Read Online Liar's Harvest (The Emergent Earth) by Michael Langlois - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Langlois
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responsible for what happened, so I understand if you don’t want any part of it.”
Anne bumped me with her shoulder. “Don’t be stupid. We’re in it for the long haul, right Chuck?”
He sighed. “If by long haul you mean until the moment somebody finds us shriveled up like raisins on the side of the road, then sure.”
15
H enry came out of the house with the resigned calm of a man who has faced senseless death and grief for longer than most people have been alive.
Leon did not. “We need to find this thing. Right now. Give me the keys.”
“And then what, drive around in circles?” I asked. “We have no more way of finding it now than we did this morning.”
He glared at me and balled up his fists. I waited. We both knew he wasn’t getting the keys and that taking a swing at me was pointless. He shoved past me and stomped down to the truck.
“Do you need to stay with Emily?” I asked Henry.
He shook his head, but he was watching Leon who had gotten into the passenger seat and slammed the door behind him. “I called some of her friends from the church. They’ll stay with her for a while. I think our time is better spent trying to figure out how to put this genie back in the bottle.”
“Agreed. You mind if we do our thinking over breakfast?”
Ten minutes later we pulled into one of the last available parking spots at Verna’s Diner. It didn’t look like much, just a square box with Verna’s likeness hand-painted on the big windows out front, but that didn’t fool anybody. As soon as the smell from the cast iron smokers behind the building reached your nose, you knew this was sacred ground.
The floor was made of wood instead of tile or linoleum, giving the place the feel of an old fashioned country kitchen. Unlike most diners there wasn’t a bar you could eat at, nor a single booth in the joint. Just lots of long wooden picnic tables with happy people sitting shoulder to shoulder as they ate. The menu items were half BBQ, half breakfast, and all guaranteed to make a cardiologist faint.
The bell over the door clanged when we walked in. Verna was seating people, as usual, and she greeted us warmly. She was a tall, heavyset black woman with close cropped hair under a bright orange kerchief, wearing one of her trademark flower print dresses and an apron. We’d only been coming in for a couple of weeks, but she already treated us like regulars and seemed to have taken to Anne especially. She winked at Chuck.
“Girl, every time I see you, you got another handsome man in tow. Tell Verna now, what’s your secret?”
Anne laughed. “No secret, Miss Verna. I just yell out the window that I’m headed here and they come running. Piece of cake.”
Verna laughed loudly at that, then gestured to the dining floor. “Y’all go ahead and sit. I’ll send Nell around for your order.”
“Thanks, Miss Verna.”
The place was almost full, despite being late in the day for the breakfast crowd. We crossed the floor and sat down at one of the last empty tables in the back. The tables and their benches had been made by hand a few decades ago by Verna’s husband, the rough cut boards dark and smooth from use.
Verna’s daughter Nell stopped by. “How you folks doing?”
She was about twenty, attractive and slender, looking just as Verna must have thirty years ago. Everyone who works at Verna’s Diner is family, either her husband and grown kids, or a seemingly endless parade of nieces and nephews who worked after school.
She recognized us and didn’t bother to hand out menus. The only one of us who hadn’t been here a dozen times before was Chuck, so I made him get what I was getting: Verna’s famous pulled pork sandwich, smothered in spicy BBQ sauce, served on top of a heap of her special hash, which was made with roasted potato cubes and more pork, all tossed with onions and peppers. Anne got the hash as well, but had it topped with a fried egg instead. There was a time when it would have
Anne bumped me with her shoulder. “Don’t be stupid. We’re in it for the long haul, right Chuck?”
He sighed. “If by long haul you mean until the moment somebody finds us shriveled up like raisins on the side of the road, then sure.”
15
H enry came out of the house with the resigned calm of a man who has faced senseless death and grief for longer than most people have been alive.
Leon did not. “We need to find this thing. Right now. Give me the keys.”
“And then what, drive around in circles?” I asked. “We have no more way of finding it now than we did this morning.”
He glared at me and balled up his fists. I waited. We both knew he wasn’t getting the keys and that taking a swing at me was pointless. He shoved past me and stomped down to the truck.
“Do you need to stay with Emily?” I asked Henry.
He shook his head, but he was watching Leon who had gotten into the passenger seat and slammed the door behind him. “I called some of her friends from the church. They’ll stay with her for a while. I think our time is better spent trying to figure out how to put this genie back in the bottle.”
“Agreed. You mind if we do our thinking over breakfast?”
Ten minutes later we pulled into one of the last available parking spots at Verna’s Diner. It didn’t look like much, just a square box with Verna’s likeness hand-painted on the big windows out front, but that didn’t fool anybody. As soon as the smell from the cast iron smokers behind the building reached your nose, you knew this was sacred ground.
The floor was made of wood instead of tile or linoleum, giving the place the feel of an old fashioned country kitchen. Unlike most diners there wasn’t a bar you could eat at, nor a single booth in the joint. Just lots of long wooden picnic tables with happy people sitting shoulder to shoulder as they ate. The menu items were half BBQ, half breakfast, and all guaranteed to make a cardiologist faint.
The bell over the door clanged when we walked in. Verna was seating people, as usual, and she greeted us warmly. She was a tall, heavyset black woman with close cropped hair under a bright orange kerchief, wearing one of her trademark flower print dresses and an apron. We’d only been coming in for a couple of weeks, but she already treated us like regulars and seemed to have taken to Anne especially. She winked at Chuck.
“Girl, every time I see you, you got another handsome man in tow. Tell Verna now, what’s your secret?”
Anne laughed. “No secret, Miss Verna. I just yell out the window that I’m headed here and they come running. Piece of cake.”
Verna laughed loudly at that, then gestured to the dining floor. “Y’all go ahead and sit. I’ll send Nell around for your order.”
“Thanks, Miss Verna.”
The place was almost full, despite being late in the day for the breakfast crowd. We crossed the floor and sat down at one of the last empty tables in the back. The tables and their benches had been made by hand a few decades ago by Verna’s husband, the rough cut boards dark and smooth from use.
Verna’s daughter Nell stopped by. “How you folks doing?”
She was about twenty, attractive and slender, looking just as Verna must have thirty years ago. Everyone who works at Verna’s Diner is family, either her husband and grown kids, or a seemingly endless parade of nieces and nephews who worked after school.
She recognized us and didn’t bother to hand out menus. The only one of us who hadn’t been here a dozen times before was Chuck, so I made him get what I was getting: Verna’s famous pulled pork sandwich, smothered in spicy BBQ sauce, served on top of a heap of her special hash, which was made with roasted potato cubes and more pork, all tossed with onions and peppers. Anne got the hash as well, but had it topped with a fried egg instead. There was a time when it would have
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