Page 41 of Evil Bones
“He asked me to punch a hole so he could hang the toy on his belt. Or on a lanyard. Or on something.” Dahmer waggled the baggie. “This one has that hole.”
“He?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No one else ever asked you to do that?”
“No, sir.”
“Describe the guy.”
Dahmer shrugged. “He was just a guy.”
Slidell’s cheek muscles bunched just south of his temples. Before he could snap, causing Dahmer to pee his jockeys or to shut down completely, I jumped in.
“Was the gentleman old, young? Tall, short? Heavy, slight? White, Black, Hispanic?”
The Adam’s apple made another round trip as Dahmer gave thought to my question.
“He wasn’t all that tall. And he might have been blond, though I’m not sure—he was wearing a hat. But there was something weird about the way he looked at me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
The bulbous eyes shifted from me to Slidell and back.
“I don’t know. Forget it. The guy was like anyone you’d see walking down the street.”
Katy texted as Slidell and I were en route back to the Annex. She and Ruthie were taking the Southern Charm Haunted/True Crime golf cart excursion around Charlotte that night. She invited me to join them.
I’d never heard of the tour. Had to admit, it sounded fun.
Nevertheless, I declined. First the outing to Park Road Park. Then the zillion pet store canvassing romp. The day’s agenda, accompanied by Slidell’s constant sarcasm, had left me exhausted.
After parting from Skinny, though, I did find enough energy to run a series of pesky errands—purchased printer cartridges, returned an unfortunate impulse-buy sun hat to Nieman’s, filled a prescription, picked up a bag of wild bird seed for my feeder—and arrived home to an extremely petulant cat. It was well past Birdie’s evening mealtime and he showed his annoyance by ignoring me.
“Sorry, Bird. My bad.”
An accusatory stare came my way from atop the fridge.
“No kibble tonight, big guy. How about we crack out one of your faves?”
The cat watched me open and empty a can of seafood pâté into his bowl. Made no move to descend from his lofty perch.
Pushing through the swinging door into the dining room, I heard the softthup thupof paws hitting the granite countertop, then the hardwood floor. Couldn’t help but smile.
A quick change to cutoffs and a tee, then I returned to the kitchen. For my dinner I zapped a Stouffer’s chicken and mashed potatoes combo.
Yeah, I know. Sodium, sugar, saturated fats, preservatives. But frozen dinners areuberquick and easy. Haute cuisine when paired with fresh-squeezed supermarket lemonade.
I hate to cook. That’s a given. More important, I wanted time to relax—maybe take a bubble bath—before Ryan’s call.
By nine my skin was flushed, my fingertips puckered from a very long immersion in very hot water. Odd choice, given the heat still gripping the city. Don’t care. A soaky bath tops my list of methods to chill.
I was propped against a mountainous heap of bed pillows, watching CNN, when my mobile sounded.
“Bonjour, ma chère.”Ryan’s eyes looked even more intensely blue on my phone’s little screen than in real life.
“Bonjour.”
