Blindsighted (Grant County #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,21

from the floor up the bar stool. She saw rather than heard what Hank was asking when he said, “Where’s Sibyl?”

Tucked behind the bar, more like an outhouse than a place of business, Hank’s office was a small wooden box with a tin roof. A lightbulb hung from a frayed electrical wire that had probably been installed by the WPA. Posters from beer and liquor companies served as wallpaper. White cartons filled with liquor were stacked against the back wall, leaving about ten square feet for a desk with two chairs on either side. Surrounding these were piles of boxes stuffed with receipts that Hank had accumulated from running the bar over the years. A stream running behind the shack kept mold and moisture in the air. Lena imagined Hank liked working in this dark, dank place, passing his days in an environment more suitable for a tongue.

“I see you’ve redecorated,” Lena said, setting her glass on top of one of the boxes. She could not tell if she wasn’t drunk anymore or if she was too drunk to notice.

Hank gave the glass a cursory glance, then looked back at Lena. “You don’t drink.”

She held up the glass in a toast. “To the late bloomer.”

Hank sat back in his office chair, his hands clasped in front of his stomach. He was tall and skinny, with skin that tended to flake in the winter. Despite the fact that his father was Spanish, Hank’s appearance more closely resembled his mother’s, a pasty woman who was as sour as her complexion. In her mind, Lena had always thought it appropriate that Hank bore a close resemblance to an albino snake.

He asked, “What brings you to these parts?”

“Just dropping by,” she managed around the glass. The whiskey was bitter in her mouth. She kept an eye on Hank as she finished the drink and banged the empty glass back down on the box. Lena did not know what was stopping her. For years she had waited to get the upper hand with Hank Norton. This was her time to hurt him as much as he had hurt Sibyl.

“You started snortin’ coke, too, or have you been crying?”

Lena wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “What do you think?”

Hank stared at her, working his hands back and forth. This was more than a nervous habit, Lena knew. Speed injected into the veins of his hands had given Hank arthritis at an early age. Since most of the veins in his arms had calcified from the powdered additive used to cut the drug, there wasn’t much circulation there, either. His hands were cold as ice most days and a constant source of pain.

The rubbing stopped abruptly. “Let’s get it over with, Lee. I’ve got the show to put on.”

Lena tried to open her mouth, but nothing came out. Part of her was angered by his flippant attitude, which had marked their relationship from the very beginning. Part of her did not know how to tell him. As much as Lena hated her uncle, he was a human being. Hank had doted on Sibyl. In high school, Lena could not take her sister everywhere, and Sibyl had spent a lot of time home with Hank. There was an undeniable bond there, and as much as Lena wanted to hurt her uncle, she felt herself holding back. Lena had loved Sibyl, Sibyl had loved Hank.

Hank picked up a ballpoint pen, turning it head over end on the desk several times before he finally asked, “What’s wrong, Lee? Need some money?”

If only it were that simple, Lena thought.

“Car broke down?”

She shook her head slowly side to side.

“It’s Sibyl,” he stated, his voice catching in his throat.

When Lena did not answer, he nodded slowly to himself, putting his hands together, as if to pray. “She’s sick?” he asked, his voice indicating he expected the worst. With this one sentence, he showed more emotion than Lena had ever seen him express in a lifetime of knowing her uncle. She looked at him closely as if for the first time. His pale skin was blotched with those red dots pasty men get on their faces as they age. His hair, silver for as long as she could recall, was dulled with yellow under the sixty-watt bulb. His Hawaiian shirt was rumpled, which was not his style, and his hands tremored slightly as he fidgeted with them.

Lena did it the same way Jeffrey Tolliver had. “She went to the diner in