Carson said, “I thought you didn’t appreciate antiques, Sheriff.” She nodded toward the impressive desk.
The sheriff grunted and eased his bulk down into an oversize black leather chair that creaked beneath his weight, motioned them to the two chairs in front of the desk. The deputies, Jewel and Brewster, stood at attention by the door, arms crossed, trying to look intimidating. Griffin wanted to laugh but didn’t.
“My wife,” the sheriff said. “She told me a fancy office impresses the tourists. The mayor agreed but said I had to pay for it myself.” He fell silent, gave them the rheumy eye, began tapping his blunt fingers against the desktop. Once again, he said in a whisper, “Fayreen, get in here.”
A moment later, the door opened and she was there, a notebook and pen in her hand. “I’m here, Booker, ready to take down what these two jokers have to say. When I called Tommy, I think I woke him from a nap, but he was excited about coming over to be a witness for your interview. Well, I hear him already. I’ll bring him in now, all right, Booker?”
The sheriff nodded, resumed tapping his heavy fingers on the desktop. They waited in silence.
Fayreen came back into the room followed by a vampire-pale older man, so pale Griffin wondered at first if it was makeup. He had longish ink-black hair with no gray, and dark-rimmed glasses. Of all things, in this blistering heat, he was wearing a black suit, white shirt, and black bow tie. Why didn’t he fall over with heatstroke? Griffin wondered if he was the local mortician.
Booker rose. “Come in, Tommy. I want you to listen to these two, they’ve got a story to make you shake your head in wonder at the strangeness of human nature.” He didn’t introduce Carson or Griffin, simply waited until Mr. Vampire and Fayreen sat down on the leather sofa, the fat cushions whooshing under their weight. Finally, he said, “This is Mr. Thomas Denmark, one of Gaffer’s Ridge’s councilmen. He’s going to be our witness.”
Griffin started to open his mouth, knew in his gut it wasn’t a good idea, and kept quiet. He wished he’d somehow fallen into a bizarre dream, but knew it wasn’t a dream, and he wouldn’t be jerking awake anytime soon.
The sheriff said, “I know Fayreen didn’t have time to tell you much, Tommy, but we’re holding these two for questioning and we’re about to interview them. I wanted to be sure you folks over at city hall know we’re doing everything by the book until Judge Pinder gets back.” He turned to Carson. “Now, missy, I want you to tell Fayreen and Councilman Denmark here all about what you’re saying happened today. Take your time, so Fayreen can write it all down. Be clear and don’t get hysterical.” He added to Griffin, “When she’s done, we’ll get to you, boy.”
The words occasionally telepathic wouldn’t ever cross her lips, not in this town—well, not in any town, not even with her aunt Casey or any of Carson’s friends. Carson cleared her throat, ready to go through it all again, with only slight adjustments. “I was coming out of the market—”
“Which market?” Fayreen said. “We got two, you know. Booker always says to get all the specifics you can think of, so’s we can check out what you tell us.”
“Ellerby’s Market,” Carson said, and looked more closely at Fayreen Hertle, realized she looked a bit like the sheriff. A cousin, a sister? Did the sheriff’s family run Gaffer’s Ridge? Great, just great.
“All right, get on with it.” The sheriff began tapping his large fingers against the desktop again.
Carson stared at those heavy tapping fingers and said, “He was coming toward me—Rafer Bodine, although I didn’t know his name at the time. He didn’t see me. His head was down and he was talking to himself, but still, I heard him clearly. He was talking about the three missing teenage girls.” She ignored the looks of patent disbelief and plowed ahead. She told them how he’d even said their names—Heather, Amy, and Latisha—how he’d hit her on the head. She spoke slowly, fluently, describing how she’d escaped and how she’d managed to unscrew the jagged pipe and gone upstairs to find him there, back to kill her. “I screamed bloody murder. That’s when Agent Hammersmith came crashing through the open front door and kicked the gun out of his hand, and I