Grave Sight Page 0,48

"He heard about the boys this morning, and though he thought young men shouldn't hurt women, he also thought putting a scare in you was a good thing."

"Oh, gee, thanks."

"I told him it wasn't." Tolliver sounded suddenly sincere. "I told him if anything happened like that again, I'd be forced to display some of my amazing bodyguard skills, learned at the Special Forces camp."

"What Special Forces camp?"

"Obviously, the one that exists to train specially vicious and lethal bodyguards."

"Oh, that one."

"Right. Anyway, he swallowed some of that story, and he said that he was sure nothing else like that would happen to you here in Sarne, since Sheriff Branscom was so put out about your being threatened."

"Well, actually, that's nice to know."

"That's what I thought. Do you think it's safe for you to go out tonight?"

I stopped looking at my fingernails and started looking at Tolliver.

"I'm not trying to stop you," he said hastily. "You go on with Officer Friendly, if you want to. I'm just reminding you, this is a fundamentalist community and they don't admire your ability."

I held my tongue for a long minute, trying to think through Tolliver's advice. But I heard myself saying, "It's okay for you to go out and get laid while you're getting the car washed, and it's not okay for me to go to a gospel singing?"

Tolliver's skin reddened. "I just don't want anything to happen to you," he said steadily. "You remember what happened in West Virginia."

In West Virginia, the entire populace of a tiny hamlet had thrown rocks at our car.

"I remember," I said. "But it was a smaller place, and it had a strong leader who hated the whole idea of me."

"You're saying there's no united front here in Sarne?"

I nodded.

"You may be right," he said, after a long moment. "But I just hate that anything..." his voice trailed off.

"I don't want to be the target of any kind of attack," I said, after a pause. "I do not. But I also don't want to cower in this hotel room."

"And you want to see Hollis again."

"Yes."

He looked away for a second. "Okay." He made himself nod. "It'll be good to go to something different. Have a good time."

I definitely didn't want to stand out, but I also thought it might be disrespectful to under-dress. I had a hard time imagining what you'd wear to an al fresco gospel concert. I picked what I thought of as neutral clothes: good slacks, a sweater set, loafers. I snatched up a heavier jacket when Hollis picked me up. He was wearing new jeans and a corduroy shirt - the softest narrow-wale corduroy I'd ever seen. He had a jacket, too. And he was wearing cowboy boots, which surprised me.

"Nice footwear," I said.

He looked down, as if he'd never seen his boots before. "I used to do a little riding," he said. "I got to like 'em."

He asked me how I was feeling after the incident of the morning, and I told him I was fine. That wasn't entirely accurate, but close enough. I didn't want to think about it anymore, and that was the truth.

There were cars parked all around the square, and the pretty streetlights that had been put up for the tourists lent the area an air of prosperity and quaintness. The broad courthouse lawn was strewn with folding chairs of all kinds. Little children were dashing through the gathering crowd, shrieking and excited in the chill evening air. Since I was an outsider, I couldn't tell the leafers from the locals, but Hollis told me the ratio was about forty to sixty.

The stage that had been thrown up at the base of the old courthouse was not very high, and it was crowded with the equipment of the first group to perform. A woman in a long full skirt and a wide turquoise belt was tuning a guitar. Her gray hair fell to her waist, and her face was deeply lined, intent and calm. The men behind her were in their forties and fifties, and they all shared her air of professionalism.

"This here's Roberta Moore and her Sons of Grace," Hollis said. "They're from over to Mountain Home."

"How many groups will play?"

"We just see who shows up," he said. "Sometimes six or seven, but tonight I only see three others. Bobby Tatum, he sings by himself." Bobby Tatum was a very young man in a cowboy hat and a very elaborate cowboy shirt and boots. His jacket was Western-tailored, of