Page 157 of Cold, Cold Bones
“Mr. Calvin Winkard.”
“Where?”
“Raleigh.”
“On what charge?”
“When collected, inebriated, from the stoop of an unhappy homeowner, Winky was found to be the proud possessor of twenty grams of blow.” I heard Ryan drink, then the sound of a can being crushed. Guessed he was high on caffeine.
“He’s looking at six to twelve months,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am. I hear tell that’s a class-one felony in these parts.”
When Ryan is stressed, or overcaffeinated, he often relieves tension with his version of a Gene Autry imitation. Sometimes Roy Rogers. He was doing that now. I made a mental note to change my ringtone.
“When was Winky busted?” I asked.
“Seven sundowns yesterday, ma’am.”
“Stop that.”
“Okay.”
I calculated the time interval.
“I talked to Winky a week ago Friday. He blew town the next day. He couldn’t have abducted Olivia.”
“No, ma’a—”
“Everything points to Kramden. Kramden’s our guy.”
“Skinny and I may have a line on the varmint.”
“Seriously? You didn’t open with that minor tidbit?”
“I thought you’d want to know about Winky.”
“I want to know about Kramden.”
“A Circle K cashier claims a man bought a boatload of crap in his store last night.”
“Well, hallelujah. Case closed.”
“Shall we talk later?”
“Sorry.”
“Saidcashier called 911 to report that the man looked like the guy they’re showing on TV. His name is Randall.”
“The man was missing one eye?”
“The customer, not Randall.”
“Thanks for the clarification.” Rolling both of mine.
“Randall said the man bought six bottles of Fanta orange soda, six ice cream sandwiches, and three bags of sour cream chips. According to Olivia’s mother, those are the kid’s favorites. The man also purchased a pink hairbrush and some sort of kids’ shampoo.”
“Holy bouncing crapballs. Where’s the Circle K?”
