47.
It was after 10:00 p.m. when we parked on a street that ran perpendicular with Horton's massive Gothic revival.
A thin sheet of rain obscured the street. We sat in the cab of his truck with the engine and wipers off. Moving wipers attracted attention, as did an idling car. So we ate in the cold and wet. The house before us was massive and brooding. Its towering gables spiked the night sky. Hawthorne would have been pleased. The truck's tinted glass made the world darker than it really was. I liked darker.
After a moment, Sherbet shook his head. "Who could live in something like that?" Sherbet shuddered. "Like something in a fucking Dracula movie."
"I like it," I said.
"Why does that not surprise me?"
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"Nothing. Just being a wise guy."
Sherbet was still sipping on his king-sized Coke. Occasionally some of the sips turned into loud slurps. The remnants of his greasy meal were wadded into a greasy ball and shoved into the greasy bag. The strong smell of burgers and fries suffused the interior of the truck cab. My hungry stomach was doing somersaults.
Easy, girl.
"That your stomach growling?" he asked.
"I don't know. Haven't noticed."
He shook his head and slurped his Coke. The street was mostly empty. Occasionally a big car would splash past, and since tomorrow was trash day, most of the residents already had their trash cans out by the curb. Rick Horton's trash cans were nowhere to be found.
"Maybe he forgot tomorrow was trash day," said Sherbet.
"Maybe."
"Maybe he's one of those procrastinators who runs out just as the trash truck pulls up, dragging their trashcans behind them, beseeching the truck drivers to wait."
"Beseeching?" I said.
"It's a word."
"Just not a word you often hear from a cop with a dollop of ketchup on his chin."
He hastily swiped at the dollop, but missed some of it. He licked his finger. "You have good eyes," he said.
"And you have a bad aim." I used one of the napkins to clean his chin.
The rain picked up a little. The drops were now big enough to splatter. Overhead, the weeping willows wept, bent and shuddering under the weight of the rain.
"I could use some coffee," the detective said. "No telling when this guy is coming out with his trash."
So we got some coffee at a nearby Burger King. Or, rather, Sherbet did. He bought me a bottled water.
"You're a cheap date," he commented as he mercifully decided
24
