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In a deliberate attempt to change the subject, she said, “I suppose you and your wife are compiling a list of names.”
Autry gave up as much information as he sought. The man had an easy patter that would put interview subjects at ease. Over dinner she’d learned that though he wasn’t a big sports fan, he had a soft spot for the Dodgers. He’d been married for two years to the love of his life. His wife, Keisha, did his hair every two weeks, which made him much higher maintenance than Reese. The couple was expecting in five months, and he was looking forward to being a girl dad. The only personal information she’d given in return was in regard to her work. Not because she didn’t trust him, but because reticence was second nature. She’d become a loner by circumstances, not choice.
He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I like Asha. Keisha is partial to Kalisha. We have lots of time yet.” Mist dampened their faces. Autry cast a glance upward. “I don’t like the look of that sky. Think we’re going to get soaked before we make it home, after all.” He stopped, looking across the street. “Let’s cut through the cemetery. It adjoins the yards in back of the houses.” Meaning their rental and the building she’d spotted Thorne leaving next door.
Reese lengthened her stride. “The fence goes all the way around.”
But Autry remained rooted in place. “It’s broken-down chain-link across the rear. You gotta be legit feeble if you can’t climb that.”
She paused, her unwilling gaze pulled to the neglected graveyard. Trepidation tightened in her gut.
“You scared?” His good-natured taunt was devoid of sting. “They creep some people out. Especially at night. I used to hangout in ’em all the time when I was a kid. First playing night games with my friends and tipping over gravestones. Later on, sneaking in a six-pack and cigars to share, all of us heaving our guts out afterward.”
“Tell me how this path of juvenile delinquency led to a degree in journalism.”
His teeth flashed in the gloom. “My grammy took a jaundiced view of me being brought home by the town cop. Got grounded for a month. She was a retired English teacher. She had me write a thousand-word essay on the societal impact of vandalism and drinking, complete with footnotes. Don’t know that was a direct path to writing for a living, but she took full credit for it.” The mist reverted to drizzle, heavier this time, and he moved again, veering off across the street. “We’re in for a drenching.”
Thunder rumbled, punctuating his words. The sound spurred Reese to trail reluctantly behind him. She’d never been to a cemetery that didn’t lock up in the evening, but the rusted gothic wrought iron gates ahead stood asunder, wedged open by weeds and downed branches. They hurried up a road that was little more than two well-worn tracks likely carved by carriages rather than cars.
The ground rippled with bursts of roots from the massive trees. Shadows draped over the hulk of mausoleums and oversized gravestones. Obelisks sat atilt like splayed arthritic fingers.
Reese’s earlier unease clenched into a fist.
No-good dirty horse thief is all he was. Lynchin’ was too good for him.
Nice lil’ sidepiece ’til she done and ruined it, spoutin’ off the way she did. Shut her mouth for her, once and for all.
Her step quickened, and she searched for distraction from the confessions seeping from the graves like a noxious, odorless gas. “How long did you live with your grandmother?”
“My mom was an addict. The state took me away when I was six.” His shoulders bounced, but his tone was more subdued. “She tried a few times to get clean, but…”
His voice trailed off, and Reese felt a stab of remorse for summoning his personal ghost. God knew she lived with more of them than she’d like. “My parents died. I lived with my aunt at fifteen.”
“No siblings?”
“I…” Just the thought of Ben was enough to bring the old clutch of fear to her chest.
She shrugged it off, annoyed. She hadn’t seen or communicated with him since he’d gone to live at a mental health facility when she was seven. Her brother had been seven years older. Some kids feared the boogeyman. Reese had been terrified of Ben. He’d been behind every childhood injury she’d had. He’d delivered the push when she stood at the top of the stairs. His were the boots on her fingers when she’d tried climbing into the treehouse in the backyard. He’d wielded the stick in the spoke of her bicycle tires, which had catapulted her over the handlebars. His hands had been the ones holding her head underwater in her bath, long enough to have black dots dancing behind her eyelids and an excruciating roar in her ears. “He’s in a residential psychiatric facility.”
She could feel Autry’s avid interest at her response. “But you went to live with your relative. Julia Backworth?Thataunt?”
It was both surprising and irritating that he seemed to know so much about her. Reese wondered if he’d researched her or if the office grapevine had supplied him with that tidbit. Journalists were a nosy bunch, even regarding their colleagues.
Her lack of response didn’t bother him. “I landed with my strict English instructor grammy, and you with a nationally renowned photojournalist. Guess both had a hand in our eventual careers.”
I stabbed him thirty-three times, once for every time he forced himself on me. If that means I go to hell, well, he put me there already.
Reese hastened her steps, focusing on Autry’s running litany as they approached the rear of the cemetery. A crack of thunder sounded overhead and she jumped.
Time was a man took care of his own family any way he saw fit. Sheriff had no rightcoming on my property sayin’ otherwise.
“We’re about to get rained on. Take the grass. The trail will turn into a muddy mess.” She followed him over the heaving ground and beelined for the fence that was, as Autry had noted, bent and rusted. They clambered over it, landing on the other side. Reese lost her footing when she slipped on the slick grass and slammed onto the ground, the breath whooshing out of her. She was still gasping for air when Autry grabbed one of her arms to pull her to her feet.
“C’mon, we’re almost there.” They ran to the back porch of the rental, her eyes traveling to the neighboring structure. It squatted ugly and low, its once-white concrete block exterior now stained and emblazoned with graffiti. No light emanated from the windows. Thorne had driven away early this morning and there’d been no sign of him or the rusted white Econoline since.
“Let’s split up,” Reese suggested. “Go around Thorne’s place. See if he’s home.” They separated and flanked the house. It was still, keeping its secrets close. When they met in the side yard next to their rental, Reese ran to the porch, glad for its shelter against the pelting rain. Shoving her long, damp hair away from her face, she dug in her purse for the key and pushed the door wide so they could both crowd inside.
Toeing off her shoes, Reese flicked on a light and set her dripping purse on the marred dining room table. “We’ll taketurns showering. I’m first,” she said without a hint of apology. The man beside her was just as wet but still managed to look like a GQ model. She figured that granted her some rights.