Page 114 of Sleeping Giants
“You should,” her mother said, stepping from her doorway. She wore mismatched socks. “Get out of here, go live your life.”
You could say that in a nicer way, Larry thought, but he gave her credit for saying it at all—it had probably taken all she had.
“Maybe,” Aspire repeated.
“Talk to the constable. I bet he has lots of ideas,” Larry said.
“Or the man at the paper,” her mother said. “He knows people.”
“I can even drive you in to interviews,” Larry said.
“You’d do that?” her mother asked.
“Sure. Why not? I’ve got things to do in the city.”
Aspire smiled, suddenly more cheerful.
Larry drank his coffee. The door behind him jangled, and one of the old men came to take his seat on the bench. He pulled out a containerof chaw and moved the wastebasket closer, so he could spit. Gertrude brought him a cup of coffee.
“You could take your father’s car if you move,” she told her daughter. “We’ll get it fixed up first.”
Aspire’s face lit up. She could have a piece of the past with her.
“You haven’t bought any spaghetti bake for a long time,” Gertrude told Larry.
“Guess I’ll have to fix that,” he said.
Larry was almost back at the hotel, cradling the warm package, when the idea came to him. He unlocked his hotel room door, set down his food, and took the phone out of his pocket.
“Yeah, Larry here. Hey, can you check something for me? It occurred to me that Ralph Higgins may be in his fifties, but he probably lived a hard life. Maybe he filed for disability at some point.”
He waited, listening.
His friend came back.
“Thank you,” Larry said.
He wrote down the address he had been given.
Amanda was back in her apartment, looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, when Larry called.
“We found Ralph Higgins,” Larry said. “He recently filed for disability for a bad back. He lives way out in the boonies—out past the gorge. I’m looking at his address right now.”
“Can we go?” Amanda asked.
“Looks like about a four- to five-hour drive from your place.”
“What about Ike?”
“The constable said he’s now denying everything except themolestation. It’s how it works. The constable swabbed his hands for accelerant and sent it to the state lab. We’ll get him, don’t worry.”
“Okay,” she said.
“I’ll pick you up bright and early.”
After they hung up, Amanda found a new bag to pack, and Larry sat in his hotel room with his stocking feet on the metal box.
Constable Roberts stood outside his only jail cell. It was rare that he held anyone here, unless it was a drunk tourist needing a dry-out. Most prisoners went on to the county jail, up the coast.
