Scorcher by John Lutz

Scorcher by John Lutz

Author:John Lutz [Lutz, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781453219027
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media LLC
Published: 2011-01-20T13:00:00+00:00


Chapter 19

HER PHONE RANG TWELVE times before she answered, even though it was right beside her bed. He wasn’t surprised. She slept deeply.

She cleared her throat. “ ’Lo.”

“Edwina, this is Carver.”

“Four inna morning. Whassa matter?”

“I’m not sure. I’m sorry; I wanted to hear your voice.”

“S’okay. You know it is.”

“I almost shot Paul Kave last night.”

She paused one, two, three beats. “Why didn’t you?” As awake now as she could be at 4:00 A.M.

“I was seen and had to get away.”

“Will anyone be able to identify you?”

“I don’t think so.”

She was quiet for a while, then she said, “You still want to kill him?” He reached far back into the mysteries of his mind before he answered.

“Yes.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay now?”

“Okay.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Go to sleep then, baby. Go to sleep.”

“Edwina?”

“You rather talk awhile? It’s fine, if that’s what you want.”

“No, I guess not. No.”

“Go to sleep, baby.”

“All right.”

She waited for him to hang up first. He was finally able to sleep, but not without dreams or fear.

It was nine that morning when Carver knocked on Emmett Kave’s door. The sun was already glaring hot and harsh, angling in beneath the sagging gutters to cast brilliant rectangular patterns on the concrete porch. The porch floor had been painted gray long ago, but nothing of the color remained except for a stubborn peppering that had penetrated the concrete too deeply to be dislodged by weather. A large palmetto bug, brown and glistening and ugly, dragged itself across a sharp corner of sunlight and then disappeared beneath the wall near the edge of the porch, seeking darkness.

Carver had a headache; he wanted out of the sun, like the bug.

Emmett opened the inner door and peered through the patched screen at him. The old man was wearing a green, limp terrycloth robe that had gone through the wash too many times. When he swung the screen door open, Carver saw that the robe hung to his knobby knees, and his thin, hairless ankles disappeared into old leather slippers with dark stains on the toes, as if oil had dripped on them long ago. He said, “Don’t you look like something the cat crapped out this morning.”

“I didn’t get much sleep,” Carver said.

“Here to tell me about last night?” Emmett asked, shuffling backward so Carver could enter. The slippers made soft sighing sounds on the floor.

As the door slapped shut behind Carver, he noticed that the house smelled like frying bacon again. He wondered if it always smelled like bacon. Possibly that was all Emmett Kave ate. Maybe the preservatives kept him alive.

Emmett slouched down on the dark old sofa and motioned for Carver to take a chair. Carver declined. He didn’t feel like sitting. He leaned on his cane and looked around. Sunlight was trying hard to break in but hadn’t made it yet; the house was warm and gloomy. He wished Emmett would switch on the blue box fan that was wedged in the front window.

“Coffee?” Emmett asked.

“Nothing,” Carver said. “I missed Paul last night at the Mermaid Motel.



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