Free Satan’s Lambs by Lynn Hightower Page A

That’s beside the point. What are you going—”
    The phone rang.
    â€œLook,” Eloise said. “I got to answer that. It may be a cake order. Please, don’t go yet.”
    She went to the kitchen. Lena heard her say hello twice, mutter something about wrong numbers that hung up without even saying they were sorry, then put down the receiver.
    Eloise came back into the living room and sat down on the stool. She leaned forward.
    â€œI got no people I can go back to. Nobody that wouldn’t be worse than Archie.”
    â€œThey might protect your son.”
    â€œYeah, but he’d be better dead. I won’t have him grow up like I did. Them days is over, and I ain’t going back. You don’t want to help me, okay. But did you really expect me to say, yeah, I had the money, but sorry , now it’s gone?”
    â€œI expected the truth. If I’m wasting my time looking for something that isn’t there, I can’t help you.”
    Eloise lifted a small pair of boy’s jeans and folded them. “I’m not sure what you can do to help me, anyhow.”
    Lena shrugged. “It comes down to inconvenience. If it is more inconvenient for Archie to bother you than to go away, he’ll go away.”
    â€œHe’ll kill me first.”
    â€œThere’s that. He know about Charlie?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen we can keep him out of it. I need to know more about Archie. What he’s scared of—”
    Eloise laughed. “Archie ain’t scared of nothing.”
    â€œGot to be something.”
    â€œYou don’t get it. Archie hung around too much with your sister’s husband. He thinks he got the devil on his side. That’s why he didn’t take care of that money like he should. He was sure Satan would get him off. He’s nutty on it. He was shocked all to pieces when he went to jail.”
    Lena sighed. She unlaced her tennis shoes. “You mind?” she asked Eloise. “I think better when I’m barefooted.”
    â€œGo on and get comfortable.”
    Lena slipped her tennis shoes off and sat cross-legged on the couch. “Give me a pile of those clothes and I’ll help you fold. And while we do it, we’re going to talk about Archie. You were married to him once, you ought to know the soft spots.”
    Eloise grabbed an armful of clothes and deposited them on the couch. “He’s allergic to peanuts.”
    â€œI guess that’s a start. We could corner him and force-feed him Jif.”
    Charlie picked the cheese and pepperoni off a slice of pizza.
    â€œEat the crust, too,” Eloise said absently. She leaned over and wiped sauce off his ear. “I can’t think of nothing else. I told you everything except he wears boxer shorts.”
    â€œ Does he?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œDoesn’t seem the type.”
    â€œWhat is the type?”
    â€œWith men, you never can tell.”
    Lena leaned back on the couch, careful not to scatter the neatly folded laundry. She had suggested sending out for pizza without thinking and felt guilty because Eloise had insisted on paying half. But she knew a lot more about Archie now, including his preference for undershorts. He was a fanatical photographer, thought crickets were lucky, and didn’t like spiders. He was allergic to peanuts, would not drink beer from a glass, worked, when he did work, as a roofer, loved basketball games, thought soccer was for sissies, and was happiest on his Harley.
    â€œTell me more about the motorcycle gang he used to ride with.”
    â€œThe Grits? Don’t know much. He’d quit them before we got married. He got a scar on his arm from when they burned off his tattoo.”
    â€œBurned it off? Nice. Why did he quit?”
    â€œGot kicked out. Their tattoo was one of those, you know, like they have in those desert places. A scorpion. Black one, on his arm. When he got kicked out they took hot spoons and