Revenant

“In two weeks,” I added.

“Shit.” Garnett’s hands flattened on the table for two seconds, then busied themselves rearranging the condiments on the far corner.

“Do you know the guy? Joe Welford.”

“Yeah. Joe comes in every Saturday morning with Pamela’s dad. He’s quiet, but in a shy way not a psycho way.” She shook her head. “He didn’t kill Pamela.”

“People are capable of anything,” I said, looking at the last swallow in my glass.

“You used to believe they were capable of kindness, too. And love.” Garnett’s brown eyes were sad.

“I used to believe in a lot of things.” I drank the last swallow. “Heard any talk about the fifth body in the grave?”

“Lots of talk, nothing I’d consider to be even a half-cocked theory. Let’s see, it’s the killer’s sister or mother, going with the assumption that she was the first victim and that she drove him to do the others. An Anthony Perkins kind of thing. And—”

“Wait a minute. So everyone is certain the victim is female and the killer male?”

“That’s the consensus. Why? Do you think differently?”

“No, that’s pretty much what I think. Maybe he killed someone in Louisiana or Alabama and brought the body here.”

“I’ve heard that one, too, and that’s the one I’d put my money on. The thing that’s really got folks buzzing is Pamela’s murder. I mean is it a copycat? Or is the guy back?”

“I wish I knew.” I picked up my empty glass. “I think I’ll have another.”