Free Stone Maidens by Lloyd Devereux Richards

mean the one damaged by last year’s ice storm?”
    Joey nodded. “He didn’t like me seeing him, Sheriff.” The boy’s eyes narrowed.
    “Can you describe him for me?”
    Joey stared into the dark space beneath a table, conjuring a more vivid image, seeing it all over again. He looked into the sheriff’s strong tan face.
    “He was covering something up in the back of his truck. He didn’t want me to see it.” The boy swallowed hard. “His clothes were awful dirty.”
    McFaron recalled seeing Joey at a birthday party held out at Echo Lake State Park earlier in the summer. The boy had become excitable over a minor teasing incident. A smart aleck had poked fun at him for playing with the girls. Luckily, the boy’s grandfather had been there to console him and had taken him for a walk to cool down.
    “Did you see the man’s face?” The sheriff sat down opposite Joey and removed his hat. “Can you describe him?”
    A hush fell over the diner. Karla put down her tray, and Shermie stepped away from the grill.
    “He was sort of young. I’ve never seen him before in my life. He was wearing one of those one-piece suits that mechanics wear. Real dingy and splattered down the front. It looked wet.”
    “Describe his build for me,” McFaron said. “What’d he look like?”
    “Not real tall, pretty thin. His eyebrows were thick—it was hard to see his eyes. Honest, Sheriff, I think Julie was stuffed in the back of that truck.”
    “Why do you think that?” McFaron observed the boy closely. The sighting was significant. The timing of it, too. Joey was obviously shaken, shredding his paper napkin under the table.
    Joey’s eyes welled up suddenly and his voice grew softer when he added, “What else could those splatters mean, Sheriff?”
    Mike cleared his throat forcefully but otherwise remained quiet. Joey didn’t care about the scolding Mike would surely hand out on the way home. What Joey had seen mattered more—and what he was doing wasn’t the same thing as whining about the bullies or teasers at school. It wasn’t about his being unable to fight back against the Johnny Shannons of the world. He had seen something. He was telling the truth.
    McFaron scratched the short hairs below the haircut line on his neck. “Describe the truck if you can. What color was it?”
    Joey took a deep breath and concentrated. “Stained and real rusty, sort of grayish paint, I guess. Old, I’m sure of that. The wheel wells were big humps. It had a dark-painted grille and a big rusty bumper that stuck way out.” The boy made an S motion with his hand.
    “Good, son, you’re doing real good. Suppose I show you a picture book of trucks. Think you could pick it out?”
    “Yeah, I’m sure.” Joey had a good memory and had been able to recite without a hitch the first and last names of all the US presidents and vice presidents in history class this past spring.
    Joey glanced at the men standing by the counter. Their faces all looked the same: their mouths sagged open. Now Fred Barnes looked like
he’d
seen a ghost.
    McFaron’s mind was assessing: the stranger Joey had seen was on the same road as the Rhinelanders’ house, where Julie Heath had been visiting. Joey’s report of seeing something suspicious had the ring of truth about it, and his description of the truck sounded real enough. Yet he was known to be an overexcitable, fearful kid, one with an overactive imagination. The sheriff would have Mary check to see whether anyone living on Old Shed Road had had a painter or workman at their house earlier in the day.
    The portable radio on McFaron’s belt blared, followed by a woman’s voice.
    “Go ahead, Mary. Over,” he said into the unit, turning down the volume as much as he could.
    “Bob Heath just called in,” she said. “Wants you to contact him ASAP. Over.”
    McFaron glanced around the diner. “I’ll call back in a minute. Over.”
    He patted Joey’s head. “Son, you’ve been a great help noticing the