Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,29

he was. His belly strained at the buttons of his wool coat and brushed against the bottom of the steering wheel. His hair, which had seemed either blond or gray in the restaurant, was actually a mixture of the two. His entire presence was quite overwhelming to her in the small confines of the car, and she felt very young, very girlish sitting next to him. Actually, she felt quite vulnerable, an unusual feeling for her. She didn’t like it.

As they chatted about Miss Myrtle’s house, the weather, and the things the mayor’s teenaged sons wanted for Christmas, she thought about how few men she’d truly known in her life. She’d never had a chance to know her father. Her uncle Horace, Aunt Alice’s husband, was such a quiet man that she didn’t feel as though she knew him at all. Then there was Mr. Prior, the sculpture teacher at Van Emburgh, who seemed to think her work was wonderful, so of course she’d liked him very much and had hardly found him intimidating. The only other male art teacher at Van Emburgh, Mr. Blaine, had been kind, serious, complimentary, and almost certainly homosexual and unthreatening.

Cigar-smoking men who took up more than their share of space were a new species to her.

After driving for a short while, Mayor Sykes pulled onto a long, narrow dirt road that led into a short tunnel of trees, at the end of which was a large, decrepit-looking, once-white warehouse partially surrounded by woods. The side of the building facing the car had a series of tall windows that Anna doubted would be enough to let in much light in that wooded setting.

“Here we are,” Mayor Sykes said as he slowly drove toward the building. “No one’s used this ol’ warehouse in a generation or two.”

Anna couldn’t have said why, but she had an instantaneous fear of the building as they neared it. They weren’t very far from town, yet the location felt isolated, and even before the mayor had stopped the car, she was already planning to use the excuse of poor lighting to turn down the offer of the building.

Mayor Sykes parked the car near the side door of the warehouse, and for a moment Anna wondered if she would be foolish to go into the building with him. He’s the mayor, she reminded herself. You’re being silly. They got out of the car, and the mayor walked her across the weedy, rutted lawn, his hand on her elbow. They entered through the unlocked side door. The scent inside was musty, a little oily and metallic, but it quickly gave way to the tobacco smell of the mayor’s cigar. Anna stood still, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the interior light, and she began to notice her surroundings. For the most part, the warehouse was quite empty, save for some boards and crates scattered here and there, along with the occasional concrete block. Against one wall were three long wooden tables and a couple of chairs. The floor was a mess, littered with dirt and sawdust and who knew what else. The place was downright spooky.

“Is there a key for the door?” she asked. “I’ll have supplies and other valuables in here I won’t want stolen.”

“Well, you might have to worry about that in New Jersey, but it won’t be a problem down here.” The mayor gave a self-satisfied laugh. “But sure, I can have a locksmith come and make you a key, if that’ll help you rest easy.”

“It would,” she said.

The warehouse not only had those big windows along one side, but many skylights scattered the length of the high-beamed ceiling as well. Round pendant lights and huge black fans hung from the beams like giant bats. There were shadowy areas of the ceiling that no daylight seemed to reach and Anna shuddered, turning her gaze away from those beams. Anything could be up there.

“When the weather warms up,” Mayor Sykes said, “you can open those doors over there. Let fresh air in.” He gestured to the opposite side of the warehouse and for the first time Anna noticed four huge garage-type doors, far larger than the sort you’d find on a house.

“Uh-huh,” she said, scrambling to think of an excuse that would let her turn down the offer of the warehouse. The windows were so filthy that the light was indeed hazy and wan as she’d predicted, although she could imagine how, once clean, they could let in enough light