Page 180 of Cold, Cold Bones

“How about a break?” I asked, swatting at a bee divebombing my hair.

“What about leave no weed behind?”

“I called for regrouping, not full retreat.”

“Lemonade?” Smiling.

“Sure.”

As Katy disappeared into the house, I settled in one of the rickety lawn chairs on her porch. A lawn chair not dissimilar from the one to which I’d been cuffed. A bit newer, less rusty.

Nope! Happy thoughts today!

Katy returned with two frosty glasses, a lemon wedge riding the rim of each.

“What are you, Martha Stewart?”

“I see myself more as the Trisha Yearwood type.”

“Did you chill these in the freezer?” I asked, incredulous.

“I did.”

“I’m impressed.”

“And I’m impressed you installed your Ring doorbell system.”

“Thanks.” Half true. The previous week, I’d started, finally given up and hired an electrician. She didn’t need to know that.

We sipped in silence for a while. Katy spoke first.

“Shagbark Court. What the hell is a shagbark?”

“I think it’s some sort of hickory.”

“Do we have them in Charlotte?”

“I think so. They were common around here once.”

Thanks to Slidell, we’d learned that the lone home on Shagbark Court had begun life as a farmhouse a century back. Which explained the labyrinthine earthen-floored cellar. Coal room. Furnace room. Tool room. Canning pantry.

Shagbark Court was to be the starting point for a housing development that never went forward. Renfro Farms, named for the original owner of the acreage. Surveys had been done, streets laid,pipes, whatever. Then, three years back, the money ran dry, and the project went belly-up.

Knowing her client sought isolation and low rent, a realtor had suggested to Henry that the old house might be available for lease. It was. Henry had signed on the dotted.

“Ryan was right,” Katy said, eyes closed, face tipped skyward to take in the sun.

“Don’t tell him that.”

“From uptown, Shagbark Court is a straight shot down South Boulevard. Or up it if you’re heading into Charlotte.”

I knew where she was going. When I offered no reply, she forged on.

“Ryan noted that Sanchez had lived on South Boulevard, and that Soto’s language school was located there. He nailed it. Henry probably prowled that stretch for vics.”

“Slidell ordered a second canvas of the businesses along South Boulevard. Turns out Boldonado used to hang at a dive bar called The Thirsty Grub.”

“Dive bars are trendy now,” Katy said.