Pine gauged him to be well over sixty, a fact belied by his ropy muscles, which were evident because of the short-sleeved shirt he was wearing. His jeans were faded and cut tight to his long legs and slim hips. The pair of crumbling boots he wore looked held together merely by prayer.
“I do, which means you gals are trespassing.”
“I used to live in this house,” said Pine, glancing over her shoulder.
The man lowered the shotgun, but just a bit. “When?”
“Beginning in the mideighties.”
He looked her over. “You must’ve been a baby then.”
“Me and my sister.”
He glanced at Blum. “This your ma?”
“No, she’s my friend.”
“So what are you doing back here? Sightseeing? Ain’t much to see. Cemetery and that old Confederate prison.”
“I came back to see my old homestead. How long have you lived here?”
“’Bout three years. Who are you?”
“Atlee Pine. That’s Carol Blum.”
Blum eyed him closely. “And what’s your name?”
“Cyrus Tanner. Friends call me Cy.”
“Can I call you Cy, even though we’re not officially friends?” said Blum. “And could you point that shotgun somewhere else? Because while my nerves and those of my friend are pretty strong, accidents do happen with weapons.”
“What? Oh, sorry ’bout that.”
He lowered the shotgun and looked at them nervously. “What do you want here then?”
Pine said, “Just to look around. Pure nostalgia. Are you from Andersonville?”
“No, came over from ’Bama. Mississip’ before that.”
“So you bought the house then?”
He chuckled. “Hell, I don’t have the money to buy no house, not even one as run-down as this. I’m, uh, renting.” He pointed to the chunky, aged Lab, which had flopped back down. “Me and Roscoe there. Ain’t we, boy?”
Roscoe gave a little show of yellowed teeth as he looked happy at hearing his name.
“Me and Roscoe been partners for a long time. Best friend I ever had. Beats people by a long shot on that score.”
“Do you mind if I look around?” said Pine.
“Ain’t much to see.”
“Do you work at the bauxite mine?” asked Blum.
He shot her a swift glance. “The mine? No, I do some odd-job work ’round here. Good with engines and stuff. Anything like that needs tinkering I can most likely fix. Get paid in cash. Don’t like to pay no taxes. I get by and cover my bills. Keep a roof over me and Roscoe’s head. What do you gals do for a living?”
Pine took out her official creds. “I’m an FBI agent. Carol is my assistant.”
Tanner looked wildly at them. “A Fed? Look, I didn’t mean that stuff ’bout the taxes—”
“I’m not with the IRS, Mr. Tanner, and I don’t care about your philosophy on paying taxes. Or not.”
“Well, okay,” he muttered, not looking convinced. “What are you really doing here then? It’s not on the official Civil War tour,” he added with a weak grin.
Pine glanced at Blum before looking back at the man. “My sister was abducted from this house nearly thirty years ago. The person who took her was never found. And neither was she. So I’m back here now trying to find the truth.”
The cigarette nearly fell out of the man’s mouth. “Holy shit, you being straight with me?”
“Never been straighter in my life.”
He looked back at the house. “I never knew that when I started living here.”
“No reason for you to know.”
“You said they never caught the bastard?”
“Or found my sister.”
“So…are you here, what, looking for clues and stuff? Been a long time.”
“I’m not here to do a forensic scrub, if that’s what you mean. But I am here to try to sort some things out. And I thought coming here would be a good first step.”
He put the shotgun down on the porch. “You want to take a tour of the place then?”
“That’d be great. You sure you want to leave the gun there?” added Pine.
“Hell, it’s not even loaded. I just use it for show. You know, scare folks off.”
“You get many trespassers out here?”
“Mostly kids looking for a place to drink and have sex. I got nothing against them doing either one, just not in my house.”
He led them into the front room. The wallpaper was hanging down in tatters, and the only items in the room were a large lime green bean bag chair, a scarred side table holding a chunky old TV with rabbit ears on top, and a square of dirty carpet with prominent urine stains.
“Roscoe’s got him some kidney problems,” noted Tanner in an embarrassed fashion as he gazed at the marks.