Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,116
in her pajamas without her face on, grabbing those Starbursts, and throwing them into the abyss.
I wanted them to just disappear and she made it so. Love. I drive through the town square, past that red blinking light and out onto the highway with a smile on my face from ear to ear.
Things sometimes work out.
I park in Lot B, gather up all my canvas bags, and trudge the few feet to the back door of the Death House. I didn’t see any media or anyone with signs or candles, but then again I’m early. Maybe they get here later? Maybe I’ll see them on my way out? I slide my key card and the door clicks over. I turn on the lights and as they flicker on I await Jace. I set my canvas bags on the ground and start unpacking. The kitchen door clicks and I stand up.
“Hey there,” Jace says, standing at the door.
“Hey, yourself,” I say, going back to what I was doing.
“You ready for today?” Jace asks.
“Yep,” I say, setting the brisket on the counter in its tinfoil wrapping. I unpack the ribs and the sausage and set them out, as well.
“Everyone’s all amped up about today,” Jace says, stepping forward.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, setting up Harlan and Cody’s station.
“You don’t know, do you?” he says, his hand resting on his gun.
“No, sir. I prefer not t—”
“We’re puttin’ down the Teacher’s Pet,” Jace says. I look up at him.
“That serial killer?” I ask.
“Yes, ma’am. They brought him over here thinking there wouldn’t be as much press and all that. So far, they’re right,” Jace says.
“I didn’t . . .” I lean against the counter. I stayed up all night making brisket for a man who . . . I can’t . . . I need to focus on the food. There’s no time for that.
“Didn’t you wonder what that apple was for?” Jace asks, pointing at the apples I’ve set out on the counter. I was going to choose the best one.
“No,” I say, breathless.
“It was his signature. He left an apple at every crime scene. That’s how he got the name,” Jace says.
“I didn’t know that,” I say. So is this now a crime scene? I grow illogically scared. Is this guy planning something? No, Queenie. This is about some sick fuck getting one last hurrah before he dies. That’s all. I’ll give him his apple. It’ll be his last.
“Well, I’ll go get the Dent boys for you,” Jace says. He leaves. Now I’m alone in the kitchen, in the same building as that monster. With what he did. And now I have to . . . it’s fine. I can make barbecue in my sleep. I’ve already done most of the work anyway. Harlan, Cody, and I will just focus on the guards’ supper. We’ll cook for us. The kitchen door clicks and Jace walks back through with the Dent boys. Jace takes up his place in his chair and flips open his paper. The Dent boys walk over to me.
“Jace told me,” I say, motioning at the reading guard.
“I can’t believe it,” Harlan says, just shaking his head.
“I remember when they finally caught him, you remember? I mean, everyone was on the lookout for him. Women wouldn’t go anywhere alone, everyone was locking their windows at night, I mean—” Cody is getting himself worked up. And he’s IN prison.
“The good part is, I did most of this last night. I smoked the brisket, the sausage, and the ribs already. The barbecue sauce is made. So we’ll make the potato salad and the fried pies, but I think the key is to focus on cooking for us and the guards’ supper,” I say, scanning my to-do list. The Dent boys nod in agreement.
“That doesn’t seem like a lot at all,” Harlan says, disappointed.
“It’s not, but it’ll keep us busy,” I say.
“Yes, Chef,” Harlan and Cody say.
“Okay, so, Cody, why don’t you get started on those cherries over there for the fried pies,” I say. He nods and obliges. I continue, “And, Harlan, why don’t we get started on this potato salad,” I say.
The morning goes by and I am able to focus on the food. I find myself cruising through the preparation, no heart really going into it. Harlan and Cody are slower today, which is good. We’re also not as careful. Not as driven. Not as emotional. Everyone’s on edge, but no one is somber like they were the last time. We