Page 25 of Hello, Summer
Skelly brought out his billfold and handed over his driver’s license.
“Son of a bitch!” the cop exclaimed. “I knew it. Sean Kelly! You skinny son of a bitch.” He clamped a thick mitt on Skelly’s shoulder. “It’s me, Walter Poppell!”
The deputy held the flashlight under his own chin, illuminating a fleshy head the approximate size of a garbage can lid.
“Popps?” Skelly did a double take. “Holy shit! You’re a cop?”
Poppell shrugged. “Right? Y’all used to take bets on who’d be the first guy on the team to end up in jail. Guess what? It’s me—only I’m the one locking up all y’all’s sorry asses.” The cop gestured toward Conley. “This your lady?”
“No!” Conley exclaimed.
The deputy flicked the beam of the flashlight up and down her body. “Too bad.”
“Cool it, Popps. We’re old friends. Neighbors, actually,” Skelly said.“We bumped into each other earlier tonight at the Legion, and we were headed home when we ran up on this.” He pointed at the Escalade.
“Y’all been drinking?” The cop’s voice was stern. “Which one of you was driving?”
“I was driving, and I stopped after two beers,” Skelly said. “Way before midnight.”
“Screw it, then,” Poppell said. “Dispatch said there was just the driver, that right? No passengers?”
“Not as far as we could tell,” Skelly said. “It must have happened right before we drove up. Sarah—I mean, Conley—ran up to try to open the door while I called 911.”
“I saw the driver. He was slumped sideways, and I could see some blood on his collar,” Conley said. “I called to him, but he didn’t respond. I guess he was unconscious.”
“Well, if the dude wasn’t dead before, he’s toast now. Literally.” Poppell chuckled.
Conley winced and looked past the cop, letting her eyes focus on anything other than him or the blaze that the firefighters had almost extinguished.
“The door was jammed shut,” Skelly said. “I tried to break the window in with a tire iron, but I only got one swing in before the vehicle caught fire. The blaze was so hot, there was nothing we could do. I was afraid it would explode.”
“Y’all didn’t recognize the driver?” Poppell asked.
“No.”
“All right,” Poppell said. “Guess there’s nothing to do now but wait for the ambulance.”
“Can we go?” Conley asked abruptly. She had no desire to watch the rest of this inevitable scene unfold.
“Don’t see why not,” Poppell said. He unbuttoned a flap on his breast pocket and brought out a small notebook. “Here. Y’all write down your phone numbers and contact info. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”
Conley scribbled her cell phone number and handed the pad to her friend, who did the same.
“What are you up to these days, Skelly?” the deputy asked.
“Same old, same old. Running the drugstore, trying to stay out of trouble.”
Skelly held the passenger door open, and Conley climbed onto the seat.
“See ya around, Popps,” Skelly said, turning to go.
“Hey, we should get the guys together sometime,” Poppell said. “Grab a beer or something.” He reached back into his pocket and brought out a card. “Gimme a call, okay?”
“For sure,” Skelly said. He started the Subaru and steered carefully around the blackened, smoldering wreck. The firefighters were packing up their gear to go too, and in the distance, they heard the wail of an approaching ambulance.
Conley leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “How do you know that creep?”
“Popps? We played jayvee football together. He was six two, weighed two-forty in eighth grade. Started shaving in seventh grade. He played left tackle. And when I tell you he was dumber than a box of rocks, that’s being charitable.”
