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Authors: Karin Slaughter
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asked, "What brings you to these parts?"
"Just dropping by," she managed around the glass. The whiskey was bitter in her mouth. She kept an eye on Hank as she finished the drink and banged the empty glass back down on the box. Lena did not know what was stopping her. For years she had waited to get the upper hand with Hank Norton. This was her time to hurt him as much as he had hurt Sibyl.
"You started snortin' coke, too, or have you been crying?"
Lena wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "What do you think?"
Hank stared at her, working his hands back and forth. This was more than a nervous habit, Lena knew. Speed injected into the veins of his hands had given Hank arthritis at an early age. Since most of the veins in his arms had calcified from the powdered additive used to cut the drug, there wasn't much circulation there, either. His hands were cold as ice most days and a constant source of pain.
The rubbing stopped abruptly. "Let's get it over with, Lee. I've got the show to put on."
Lena tried to open her mouth, but nothing came out. Part of her was angered by his flippant attitude, which had marked their relationship from the very beginning. Part of her did not know how to tell him. As much as Lena hated her uncle, he was a human being. Hank had doted on Sibyl. In high school, Lena could not take her sister everywhere, and Sibyl had spent a lot of time home with Hank. There was an undeniable bond there, and as much as Lena wanted to hurt her uncle, she felt herself holding back. Lena had loved Sibyl, Sibyl had loved Hank.
Hank picked up a ballpoint pen, turning it head over end on the desk several times before he finally asked, "What's wrong, Lee? Need some money?"
If only it were that simple, Lena thought.
"Car broke down?"
She shook her head slowly side to side.
"It's Sibyl," he stated, his voice catching in his throat.
When Lena did not answer, he nodded slowly to himself, putting his hands together, as if to pray. "She's sick?" he asked, his voice indicating he expected the worst. With this one sentence, he showed more emotion than Lena had ever seen him express in a lifetime of knowing her uncle. She looked at him closely as if for the first time. His pale skin was blotched with those red dots pasty men get on their faces as they age. His hair, silver for as long as she could recall, was dulled with yellow under the sixty-watt bulb. His Hawaiian shirt was rumpled, which was not his style, and his hands tremored slightly as he fidgeted with them.
Lena did it the same way Jeffrey Tolliver had. "She went to the diner in the middle of town," she began. "You know the one across from the dress shop?"
A slight nod was all he gave.
"She walked there from the house," Lena continued. "She did it every week, just to be able to do something on her own."
Hank clasped his hands together in front of his face, touching the sides of his index fingers to his forehead.
"So, uhm." Lena picked up the glass, needing something to do. She sucked what little liquor was left off the ice cubes, then continued. "She went to the bathroom, and somebody killed her."
There was little sound in the tiny office. Grasshoppers chirped outside. Gurgling came from the stream. A distant throbbing came from the bar.
Without preamble, Hank turned around, picking through the boxes, asking, "What've you had to drink tonight?"
Lena was surprised by his question, though she shouldn't have been. Despite his AA brainwashing, Hank Norton was a master at avoiding the unpleasant. His need to escape was what had brought Hank to drugs and alcohol in the first place. "Beer in the car," she said, playing along, glad for once that he did not want the gory details. "JD here."
He paused, his hand around a bottle of Jack Daniel's. "Beer before liquor, never sicker," he warned, his voice catching on the last part.
Lena held out her glass, rattling the ice for attention. She watched Hank as he poured the drink, not surprised when he licked his
"Just dropping by," she managed around the glass. The whiskey was bitter in her mouth. She kept an eye on Hank as she finished the drink and banged the empty glass back down on the box. Lena did not know what was stopping her. For years she had waited to get the upper hand with Hank Norton. This was her time to hurt him as much as he had hurt Sibyl.
"You started snortin' coke, too, or have you been crying?"
Lena wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "What do you think?"
Hank stared at her, working his hands back and forth. This was more than a nervous habit, Lena knew. Speed injected into the veins of his hands had given Hank arthritis at an early age. Since most of the veins in his arms had calcified from the powdered additive used to cut the drug, there wasn't much circulation there, either. His hands were cold as ice most days and a constant source of pain.
The rubbing stopped abruptly. "Let's get it over with, Lee. I've got the show to put on."
Lena tried to open her mouth, but nothing came out. Part of her was angered by his flippant attitude, which had marked their relationship from the very beginning. Part of her did not know how to tell him. As much as Lena hated her uncle, he was a human being. Hank had doted on Sibyl. In high school, Lena could not take her sister everywhere, and Sibyl had spent a lot of time home with Hank. There was an undeniable bond there, and as much as Lena wanted to hurt her uncle, she felt herself holding back. Lena had loved Sibyl, Sibyl had loved Hank.
Hank picked up a ballpoint pen, turning it head over end on the desk several times before he finally asked, "What's wrong, Lee? Need some money?"
If only it were that simple, Lena thought.
"Car broke down?"
She shook her head slowly side to side.
"It's Sibyl," he stated, his voice catching in his throat.
When Lena did not answer, he nodded slowly to himself, putting his hands together, as if to pray. "She's sick?" he asked, his voice indicating he expected the worst. With this one sentence, he showed more emotion than Lena had ever seen him express in a lifetime of knowing her uncle. She looked at him closely as if for the first time. His pale skin was blotched with those red dots pasty men get on their faces as they age. His hair, silver for as long as she could recall, was dulled with yellow under the sixty-watt bulb. His Hawaiian shirt was rumpled, which was not his style, and his hands tremored slightly as he fidgeted with them.
Lena did it the same way Jeffrey Tolliver had. "She went to the diner in the middle of town," she began. "You know the one across from the dress shop?"
A slight nod was all he gave.
"She walked there from the house," Lena continued. "She did it every week, just to be able to do something on her own."
Hank clasped his hands together in front of his face, touching the sides of his index fingers to his forehead.
"So, uhm." Lena picked up the glass, needing something to do. She sucked what little liquor was left off the ice cubes, then continued. "She went to the bathroom, and somebody killed her."
There was little sound in the tiny office. Grasshoppers chirped outside. Gurgling came from the stream. A distant throbbing came from the bar.
Without preamble, Hank turned around, picking through the boxes, asking, "What've you had to drink tonight?"
Lena was surprised by his question, though she shouldn't have been. Despite his AA brainwashing, Hank Norton was a master at avoiding the unpleasant. His need to escape was what had brought Hank to drugs and alcohol in the first place. "Beer in the car," she said, playing along, glad for once that he did not want the gory details. "JD here."
He paused, his hand around a bottle of Jack Daniel's. "Beer before liquor, never sicker," he warned, his voice catching on the last part.
Lena held out her glass, rattling the ice for attention. She watched Hank as he poured the drink, not surprised when he licked his
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