When I got done talkin’ to Nina—who for once didn’t know as much as me—I called the hospital an’ the funeral home. No luck. Then I started at the library, askin’ about things in general an’ Mr. Missin’ Devon in particular. My big sister Alethia, who’s been librarian since Ma retired to Florida, ’membered Devon. He’d been a frequent visitor to the library—’til about a month ago. I wondered out loud why I’d never run into him.
Thia said, “Maybe if you’d spend less time at the post office …” Thia don’t entirely approve of Nina—thinks she’s too young for me, an’ wild.
“Don’t start, Thia.”
“No point,” she said. “You’re free, white, and twenty-one.” Thia is only five-four an’ skinny, but she sometimes forgets she ain’t my ma.
“Not to change the subject much, but has Ash Jackson been in recently?”
“Ash Jackson has never been in here. Try the Sports Bar.”
“I’ll do that.”
“What’s the connection with Roger?”
I shrugged. “I’m just killin’ two birds on one trip. ATF’s lookin’ for Ash.”
“If he comes in, I’ll tell him.”
“Nah, don’t do that. If you see him, call the sheriff.”
“Anything else I can do for you?”
I held up one of the pi’tures of Devon. “You might could put up this poster,” I said, knowin’ my grammar’d give her fits.
She passed on the chance to correct it, an’ put Devon on her bulletin board, right next to the America’s Libraries READ poster of Whoopi Goldberg.
None of the clerks at Saveway had seen Devon, who I was beginnin’ to think of as RD. Same went for the Baptist preacher—Reverend Nathaniel Church, an’ the folks at the Shell station, the drug an’ feed stores, the restaurant, an’ the three in-town bars. Neither the high school bus driver nor the grammar school secretary, who knows even more than Nina ’bout what’s goin’ on, knew anythin’. By the most amazin’ coincidence, no one I talked to could remember the last time he’d seen Ash Jackson, either. I timed my visit to the post office to coincide with the arrival of the Greyhound bus, but the driver didn’t remember pickin’ up anyone in Boone County since Christmas. It figured. Just to be thorough, I planned to hit the Truck Stop an’ the Sports Bar, where someone should have seen Ash if not RD, but it was beginnin’ to look as if Nina’s guess about them was on target—Ash’d run Devon outta town, or mebbe worse, then decided to make hisself scarce ’til things cooled down.
After talkin’ to the Greyhound driver, I had just enough time before supper to take a run out to the Boone place an’ find out what Angie knew about it all.
The Boones have the biggest farm in the county—three hundred good acres with a blacktop drive, a two-story white house, an’ a pi’ture-postcard barn. The place looked deserted. I rung the bell an’ waited two or three minutes, then moseyed ’round back where the Boones parked their trucks. The backyard was blacktopped, too, an’ the area between the house an’ barn was ringed by farm equipment, some covered, all well kept up. There was a old-fashioned Coke machine—the kind with the little glass bottles for a quarter—next to the back door. I got outta my car an’ bought a couple of Cokes. I had to open both of ’em right there, ’cause they was the kind you need a church key to get into. I half-emptied one while I looked ’round.
Mars Boone’s Ford 150 was gone, but Myra’s Toyota was pulled up next to the barn door, which was open. The big storage area, inside the barn, was empty, guarded by a Rottweiler big as a Kenworth tractor. He didn’t bother to get up or bark when I got near, just growled a little when I got closer than he liked. There wasn’t no doubt what’d happen if I crossed the line.
I went back to my car an’ followed the wheel ruts from the edge of the paved yard to the dirt lane runnin’ between the fields. It weren’t bad, as unpaved roads go, but the squad bottomed out a couple times ’fore I got to the field where a tractor was circlin’ the hay field. In the distance it looked like a Matchbox toy.
At the field gate, I stopped to watch. Myra Boone was drivin’, rakin’ the hay that’d probably been cut yesterday. She had on a long-sleeved shirt an’ a wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun off. I got out of my car an’ finished my Coke while I waited for her to come round. When she stopped an’ cut the engine, I got the second Coke an’ walked over. I took off my hat. “Afternoon, Miz Boone.” She didn’t get down, an’ I had to look up to her.
“Homer.” She wiped her face on her sleeve. “What brings you up this way?”
I handed her the Coke. She smiled an’ took it, waitin’ for a answer. I said, “One of the teachers from the mission turned up AWOL. I thought maybe Angie might’a heard ’bout it.”
“Why Angie?” Myra seemed a tad alarmed.
I shrugged. “Jus’ coverin’ all the bases. She’s the only kid I ain’t talked to yet.”
I thought Myra looked relieved. “She’s still at school.” She took a pull on the Coke bottle, then got a puzzled look on her face. “Why’n’t you talk to her when you questioned the other kids?”
“I thought one of ’em tole me she wasn’t there. Guess I must’a misunderstood.”
“Damn straight. She goes to school every day. Else she’d be out here with me, earnin’ her keep.” She took a long swallow of Coke that half emptied the bottle.
I nodded again. “She mention anythin’ to you about one of the teachers leavin’?”
“Nope.” She finished the drink an’ handed me back the bottle. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Maybe you could have Angie stop an’ see me next time she’s in town?” Maybe I’d have to find Angie sooner than that. “Or gimme a call if she’s heard anythin’ ’bout that missin’ teacher?”
“Yeah. Sure.” She restarted the engine, an’ whatever else she said got lost as she put it in gear.
I left the empties by the Coke machine on my way back to the road.