Lacie June was carrying the new cloth doll Granny had made for her. Trotting over to the shelf where they kept local produce—bags of stone-milled flour and honey in pint fruit jars—she began dusting the doll's face with wheat flour, scooping it up with her fingers from around the bags where it had spilled. Florie Mae was standing at the counter reading the paper all over again about Susan Slattery, as if she might discover some fact gone undetected, when the faintest stir—a different sound than the running toy car or Lacie June's childish talking to herself—made her look up at the door.
Grady Coulter stood in the doorway. Watching her. He paid no attention to the children, just stood looking at her, his green eyes in shadow, the dropping sun behind his back turning his red hair as bright as a hearth fire.
Usually he would ask for some little item, or find it hisself and bring it to the counter, then, reaching into his tight jeans looking for change, he'd start in baiting her. But this evening he just came right on up to the counter. Didn't say anything. She didn't like the look in his eyes. She felt the children cross the room and draw in close behind her. She knew they were staring up at Grady over the counter.
She put her hand back, touching Bobbie Lee's silky hair. "What you want, Grady?" She glanced down at Lacie June and saw, behind the child, that both mama cats had raised up out of their box. They, too, were staring at Grady
But her cats were like that. They'd be out in the back with her among the nursery plants, and if someone strange came across the yard between the sheds, they'd slip close around her ankles and stare at the stranger, their backs humped up, and spitting.
"James home?" Grady said.
"Yes he is, Grady."
"He out back?" Grady started around the counter—whether heading for the back door, or for her, she couldn't tell. "What you want, Grady?"
He looked surprised. A little grin touched his face. "Sheriff's gettin' up a volunteer posse. For that Slatter girl," he said, gesturing toward the newspaper. "Someone saw a car—that's not in the paper. A white Lincoln, ten-, twelve-year-old, pull up just as she left the Wal-Mart. Sheriff wants all the help he can, while the trail's fresh. We're meeting here. Thought James might like to ride along, and maybe Lester. Maybe we'll find her," Grady said, looking at her, "maybe we'll find Rebecca."
Florie Mae envisioned a bunch of beer-drinking rifle-toting males doing nothing but getting in the sheriff's way—except James would see they behaved. Privately she hoped James wouldn't go. This second disappearance had left her as tight as a tick, with fear.
"James is out in the feed shed, Grady. Go on back."
As Grady moved on past her, she reached behind her to pull the children closer. When she looked up, Albern Haber and Herald Fremkis were pulling up out front. Albern ducked out of his brown pickup, his long dark hair blowing across his shoulders. Both men slammed their truck doors, and together headed around the building to the back. Behind them the dark clouds were lifting away. The rumbling of the sky had stopped. The wind was quieting, and the gentler shadows of a calm evening had begun to draw around the store, soft shadows to settle in along the street, softening the lines of the newspaper office and beauty parlor and Dot's Cafe. She heard them knock at the kitchen door.
Quickly Florie Mae and the children locked up and went on into the kitchen. The three men sat at the table drinking coffee while James washed up at the sink then took a bite of supper standing at the stove beside Granny. When Bobbie Lee realized his daddy was fixin' to leave, he set up a howl wanting to go with them. Exasperated, Florie Mae peeled his shirt off him and pulled Lacie June's dress off and sent them out to the side yard to play in the hose. There was no more rumble of thunder, the storm had passed and there was still some daylight, soft and silky as spring water. The evening was hot, the katydids singing up a storm. She listened to their talk, male talk about where they'd look and what might could have happened to Susan. Talk that didn't help the way she felt inside, talk she wouldn't want the children to hear.
Grady thought Susan might have got involved with someone at the Wal-Mart, and gone off with them. Lester was silent, still pale and real upset. Albern Haber thought if Susan had got into a car with someone, then she knew him. Said she wouldn't get in a car with a stranger she'd just met. They spent some time trying to recall who, anywhere in Farley County, drove a ten-year-old white Lincoln. Albern said it didn't have to be Farley County, could have been from anywhere, Georgia or even Tennessee. Albern was taller than James or Grady, well over six feet. Seemed like that long black hair hanging down 'round his collar made him look even taller. Albern'd had a hurt, sad look about him ever since Rebecca disappeared. Tonight, once he'd had his say, he was quiet, looking to James for direction.
Florie Mae rose ever' little while to watch her babies, out in the side yard, though she could hear their voices, hear Lacie June's high little giggle when Bobbie Lee sprayed her with the hose. Listening to the talk about Susan, she had a fierce longing to run outside and play in the hose with her children, and forget about grown-up pain.
Another half hour, and the men were gone, James with them carrying the sandwiches Granny had made and two big torches, his handgun holstered at his belt. James hugged her tight before he left, and stopped in the grassy side yard to hug his babies even if they were sopping wet. Then he was gone, riding in Albern's truck. Lester rode with Herald. Grady drove his own truck, with no company. They'd be meeting five more men at the sheriff's office.
When she and Granny were alone they checked the locks on the doors, and locked the downstairs windows, though the kitchen was hot as sin. Granny settled the children at the table and put their supper on, while Florie Mae nursed little Robert. It was well after supper and the dishes done up, and they'd put all three children to bed. Gran was sitting at the table working at her dolls, and Florie Mae was helping her, sewing up a little dress, when they heard a car pull up by the side yard. Quicker than spit, Granny unlocked the cupboard to her shotgun.
But Florie Mae shook her head. She knew the sound of that car. In another minute Martha came knocking their special knock.
Martha Bliss was some taller than Florie Mae, with long glossy black hair, and blue eyes and ivory skin, her beauty far more colorful than Florie Mae's brown hair and tan cheeks. Florie Mae could never tolerate a sun hat the way Granny thought she should. Tonight Martha had her dark hair pinned back under a pale baseball cap, and in spite of the heat she wore jeans and boots and a leather jacket, her cell phone making a lump in the pocket. "I've been lookin' for Rebecca's cat." She dropped her keys on the table, sitting down and accepting the glass of tea Granny offered. She looked up at Florie Mae, her blue eyes wide.
"Rebecca's mother called, all upset. But hopeful, Florie Mae! She said the night Rebecca disappeared and all the next day, Rebecca's cat Nugget was frantic-like, prowling the house. All nervous, looking and looking for Rebecca."
Nugget, Goldie's kitten from three years back, was just as possessive of Rebecca as Goldie was of Florie Mae. Goldie would rise up at anything that threatened Florie Mae, and Nugget was just the same.
"That night," Martha said, "when Rebecca didn't come home, Nugget wanted out real bad. Rebecca would never have let her out at night, and Ms. Duncan wouldn't neither. She said Nugget was so riled that she shut her in Rebecca's room, said the cat cried all night. Next, morning, Mrs. Duncan—she hadn't slept, of course, with phone calls and talking with the sheriff and worrying, and trying to think where Rebecca could be. Calling everyone, all night long. And the cat howling all night. Next morning the cat was near crazy, and Mrs. Duncan felt the same. Said she flung open Rebecca's bedroom door and the front door, tired of hearing the cat. Said Nugget took off through the woods just a-running."