The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires - Grady Hendrix Page 0,80

lowered her head.

“I’m sorry, Leland,” she said to her lap. “But children—”

“‘On the day of judgment,’” Leland quoted, “‘people will give account for each careless word they speak.’ Matthew 12:36.”

“Do you even want to know what we have to say?” Patricia asked.

“We got the gist,” Carter said.

“No,” Patricia said. “If you haven’t heard what we have to say, then you have no right to tell us who we can and can’t speak to. We’re not our mothers. This isn’t the 1920s. We’re not some silly biddies sitting around sewing all day and gossiping. We’re in the Old Village more than any of you, and something is very wrong here. If you had any respect for us at all, you’d listen.”

“If you’ve got so much free time, go after the criminals in the White House,” Leland said. “Don’t fabricate one down the street.”

“Let’s all slow down,” Carter said, a gentle smile on his lips. “We’ll listen. It can’t hurt and who knows, maybe we’ll learn something?”

Patricia ignored the calm, medical-professional tone of his voice. If this was his bluff, she’d call it.

“Thank you, Carter,” she said. “I would like to speak.”

“You’re speaking for everyone?” Carter asked.

“It was Patricia’s idea,” Kitty said, from the safety of Horse’s side.

“Yes,” Grace said.

“So tell us,” Carter said. “Why do you believe that James Harris is some master criminal?”

It took a moment for her blood to stop singing in her ears and settle to a duller roar. She inhaled deeply and looked around the room. She saw Leland staring at her with his face stretched taut, practically shimmering with rage, his hands jammed deep in his pockets. Ed studied her the way policemen on TV watched criminals dig themselves in deeper. Bennett stared out the windows behind her at the marsh, face neutral. Carter watched her, wearing his most tolerant smile, and she felt herself shrinking in her chair. Only Horse looked at her with anything approaching kindness.

Patricia released her breath and looked down at Grace’s outline, shaking in her hands.

“James Harris, as you all know, moved here around April. His great-aunt, Ann Savage, was in poor health and he took care of her. When she attacked me, we believe that she was on whatever drugs he’s dealing. We think he’s selling them in Six Mile.”

“Based on what?” Ed asked. “What evidence? What arrests? Have you seen him selling drugs there?”

“Let her finish,” Maryellen said.

Carter held out a hand and Ed stopped.

“Patricia.” Carter smiled. She looked up. “Put your paper down. Tell us in your own words. Relax, we’re all interested in what you have to say.”

He held out his hand, and Patricia couldn’t help herself. She handed him Grace’s outline. He folded it in thirds and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

“We think that he gave this drug,” Patricia said, forcing herself to see Grace’s outline in her head, “to Orville Reed and Destiny Taylor. Orville Reed killed himself. Destiny Taylor is still alive, for now. But before they died they claimed to have met a white man in the woods who gave them something that made them sick. There was also Sean Brown, Orville’s cousin, who was involved in drugs, according to the police. He was found dead in the same woods where the children went, during the same period. In addition, Mrs. Greene saw a van with the same license plate as James Harris’s in Six Mile during the time this was all happening.”

“Did it have the exact same license plate number?” Ed asked.

“Mrs. Greene only wrote down the last part, X 13S, but James Harris’s license plate is TNX 13S,” Patricia said. “James Harris claims he got rid of that van, but he’s keeping it in the Pak Rat Mini-Storage on Highway 17 and has taken it out a few times, mostly at night.”

“Unbelievable,” Leland said.

“Sean Brown was involved in the drug trade, and we think James Harris killed him in a horrible way to teach other drug dealers a lesson,” Patricia said. “Ann Savage died with what you’d call track marks on the