Page 13 of Property of Stone
Or it could be a popular party spot for local teenagers.
She continued on her trek, taking it all in.
Rusty fifty-five-gallon drums, cut in half, had been used to make barbecue grills with the grates made out of stolen shopping carts. She hoped anyone eating off those were up to date on their tetanus shot.
She kept moving and spotted a burnt circle full of chunks of charcoal and piles of ashes. Stacked next to the huge fire pit was a mountain of wood pallets at least twelve feet high.
She next came across a covered pavilion built out of what appeared to be scrap wood and metal road signs. No surprise that it needed a fresh coat of paint. On the cracked concrete slab under the pavilion were six picnic tables and another half dozen were scattered around the rear schoolyard, some in the beaten-down grass and the rest in dirt.
Those weather-worn tables must’ve been used recently as they were not only covered in, but also surrounded by trash. Half-empty beer bottles full of cigarette butts. Smashed beer cans. Shards of broken bottles.
A few garbage cans also made from fifty-five-gallon drums dotted the area. No surprise, they were all overflowing. At least at one point, whoever had partied here made an effort to try to keep the area clean.
Apparently, that hadn’t lasted long.
Not an ashtray could be found. But silly her, that was what the bottles and cans were for, right? Or maybe not, since she couldn’t take one step without seeing crushed cigarette butts in the dirt under her feet.
About three hundred yards from the rear of the school and along the tree line, she spotted something that made the fine hairs on the back ofher neck stand up.
A haphazard “shooting range.” It included shredded paper targets of life-sized silhouettes as well as blown apart cans and bottles. A headless, armless mannequin had a massive hole blown through its torso, most likely made with a shotgun or a high-caliber handgun.
She was so out of her element.
She shouldn’t have come here.
If Mr. Conrad truly lived at this address, it was screaming, “Leave me alone. Or else.” He most likely didn’t want her here looking for him. Even though she only wanted to thank him.
She should’ve mailed a damn postcard, or sent a “thanks for beating the crap out of my ex” greeting card.
“Hey, girly! You lost?”
She jumped out of her skin. Her heart skipped a beat or two and it took her a few seconds to find her breath so she could answer, “I…I’m not sure.”
A bearded man with a beer belly so big he looked about to deliver triplets stood only yards away. His black leather vest couldn’t be buttoned closed even if he tried. His worn jeans were dirty with brown and black stains. She didn’t want to know from what.
She needed to pay better attention. This man approached her while she’d been distracted. She glanced around to make sure he was the only one and this wasn’t an ambush.
He tipped his head and scratched at his long beard. “Huh. Pretty fuckin’ sure you are. Best you get back in that cage of yours and skedaddle.”
Cage? Skedaddle?
His scraggly salt and pepper beard was overdue to have a date with a weed whacker. It would take a day’s work to find his lips in thatmess.
Taryn would not volunteer to be on that search party.
His boots, similar to the ones James Conrad had been wearing, were covered in scuffs and dried mud. What gray-streaked hair remained on his head was pulled back into a thin ponytail. The man should stop fighting the good fight and shave it off.
He took a long drag on his cigarette, then flicked the still burning butt onto the ground.
This is why the “yard,” or whatever it was called, looked the way it did.
“Like whatcha see, girly?” He yanked on his long beard again as if he was pointing out his best feature.
No, she was not interested in the man standing before her.
“I have business here.” She squinted and read the patch on his vest, “Patch?”
“Business?” Patch chuckled. “You a whore?”
