over to their table and asked if we could share.
"Oh, please," Xylda said. She had maybe a ton of makeup on. Her encounter with the media at the barn seemed to have galvanized her into going the extra mile. Her eyes were positively Cleopatran, and she'd actually tied a scarf around her head à la a gypsy, with her brilliant red ringlets flying out from under it to form a shocking contrast with her pale, plump, wrinkled face. I sat beside her and got a big whiff of stale perfume. Tolliver had to sit by Manfred, which wouldn't hurt him. And Manfred had to smell better than his grandmother.
"How are you feeling?" Manfred asked. He really looked anxious.
"I'm doing good," I said. "My head feels better. The arm is a pain."
"I heard you two checked out of the motel. I figured you'd be long gone."
"Tomorrow or the next day," Tolliver said. "We're just waiting to see if the state guys have anything else to ask us. Then we'll be on our way. You two?"
"I need to stay until tomorrow afternoon, at least," Xylda said in a whisper. "There are more dead people to come. And the time of ice is near."
Now, that I understood. "That's what the weather says. There's going to be an ice storm."
"We're hoping to get out of town ahead of it," Manfred said quietly. "Grandma don't need to be away from a big hospital any longer than we can help it. I'll be taking her back home as soon as I can." I looked at him sideways and read clearly the grief written on his face. It made me want to give him a big hug.
Xylda looked like she was listening to a faraway voice. I was seriously concerned about her. Before, she'd been in the likeable fake category, though she'd always had her moments of true brilliance. They'd just been too few and far between for her to make her living off of them. Now she appeared to be "on" all the time. The stretches of shrewd reality that had helped her earn a living (if fraudulent) wage seemed to be fewer and farther between.
I wondered what Manfred would do when she was gone. He was very young and he still had all his options open. He could go to college and get a regular job. He could apprentice in a circus. He could assume the hand-to-mouth existence of petty fraud and chicanery that Xylda had led. This wasn't the time or place to quiz him about his future plans, when the big stumbling block to any of them sat beside me spilling salad dressing down her blouse.
Xylda said, "That boy is going to be a murderer." Fortunately her voice was quite low. I knew she was talking about Chuck Almand.
Speaking of a young man with options open. "Not for sure, though. He could still save himself. Maybe his father will find a good therapist for him, and he'll work out all his kinks." I didn't believe it, but I should at least sound like I thought it was possible.
Manfred shook his head. "I can't believe they didn't arrest him."
"He's a minor," Tolliver said. "And there aren't any witnesses against him except his own admission. I don't think jail would do him any good, do you? Maybe just the opposite, in fact. Maybe in jail he'd find out how much he enjoyed hurting people."
"I think in jail he'd be on the other end," I said. "I think he'd get hurt a lot, and maybe come out ready to give it back with interest."
We all mulled it over. The waitress bustled up to take our orders and to ask Manfred and Xylda if they needed more to drink. They both accepted, and it was a few minutes before we could resume our conversation.
"I wonder if there's a kid like that in every community," Tolliver said. "One who likes to cause pain, likes to have the power over smaller creatures."
"There was someone like that in our school in Texarkana?" I asked. I was surprised.
"Yeah. Leon Stipes. Remember him?"
Leon had been six feet tall when he was in the sixth grade. Leon was black, and he was on the football team, and he scared the hell out of the other teams we played. I suspected he'd scared the hell out of most of the players on his own team, too.
I explained Leon to Xylda and Manfred. "He liked causing pain?"
"Oh, yeah," said Tolliver grimly. "Oh, yeah. He really