If Preacher were to find his parents, he planned to take them to a location as isolated as the farm in his fictitious childhood home, string them both up, and persuade them to reveal their sordid past. Once he learned what his mother had been on, he would give them a healthy dose until they were no longer of this world. If that didn’t work, he’d leave them both to rot there, right after putting holes in both their hearts much like his own. One big, happy family.
Gargery tilted her head. “You do look a little familiar, but I can’t quite place you.”
“I’ve got one of those faces, not very memorable, I’m afraid.” Thiswastrue, and it suited him just fine. Preacher preferred to blend.
“What do you do for a living?”
“Nothing exciting. I transport vehicles. Someone moves across country and needs their car or truck to follow them, I drive it.”
“Aren’t there trucks for that?”
Preacher nodded. “Trains, too, but both options are on the pricy side compared to what I charge. I usually come in about 10 percent cheaper. That’s just enough to keep me employed.”
“That’s interesting. I bet you get to see a lot of the country.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve seen every inch of this place several times over. A couple places more times than I’d like, a few others not enough. Pittsburgh here tends to be in the middle of many of my routes, so I pass through on occasion.”
“And stop here.”
“And stop here,” Preacher agreed.
Again, this was all a lie. Preacher’s particular line of work wasn’t meant for discussion among friends or waitresses in a diner. If he had to choose a new career, though, transporting vehicles was high on the list. He preferred a nomadic lifestyle—he’d never be able to work in the kind of place where he had regular hours or a boss, some specimen of inferior intellect, telling him what to do and not to do.
The bell at the window dinged. “This is what I mean,” Krendal said in a voice much louder than necessary. “Chatting up the customers while table three needs refills on water. Come on, Jo.” His hearing may be shot, but his eyesight was in working order.
Preacher glanced down at his watch—twelve past six. “I’ll take that check whenever you’re ready. I’m afraid I let the time get away from me.”
Gargery fished his bill from a pocket in the front of her uniform and slipped it over to him. “I guess we’ll see you next time, then. Take care of yourself.”
“You too,” Preacher said, glancing down at the bill—six dollars and twenty-three cents. He pulled a twenty from his wallet and placed it under his empty coffee cup with the check. This was far more than his usual 20 percent tip, but he felt it was justified to give her a little more, give her something for the other thing he was about to take.
3
I stopped at the edge of the last mausoleum and found myself simply watching her, this girl who I could not get out of my thoughts. Although she wore a white ruffled blouse and black skirt, identical to the previous two times I saw her, they couldn’t be the same articles of clothing. She was taller now. I had grown, too, but she had grown a little more, and I imagined if she stood beside me, she would be my height or maybe an inch or two taller. The wind caught her long brown hair, and I watched as she ran one of her hands through the curly locks, tucking it back behind her ear. Her eyes never left the paperback book in her delicate hands. Although it was cooler today than our previous encounters, she wore no gloves. I didn’t have to see the cover of the book to know it was the same copy ofGreat Expectationsshe had been reading the first few times we met.
She must have felt my eyes on her. She looked up from the book and toward me. There was the hint of a smile, then it was gone, as if she didn’t want me to see it.
My palms were sweaty. I wiped them on my jeans, juggling the flowers between them. I left the safety of my hiding place.
Stella’s eyes narrowed when she saw the flowers. “Are those for me?”
I sat beside her and looked down at the flowers. “For my parents…these are left over. You can have them, if you want.”
“I don’t believe a boy has ever given me leftover flowers before, although I think these are called asters.”
“Yeah, asters.” I handed them to her. I expected her to take them, but she didn’t—her hands remained in her lap, wrapped around her book. Instead, she leaned in and smelled them, closing her eyes as she drew in the scent. “These are chamomile. They make a wonderful tea.”
When she leaned back, leaving the flowers in my outstretched hand, I awkwardly set them down on the bench between us.
Ms. Oliver stood down the road from us, in front of the first of three white SUVs, her hands in the pockets of her long, white coat, her gaze fixed on me. There was a mad gleam to those eyes, a hatred and burning anger strong enough to reach across this distance and twist a nail in the base of my spine.
I shivered.
I counted nine others standing around the SUVs. Five women and four men. All wearing long, white coats identical to the old woman, all watching Stella and me closely. I didn’t have to see the guns to know they were there. “They came last year, without you.”
Stella let out a deep sigh. “I’ve spoken to Ms. Oliver about that. So strong-willed, that one. She knew I forbade it, yet she took it upon herself to come here anyway, to speak to you, the nerve! She will not do such a thing again, I’ve seen to it.”
Ms. Oliver shuffled her feet, as if she heard what Stella said. She was too far away, though.
