Fur the Hex of it by Jane Hinchey

Author:Jane Hinchey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Baywolf Press

Chapter Eleven

At precisely one minute and twenty-nine seconds past midnight, Doris pulled up outside my house, the Impala idling, headlights out.

“Why the subterfuge?” I asked, sliding into the passenger seat. Doris was dressed all in black. Black pants, a black blouse buttoned up to her chin—she even had a black beanie pulled over her silver locks. She had to be hot in the cat burglar outfit, and I don’t mean hot as in phwoar. I mean hot as in temperature.

“I don’t want anyone to see us,” she whispered.

“You don’t think your red car might stand out?”

“Not in the dark.” She pulled away from the curb at a reasonably sedate pace.

“You can turn the headlights on, Doris,” I said, keeping a firm hold of the door. “Please.”

“But—”

“You’ll attract more attention driving with the lights off,” I pointed out, sensing she was about to argue the point. Doris shot me a look that was impossible to decipher in the darkness of the cab. “You’re good at this.”

“What, sneaking around in the middle of the night?” I scoffed. “I was a teenager too. Once.”

“You snuck out a lot?” Doris asked, flicking the headlights on to my eternal relief.

“You could say that.” The truth was, I snuck out constantly. My foster home journey hadn’t been smooth. My last home, from sixteen to when I turned eighteen and was finally in charge of my own life, I’d snuck out most nights to keep out of the clutches of my handsy, totally inappropriate foster father. Even the memory of it, so many years later, was enough to make my skin crawl.

Keen to divert attention away from myself, I blurted, “Tell me about John Smith.”

“Hmm. Let me see. He was a bit of a grumpy, cantankerous old man, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He was an excellent carpenter, yet incredibly humble. He did not like to be the center of attention. Probably why he built his house out on Berryman Street. Most everyone else in town is vying for a sea view, but not John. He wanted peace and quiet and privacy.”

“Why do you think he killed himself?” I was curious why no one had brought up my fictitious uncle’s suicide. If Deputy Biden hadn’t spilled the beans, I would never have known.

“I don’t think he did,” Doris said.

I turned to face her, her features lit by the dashboard lights. “You don’t? How come?”

“That man had nothing to die for. He had absolutely no reason to take his own life. He was in reasonable shape health-wise for a man in his seventies. He was not in financial difficulties. He was a loner, he’d always enjoyed his own company, so I don’t believe he was lonely either.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I think someone staged it to look that way.” She shot me a look out of the corner of her eye before turning her attention back to the road. “But I’m thinking you already know that.”

“Like I said, I didn’t know the man. He’s a total stranger to me, so I couldn’t say one way or another if he was in a fragile state of mind.

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