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Back Waking the Witch Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgements
  5. one
  6. two
  7. three
  8. four
  9. five
  10. six
  11. seven
  12. eight
  13. nine
  14. ten
  15. eleven
  16. twelve
  17. thirteen
  18. fourteen
  19. fifteen
  20. sixteen
  21. seventeen
  22. eighteen
  23. nineteen
  24. twenty
  25. twenty-one
  26. twenty-two
  27. twenty-three
  28. twenty-four
  29. twenty-five
  30. twenty-six
  31. twenty-seven
  32. twenty-eight
  33. twenty-nine
  34. thirty
  35. thirty-one
  36. thirty-two
  37. thirty-three
  38. thirty-four
  39. thirty-five
  40. thirty-six
  41. thirty-seven
  42. thirty-eight
  43. thirty-nine
  44. forty
  45. forty-one
  46. forty-two

The two guffawed, and the receptionist chimed in with creaky titters.

“You know what would make that story even funnier?” I said. “If it was the other way around, and ol’ Mel was whaling on his wife with the frying pan.”

The older cop scowled at me. “That wouldn’t be funny at all.”

“Kinda my point.”

They all continued to stare. I reminded myself that ignorance is not idiocy. Or so I’m told.

“I don’t get it,” the younger cop finally said.

I was tempted to explain. Damn tempted. But mocking them probably wasn’t the best way to make a good first impression. “I’d like to speak to Chief Bruyn.”

“He’s not here,” the receptionist said.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“He went out.”

“Can I make an appointment for later?”

“He’s not here.”

Sometimes you’ve got to figure that small-town people pull the rube routine just for us city folks, a passive-aggressive way of telling us to go fuck ourselves.

“Can you give him my card then?” I asked. “I’d like to speak to him as soon as he gets a chance.”

The receptionist took it and laid it facedown on her desk, where I was sure it would accidentally slide into the trash the moment I left. The younger cop picked it up. He looked at me. Read it, lips moving, then pursing.

“Private investigator?”

“Yep.” I flashed my license. “That’s why I’d like to speak to Chief Bruyn. I’ve been hired to investigate Claire Kennedy’s murder and I wanted to touch base with him first.”

When no one said a word, I took that as a dismissal and left.

five

five

My first big solo case and I got redneck morons for law enforce-meant. Figured.

A tiny voice in my head—one that sounded a lot like Paige—said I should have kept my mouth shut about the frying pan incident. I doubted that would have helped, though.

I decided my next step would be to visit the diner I’d noticed downtown. As I walked, I tried to take in my surroundings, get a better sense of the town, but it was too damned depressing. Empty storefronts. Empty streets.

Even the few people I saw looked empty. Hopeless. Agaunt middle-aged woman standing in the window of a store festooned with Going Out of Business signs. Two boys no more than thirteen, kicking a can along the side of the road, skipping school and not caring who noticed. A pregnant teenage girl sitting on a dilapidated bench, as if hoping someone would drive by and whisk her off to a better life.