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Authors: Lloyd Devereux Richards
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boy.”
With Elmer’s hand on his shoulder, Joey looked straight into the eyes of the man stooped beside him, and said, “I’m sure. I am very, very sure.”
This time not a breath could be heard; not even Funny Bones Barnes moved a muscle. The words didn’t break the spell, they added to it, almost as if Joey was a silence conductor, and the diner patrons, his orchestra, were playing out the chords. But theirs was the music of hushed breathing, only the sound of so much hushed breathing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sheriff Joe McFaron gunned the motor of his cream-colored Ford Bronco. The cell phone trilled on its base mount over the transmission hump. McFaron picked up the small black portable.
“Joe here,” he said in a deep voice.
“Sheriff, seems there’s a commotion over at Shermie’s Diner. Evidently, Joey Templeton knows something about Julie Heath.” Mary rocked back in her chair, revealing to an empty office the full extent of her paunch. Her barrel chest was little different from that of a heavyset man. The police uniform gave Mary a distinctly androgynous quality, masking the purely female desire she secretly harbored for the sheriff. She leaned forward in her seat, reaching for the keyboard, then tapped open a screen of daily report details while she conversed with McFaron.
“I’m two minutes from there. I’ll head on over,” McFaron said. “Over and out.”
McFaron unbuttoned his collar. Out his side window he saw a combine make a wide turn, swallowing a whole row of feed corn. Crows were cawing and swooping behind it. The angle of the late afternoon sun had suddenly cast a rich sepia tone over everything. He always liked how the light at the end of the day softened the edges of the trees and fields. Late afternoon in high school he would run the bleachers after everyone else had gone home, run till the sky turned rosy, then take a seat in the stands.The soothing effect was closer to worship than anything he’d ever experienced at a church service.
McFaron pulled up in front of the diner and got out. A full six foot two and handsome as a cowboy, the sheriff had a chest size that was still several inches larger than his waist. At thirty-five, he had a full head of wavy dark hair that was covered most of the time by his wide-brimmed trooper hat. Often, late at night, he would fall asleep on the office couch with the hat on.
McFaron opened the diner door, and the commotion inside quieted momentarily. “Hey, Joe,” Shermie said. “Wilson here claims Julie Heath’s gone missing?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” the sheriff said, his face serious. “So listen up.” He cleared his throat. “Julie’s fourteen, five four, thin, has long frizzy blonde hair, and is wearing a green skirt. She was last seen leaving Daisy Rhinelander’s place on Old Shed Road around two forty-five today,” McFaron continued. “Her mother, Karen, called it in. Look, men, keep a sharp eye out. She could be hurt beside the road or in a ditch. Give the station a call right away if you see or hear anything.”
“Joey here saw something,” a loud voice called out. Immediately the room started to buzz with the sound of hushed voices.
“Give me a minute, will you, fellas?” McFaron walked over to the table where Joey Templeton was seated with his brother and grandfather.
The sheriff touched the boy’s head. “What did you see, son?”
Joey’s eyes locked on McFaron’s the way they always did on his grandfather’s, with complete trust. “A real creep. I saw him when I was biking home.”
McFaron nodded. “Where was this?”
“Riding my bike the back way from band practice, a little after three thirty. The road that starts by the end of the school field?”
“I know it. Old Shed Road.” McFaron shoved up the brim of his hat. “What happened next?”
“I saw this truck parked real crooked, and he was standing there. Behind it. Right near that broken telephone pole with the new one fastened to it.”
“You
With Elmer’s hand on his shoulder, Joey looked straight into the eyes of the man stooped beside him, and said, “I’m sure. I am very, very sure.”
This time not a breath could be heard; not even Funny Bones Barnes moved a muscle. The words didn’t break the spell, they added to it, almost as if Joey was a silence conductor, and the diner patrons, his orchestra, were playing out the chords. But theirs was the music of hushed breathing, only the sound of so much hushed breathing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sheriff Joe McFaron gunned the motor of his cream-colored Ford Bronco. The cell phone trilled on its base mount over the transmission hump. McFaron picked up the small black portable.
“Joe here,” he said in a deep voice.
“Sheriff, seems there’s a commotion over at Shermie’s Diner. Evidently, Joey Templeton knows something about Julie Heath.” Mary rocked back in her chair, revealing to an empty office the full extent of her paunch. Her barrel chest was little different from that of a heavyset man. The police uniform gave Mary a distinctly androgynous quality, masking the purely female desire she secretly harbored for the sheriff. She leaned forward in her seat, reaching for the keyboard, then tapped open a screen of daily report details while she conversed with McFaron.
“I’m two minutes from there. I’ll head on over,” McFaron said. “Over and out.”
McFaron unbuttoned his collar. Out his side window he saw a combine make a wide turn, swallowing a whole row of feed corn. Crows were cawing and swooping behind it. The angle of the late afternoon sun had suddenly cast a rich sepia tone over everything. He always liked how the light at the end of the day softened the edges of the trees and fields. Late afternoon in high school he would run the bleachers after everyone else had gone home, run till the sky turned rosy, then take a seat in the stands.The soothing effect was closer to worship than anything he’d ever experienced at a church service.
McFaron pulled up in front of the diner and got out. A full six foot two and handsome as a cowboy, the sheriff had a chest size that was still several inches larger than his waist. At thirty-five, he had a full head of wavy dark hair that was covered most of the time by his wide-brimmed trooper hat. Often, late at night, he would fall asleep on the office couch with the hat on.
McFaron opened the diner door, and the commotion inside quieted momentarily. “Hey, Joe,” Shermie said. “Wilson here claims Julie Heath’s gone missing?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” the sheriff said, his face serious. “So listen up.” He cleared his throat. “Julie’s fourteen, five four, thin, has long frizzy blonde hair, and is wearing a green skirt. She was last seen leaving Daisy Rhinelander’s place on Old Shed Road around two forty-five today,” McFaron continued. “Her mother, Karen, called it in. Look, men, keep a sharp eye out. She could be hurt beside the road or in a ditch. Give the station a call right away if you see or hear anything.”
“Joey here saw something,” a loud voice called out. Immediately the room started to buzz with the sound of hushed voices.
“Give me a minute, will you, fellas?” McFaron walked over to the table where Joey Templeton was seated with his brother and grandfather.
The sheriff touched the boy’s head. “What did you see, son?”
Joey’s eyes locked on McFaron’s the way they always did on his grandfather’s, with complete trust. “A real creep. I saw him when I was biking home.”
McFaron nodded. “Where was this?”
“Riding my bike the back way from band practice, a little after three thirty. The road that starts by the end of the school field?”
“I know it. Old Shed Road.” McFaron shoved up the brim of his hat. “What happened next?”
“I saw this truck parked real crooked, and he was standing there. Behind it. Right near that broken telephone pole with the new one fastened to it.”
“You
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