects. Scattered streetlights glowed orange over the cinder-block houses and trailers, but they were spaced so far apart the darkness felt even more vast and lonely. When Mrs. Greene opened her front door Patricia felt relieved to see a familiar face.
“Would you like something to drink?” Mrs. Greene asked.
“I think it’s best if we see Mrs. Taylor before it’s too late,” Patricia said.