Cold in July Read Online Free PDF Page B

beer, and later eating the
sandwich, listened to a couple of Dwight Yoakam songs on the jukebox, then
drove back to the shop.

 
    7
     
                
    A few people who had heard about the killing came into the
shop, and at least one of them was nothing more than a morbid curiosity seeker.
He didn’t even try to pretend he had business there, he just wanted to know
about last night. I told him all I felt like telling him, then went to the
bathroom in the back and stayed there until James and Valerie got rid of him.
    Rest of the day I worked on frames by myself and had James
and Valerie stay up front. There wasn’t that much work for them up there, and I
really could have used one of them on the frames, but I wanted to be left alone
and I wanted to stay away from bullshit conversation. Talk about the weather
and the Dallas Cowboys wasn’t going to cut it today. It would only remind me I
was putting up a veneer against the real concerns, and that would be worse.
    About four-thirty, I was working on a limited-edition print,
putting 100 percent rag matt around it, when the phone rang. James answered and
said it was for me.
    It was Price.
    “There may be a problem,” he said.
    “What kind of problem?”
    “Ben Russel. Freddy’s father. He got out of Huntsville
yesterday. He knows his son is dead, knows he was killed in a burglary, and
word is he’s coming to the funeral. He could be dangerous. Don’t go to the
funeral.”
    “I’ll think about it.”
    “Stay away from Ben Russel, Mr. Dane. He’s dangerous. You
being at his son’s funeral would just make matters worse. You stay home and
maybe he’ll just let things be and move on. He probably doesn’t care one way or
another about the boy. His type is vengeful. Just looking for an excuse.”
    “Thanks for the advice, Price.”
    “Heed it, Dane. Trust me on this.”
    I hung up and went back to my matting. I backed the print
and got a piece of no-glare glass for it, but found I couldn’t make it fit the
frame. My hands didn’t work right.
    I had James finish it. I drank a cup of coffee I didn’t
need, then went to the bathroom to think. I tried to picture Ben Russel and
imagined him long and lean with a crew cut and a scar on the side of his face.
I figured he had a gravelly voice and was the kind of guy that had killed a
fellow inmate in prison with a spoon he had sharpened in metal shop. I could
imagine the warden talking to him when they let him out, telling him, “Go
straight, Russel,” And I could imagine Russel thinking, “Yeah, soon as I finish
a little job in LaBorde.”
    I washed my face and went home early.

 
    8
     
                
    Ann picks Jordan up from day school every day when she gets
off work, so when I got home he was sitting at the table eating a bologna
sandwich. Mayonnaise was dripping out of it and there was a circle of the stuff
thick as mad dog foam around his mouth. The mayonnaise jar and the table were
covered with it too.
    “Hi, Daddy.”
    “Hi, son.”
    I looked at the table and the spoon and the jar and went
over and got a paper towel and cleaned up best I could. I made a point of not saying
anything to him about the mess. Usually I jumped him. But I was trying to put
things in better perspective this day, and suddenly the mess seemed a lot less
major than it might have the day before. And for that matter, who was I to cast
the first stone. I wasn’t that neat and organized now, and I was thirty-five.
    I saw that Ted and his boys were in the living room,
painting away. They had the floor covered in plastic sheets, but there was very
little splashed on it. They had their backs to me, and as I had come in through
the garage, they hadn’t noticed me yet. I watched them work a minute, then
looked at my watch. Six o’clock. That was one good thing about hiring a man who
worked for himself. He worked until the job got done, not until five o’clock. Besides,
a painter had to take work where he could find it. They