I drove.
That statement might not sound all that exciting.But trust me, it was.Because for over a year, ever since I’d been forced off the road while doing somelightsnooping, I’d been without a vehicle.Most of the time, it had worked out all right—Bobby had let me borrow the Pilot, and he’d either gotten a ride with coworkers, or I’d dropped him off at the station, or occasionally he’d been able to bring a cruiser home.
But recently, we’d made some changes as—
Well, I almost saidas a family.
Which was interesting.And I filed that away to think about later.
We’d made some decisions as a couple.In a moment of extreme generosity, Bobby had given Keme the Pilot.The SUV was in great condition (of course it was; Bobby had been its only owner, and he always made me pick up my straw wrappers, so it was essentially spotless, inside and out).And we’d both known that while Keme was still figuring out what he was going to do with his life, he needed some help that his mom couldn’t provide.Anyway, if you’ve never seen an nineteen-year-old die from happiness, let me know, and I’ll send you the video of Keme when Bobby gave him the keys.
Bobby had done the responsible thing and bought himself a Dodge Ram, black, low mileage, and—somehow—gotten an amazing deal on it.It was an upgrade from the Pilot.It had reasonable payments.And let’s be real: Bobby had always wanted a truck—he’d gotten the Pilot because he’d somehow convinced himself it was more practical.
I, on the other hand, didnotdo a responsible thing.
Thanks to the miracle of self-publishing—and the unexpected success ofA Work in Progress—for the first time since I’d stopped getting an allowance from my parents, I had money.(For the last year and change, I’d been making do with what little I could earn teaching creative writing courses at Arcadia College, which was awesome and fun and paid less than being a bag boy at the Keel Haul.) And thank God that Bobby is an understanding and patient and loving boyfriend, because he didn’t even blink when I told him what I wanted to buy.
It was a 2008 Jeep Wrangler X.It had a manual transmission.It was loud as, um, heck.And it had over a hundred and twenty thousand miles on it.It was bumblebee yellow with black trim, and Keme refused to ride in it after a bunch of kids he knew from high school asked if we were playing Transformers.
I loved it.I loved everything about it.
Especially that I was able to buy it with cash.(Very rudely, nobody would give me a car loan based on a few months’ worth of royalty payments.Mrs.Hines at Hastings Rock Savings and Loan was very nice about it even though she used the phrase “credit history” a disturbing number of times.)
So, we barreled down the state highway in the Jeep—the wind whipping at the soft top, the engine roaring, the Jeep bouncing every time we went over the slightest bump.
It was heaven.
(In unrelated news: Bobby always offered to drive.)
When we got to the college, campus was quiet.A few students, geared up against the cool autumn morning with backpacks and coffees and, in one case, pulling a wagon full of books, made their way among redbrick neo-Colonials.Dew glittered in a thousand points of distilled sunlight, and the grass was that rich green that you know means somebody is taking serious care of the lawn.When I opened the Jeep’s door, the air held a cool, wet scent, a welcome contrast to the smell of the heater.(Also, full disclosure, it did sometimes smell like gasoline.)
“What’s the plan?”Bobby asked.
“Start with Graeme.He’s the conference organizer, and I saw him talking to Vivienne yesterday not long before she, uh—”
“Was murdered?”
“Passed that final boundary all men must cross?”
“Is that Shakespeare?”
“It might be?I read it in a Walt Longmire book.”
Bobby didn’t miss a beat.“Graeme sounds like a good place to start.If we hurry, we can catch him.”
“Oh, he’ll be here all day.That’s kind of his job.”
Pointing, Bobby said, “He just got on that bus.”
“Change of plans,” I said and started to run.
We got to the bus as the driver—Mrs.Nelson, who also worked at the Super Suds, spotted me and closed the doors.
(One time—one time—the washer had been out at Hemlock House, so I’d gone to Super Suds, and my pajamas had gotten all twisted up around the wringer, and now I’m a criminal for the rest of my life.)
(Also, one time I forgot some Legos in my pocket, and they got stuck in the hole thingies, and you would have thought I’d intentionally sabotaged the entire Super Suds operation.)
I tapped on the glass.
