always run away before you can find out. Michael tried to tell you that last week. You can run but you can’t hide. But you wouldn’t listen. And now it’s too late to go back. It’s too late to go back to San Diego. But . . .
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I couldn’t help overhearing. Do you know . . . ?”
“One sandwich and a club soda,” said the waitress.
Sandy and Mrs. Williams were looking at Elizabeth.
I can’t tell her, she thought. I have no right. She’ll find out soon enough, when we’ve got the whole story.
“Yes?” said Mrs. Williams.
Elizabeth smelled something foul that almost made her stomach do flipflops again. She blinked at the sandwich. It was long and gray and reeking, and the fumes coming off it sliced her nostrils like formaldehyde.
“Uh,” she said. “I was wondering if you could tell me what time it is, please. I have to meet someone.”
“Four-fifteen,” said the waitress.
“Sorry to bother you,” said Elizabeth to the women in the booth. Then, “What is this?” she said to the waitress. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Life lays it down in front of you, and you have to learn to pick it up. And eat it. That’s the way of the world. Whatever it is, I’d better eat it, I need something in my system.
“One Mahi-Mahi Melt,” said the waitress, “specialty of the house. Enjoy.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The tires of the Cadillac Seville lurched over sinkholes and pieces of quartz the size of small animal skulls, squealing and complaining all the way. They finally braked in the dust at the dead-end of a winding, tortuous dirt road.
The car bucked and misfired, settling to a stop in front of an overgrown cemetery. A cloud of steam sizzled from the grille and draped briefly over the windshield before slinking away through the tall grass and mangled links of a corroded hurricane fence. Inside the car Kathy Williams peeped out from under tinted glass, her face an anxious mask. Her suit was wrinkled, her mascara was smudged, and in the oppressive humidity, despite the air conditioner, one of her eyelashes was coming unglued.
“This place always gives me the creeps,” she said. “I swear, I’ll never get used to it as long as I live.”
“You can say that again, Mrs. Williams.”
“No, thank you. Look at this place. Make a note, Sandy.”
“Is that a man standing there?”
“Where?” Kathy strained toward the windshield, then sat back against the headrest and performed one quick round of her chin exercises. “That’s only a sunflower, Sandy. Are you trying particularly to give me a coronary today?”
“I never saw one that big.”
“They grow that way here, dear. It’s something to do with the soil.” She pointed in the direction of a wild patch of dandelions and Scotch broom among the crumbling monuments. “No one ever tends the grounds. Reverend Malone claims he doesn’t have the time. Take this down, Sandy. I’m announcing it now. This is my next project, the restoration of the cemetery. Our ancestors are buried here. It’s historical.”
“Got it. Mrs. Williams, it’s four forty-five. We still have to drive Mr. Malone—”
“Reverend Malone.”
“Reverend Malone, back to town, drop you off at the house to change, pick up the mayor and his wife and—”
“We’ll have to get one of the JayCees to handle the mayor. If his wife’s not ready, tell them to leave her. You can call from inside.” She opened the door.
“This town should be proud of its past. But trying to get people involved in any sort of community activity is like pulling teeth. Get me an estimate ready for the council meeting next month.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They hurried up the irregular path. Weeds rooted between the bricks had crept through the blackened rosebushes and up the front of the church to overspread the ivy like cobwebbing. The church looked none too sturdy, as if the withered tendrils hugging its pitted sides were all that kept it standing. A
“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I couldn’t help overhearing. Do you know . . . ?”
“One sandwich and a club soda,” said the waitress.
Sandy and Mrs. Williams were looking at Elizabeth.
I can’t tell her, she thought. I have no right. She’ll find out soon enough, when we’ve got the whole story.
“Yes?” said Mrs. Williams.
Elizabeth smelled something foul that almost made her stomach do flipflops again. She blinked at the sandwich. It was long and gray and reeking, and the fumes coming off it sliced her nostrils like formaldehyde.
“Uh,” she said. “I was wondering if you could tell me what time it is, please. I have to meet someone.”
“Four-fifteen,” said the waitress.
“Sorry to bother you,” said Elizabeth to the women in the booth. Then, “What is this?” she said to the waitress. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Life lays it down in front of you, and you have to learn to pick it up. And eat it. That’s the way of the world. Whatever it is, I’d better eat it, I need something in my system.
“One Mahi-Mahi Melt,” said the waitress, “specialty of the house. Enjoy.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The tires of the Cadillac Seville lurched over sinkholes and pieces of quartz the size of small animal skulls, squealing and complaining all the way. They finally braked in the dust at the dead-end of a winding, tortuous dirt road.
The car bucked and misfired, settling to a stop in front of an overgrown cemetery. A cloud of steam sizzled from the grille and draped briefly over the windshield before slinking away through the tall grass and mangled links of a corroded hurricane fence. Inside the car Kathy Williams peeped out from under tinted glass, her face an anxious mask. Her suit was wrinkled, her mascara was smudged, and in the oppressive humidity, despite the air conditioner, one of her eyelashes was coming unglued.
“This place always gives me the creeps,” she said. “I swear, I’ll never get used to it as long as I live.”
“You can say that again, Mrs. Williams.”
“No, thank you. Look at this place. Make a note, Sandy.”
“Is that a man standing there?”
“Where?” Kathy strained toward the windshield, then sat back against the headrest and performed one quick round of her chin exercises. “That’s only a sunflower, Sandy. Are you trying particularly to give me a coronary today?”
“I never saw one that big.”
“They grow that way here, dear. It’s something to do with the soil.” She pointed in the direction of a wild patch of dandelions and Scotch broom among the crumbling monuments. “No one ever tends the grounds. Reverend Malone claims he doesn’t have the time. Take this down, Sandy. I’m announcing it now. This is my next project, the restoration of the cemetery. Our ancestors are buried here. It’s historical.”
“Got it. Mrs. Williams, it’s four forty-five. We still have to drive Mr. Malone—”
“Reverend Malone.”
“Reverend Malone, back to town, drop you off at the house to change, pick up the mayor and his wife and—”
“We’ll have to get one of the JayCees to handle the mayor. If his wife’s not ready, tell them to leave her. You can call from inside.” She opened the door.
“This town should be proud of its past. But trying to get people involved in any sort of community activity is like pulling teeth. Get me an estimate ready for the council meeting next month.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They hurried up the irregular path. Weeds rooted between the bricks had crept through the blackened rosebushes and up the front of the church to overspread the ivy like cobwebbing. The church looked none too sturdy, as if the withered tendrils hugging its pitted sides were all that kept it standing. A
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