Free Grave Sight by Charlaine Harris Page B

could. Mariella and Gracie had no memory of anything better than the life we were living.
    What had happened to our other parents: my father and Tolliver’s mother? Why didn’t they save us from the terrifying turn our lives had taken? Well, by that time, my real dad had gone to jail for a long string of white-collar crimes, and Tolliver’s mother had died of cancer—leaving our at-large parents to complete their own downward passage, dragging us and their own children behind them.
    So here we were, Tolliver and I, in a run-down motel in a seedy Ozarks tourist town in the off-season, hoping to dodge being charged with murder.
    But by golly, we were smart.
    We were playing Scrabble when we heard a knock at the door.
    It was my room, so I asked, “Who is it?”
    â€œHollis.”
    I opened the door. Hollis saw Tolliver behind me and said, “May I come in?”
    I shrugged and moved back. Hollis stepped in far enough to allow me to shut the door behind him.
    â€œYou’re here to apologize, I assume,” I said in the coldest voice I could summon. It was pretty damn cold.
    â€œApologize! For what?” He sounded genuinely bewildered.
    â€œFor telling the sheriff I took your money. For implying I cheated you.”
    â€œYou did take my money.”
    â€œI left it on the seat of the truck. I felt bad for you.” I was so angry I was almost spitting; I’d gone from cold to hot in less than five seconds.
    â€œIt wasn’t on the seat of the truck.”
    â€œYes. It was.”
    He fished his keys out of his pocket. “Show me.”
    â€œNo, you look yourself, so you can’t accuse me of planting it.”
    Tolliver and I followed Hollis back outside. The sky was gray, and the trees around the motel were beginning to whip in the wind. I was cold without my coat, but I wasn’t going back in to put it on. Tolliver put his arm around me. Hollis opened the passenger door of his truck, began thrusting his fingers in the crack at the back of the seat, and in about ten seconds he came up with the bank envelope, still fat with money.
    He stared at it in his hand, flushed red, and then went white. After a moment or two, he met our eyes. “You told Harvey the truth,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
    â€œThere now,” I said. “Are we all clear about this?”
    He nodded.
    â€œOkay, then,” I said. I spun and walked into my room. Tolliver stayed outside for a bit. Then he came in, too.
    We finished our game of Scrabble. I won.
    We drove to a little town just five miles away to eat supper. Tolliver didn’t seem keen on going back to the motel diner, and I didn’t tease him about the waitress. We had country-fried steak, mashed potatoes, and lima beans at a near-duplicated Kountry Good Eats, and it was actually very tasty. The ambience was familiar: Formica-topped tables, cracked linoleum floor, two tired waitresses, and a man behind the counter, the manager. The iced tea was good, too.
    â€œYou know someone followed us here,” Tolliver said, as the waitress took our plates and strode toward the kitchen. He fished out his wallet to pay our tab.
    â€œA girl,” I said. “In a Honda.”
    â€œYeah. I guess she’s a deputy, too? She looks awful young. Or maybe they just deputized her for this.”
    â€œShe’s probably cold sitting out there in that little Honda.”
    â€œWell, that’s her job.”
    We paid, tipped, and left. The threatened rain was finally upon us, and Tolliver and I ran to the car. He’d clicked it unlocked as we left the restaurant, and I dove inside as fast as I could. I hate being wet. I hate storms. I won’t talk on the phone when it’s raining hard.
    At least there was no thunder this time.
    â€œI don’t understand,” Tolliver had said once, exasperated at not being able to call me when he was a few miles away. “Why? The worst has already happened.