I gazed back at him bleakly. Too drained for any reaction. But the waitress just laughed at him. Put her hand on my arm.
"Don't pay no mind to Eno," she said. "He's just a grumpy old thing. I'll call you the taxi. Just wait out in the parking lot, OK?"
I waited out on the road. Five minutes. The taxi drove up. Brand-new and immaculate, like everything else in Margrave.
"Where to, sir?" the driver asked.
I gave him pritchard's address and he made a wide, slow turn, shoulder to shoulder across the county road. Headed back to town. We passed the firehouse and the police headquarters. The lot was empty. Roscoe's Chevy wasn't there. No cruisers. They were all out. Up at pritchard's. We made the right at the village green and swung past the silent church. Headed up Jackson. In a mile I would
