Page 99 of The Witch's Orchard
“This is lovely,” I say, gesturing toward the photo.
“Thank you,” she says, quietly, genuinely.
“You must miss him very much,” I say.
“Yes,” she says, a whisper.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “But you must have family in Georgia. Why not move back?”
She smiles again and waves with that pretty, weightless hand to the high walls and towering windows and massive fireplace and her ever-present company of dead beasts, and says, “I simply couldn’t. Leaving this place… I would lose him forever.”
We walk out onto the porch.
“I’d better head down the mountain,” I say. “I’ve got more people to bother.”
“All right,” she says, as if she does not care whether I stay or go.
I stop on the steps, with her standing in the doorway behind me, and look again at the view of the mountains and the valley below. In the distance, I see the charred remains of the factory that Deena’s husband once owned, the factory that she sold off, the factory that I barely escaped and two others perished in. I see Max’s family farm and his empty fields and the little white farmhouse where he has grown to adulthood, waiting for Molly, waiting for me. And I see Main Street and the little bakery in which Shiloh Evers sits and waits and can do nothing more.
THIRTY-THREE
IT’S DUSK WHEN Ifinally get back to my little rental cabin and AJ is there with a six-pack and two Styrofoam containers of food from King’s Garden, Quartz Creek’s one and only Chinese restaurant.
“Marry me,” I say, taking the six-pack and leading him up the porch.
He chuckles and says, “Now here I was thinking you weren’t the marrying type.”
“Oh, yeah,” I say, shrugging. “I forgot.”
“We could settle down right here,” he says. “Couple of kids, a big ol’ farmhouse, church on Sundays.”
I get us both in the door and set my keys on the counter, stash the six-pack in the fridge, get out two cold ones.
“I rescind my offer,” I say.
He winks at me and says, “Thought you might.”
He puts the Chinese food down and opens the containers to reveal lo mein, sweet and sour pork, black pepper chicken, egg rolls, crispy crab Rangoon, and plenty of fried rice. It’s a veritable smorgasbord that only barely resembles food from actual China but iseverythingChinese food is to this southern mountain girl.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked so I got two buffets to go.”
“Amazing,” I say, taking a pair of paper-wrapped chopsticks from him. “Maybe I could become the churchgoing motherly type after all.”
He laughs, and we dig in.
“Nothing on Lucy?” I ask. I know if he had anything he’d tell me, but I can’t help checking, hoping there’s some new thread to follow.
He shakes his head.
“State troopers are pitching in, doing what they can. They canvassed the mountain behind the church today. Dogs and everything. No trace yet. Reporters are starting to get into town. It’s going to be a circus before too much longer.”
“What about the FBI?” I say. “Are they coming?”
“Yep. They’re sending a task force. Should be here tomorrow,” AJ says. “A few other towns have sent deputies already to help comb the area but… nothing so far. Everyone who’s not working to track Lucy is working with the fire department to collect evidence at the explosion site.”
We mull things over while splashing soy sauce out of packets and into the already oversalted food.
AJ says, “So you saw Bob Ziegler today?”
