The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires - Grady Hendrix Page 0,60

talk to Destiny, maybe she could tell us if she’d seen him out at Six Mile.”

“People don’t like strangers asking after their children,” Mrs. Greene said.

“We’re all mothers,” Patricia said. “If something were happening to one of ours and someone thought they knew something, wouldn’t you want to know? And if it turns out to be nothing, all we’ve done is bother her on a Friday night. It’s not even ten.”

There was a long pause, and then:

“Her light’s still on,” Mrs. Greene said. “Get out here quick and let’s get this over with.”

Patricia found Blue in his room, sitting on his beanbag chair, reading The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich.

“I need to run out for a little while,” Patricia said. “Just to the church. There’s a meeting of the deacons I forgot. Will you be okay?”

“Is Dad home?” Blue asked.

“He’s on his way,” Patricia said, although she didn’t really know. “Will you answer the phone? I’m going to lock the front door. Your father has his key.”

“Okay,” Blue said, barely looking up from his book.

“I love you,” Patricia said, but Blue didn’t seem to hear.

Patricia hesitated in her bedroom for a moment. She had never lied about where she would be before, and it made her feel nervous. She decided to leave a note for Carter on their dresser telling him where she was and giving him Mrs. Greene’s phone number. On it she wrote, Need to give Mrs. Greene a check. Then she got in her Volvo and hoped Grace was right and this was all just a product of the overactive imagination of a stupid little housewife with too much free time on her hands. If it was, she promised herself, tomorrow she would vacuum her curtains.

CHAPTER 16

There were no other cars on Rifle Range Road and the drive felt lonely. The streetlights stopped at the state road, and the narrow, crumbling one-lane road winding through the trees and chain-link fences felt too narrow. Patricia’s headlights brushed across mobile homes and prefabricated sheds and she worried she might be waking people up. She checked her dashboard clock—9:35 p.m.—but the absolute dark of the country road made it feel much later.

She parked in front of Mrs. Greene’s and, after looking around to make sure no one was on the basketball court, she stepped out of her Volvo and into a buzzing, razzing night, furious with insects. Scattered streetlights glowed orange over the cinder-block houses and trailers, but they were spaced so far apart the darkness felt even more vast and lonely. When Mrs. Greene opened her front door Patricia felt relieved to see a familiar face.

“Would you like something to drink?” Mrs. Greene asked.

“I think it’s best if we see Mrs. Taylor before it’s too late,” Patricia said.

“Jesse?” Mrs. Greene called back into her house. “Look after your brother. I’m going across the way.”

She closed and locked her door behind her, the plastic holly wreath scratching against the aluminum door as it swung from side to side.

“This way,” Mrs. Greene said, leading her down the sandy path in front of her house.

They walked onto the dirt road that circled the little church, then stepped over the ankle-high railing in front of Mt. Zion A.M.E., cutting through the center of Six Mile. They crunched over the sandy soil, their footsteps loud in the night. No one sat outside on their porch, no one called to their friends, no one passed them on the way home. The dirt roads of Six Mile were deserted. Patricia saw curtains drawn over most of the windows. Others had cardboard or bedsheets tacked up over them instead. From behind all of them came the cold, blue shifting light of television.

“No one goes out after dark around here anymore,” Mrs. Greene said.

“What should we say to Mrs. Taylor so we don’t upset her?” Patricia asked.

“Wanda Taylor gets out of bed upset,” Mrs. Greene said.

Patricia wondered how she’d react if someone showed up on her doorstep to tell her Blue was on drugs.

“Do you think she’ll be angry?” she asked.

“Probably,”