The Night is Forever. Heather Graham
searched for any excitement out here. He lowered his head and smiled. They weren’t at the ends of the earth. Nashville was only twenty miles away. But he knew that people from the country usually stayed in the country.
“No matter how the man died, he apparently did a lot of good before his death,” he said.
“He did. He helped so many people....”
Dustin picked up his keys and finally turned to leave. “Thanks, Ellie.”
“Oh! If you’re hungry, the café down the road is open until nine or ten, depending on whether they have people in there. The food’s actually really great. The best corn bread.”
“Nothing like it.”
“And the cheese grits are to die for.”
“Another important factor,” he agreed. “Thanks for the suggestion.”
“Pleasure. Make yourself at home. Old Miss Patterson is in one of the bedrooms upstairs and Carolyn Martin’s up there, too, along with Coot—you met him outside?” Dustin nodded. “He likes to come for the winter. He lives in the hills but he’s a smart old bastard—knows he’s too old to plow snow and manage up there once the cold hits. Oh, I forgot to mention. The living area here is for everyone and there’s a room back of the dining area with games and stuff.”
With a nod of thanks, he headed over to his room. Setting his bag down, he took out his computer and Wi-Fi connector. There was a lot he wanted to look up, background he hadn’t gotten to yet. But neither had he stopped in the city to eat; it might not be a bad idea to check out the local diner and the clientele—especially since he was hungry.
First, though, he called Olivia Gordon, Malachi’s cousin, to explain who he really was and what he was doing there. She evidently knew that an agent was coming in; she couldn’t have missed that fact, since he was scheduled to start at the Horse Farm the following day.
She didn’t answer. He’d try her again in the morning—or maybe he’d just show up. Either way, he didn’t want to leave a message. Messages were recorded, and in his life, recordings could come back to bite you. But he also assumed that Malachi’s cousin was an intelligent young woman. She knew he was coming, so she’d figure it out.
Examining his room, he discovered that he probably did have the best. His bathroom was nice and large with way more closet space than he needed, and his key worked on the back door, as well. It led to the rear porch area; if he ever needed to, he could exit without being seen.
He left his room, carefully locking the door behind him. He did it out of instinct, not because he suspected anyone wanted to go through his belongings. But you never knew.
He waved to Ellie as he left, and also waved at Coot, still rocking on the front porch, as he walked out to his car.
The café was even closer than he’d realized from Ellie’s directions; it was just down the road. It was a true diner, converted from a pair of old connected freight cars. The tables were small but neat and clean, and his waitress, a heavyset woman named Delilah, was warm and friendly. The place was empty when he entered, but as she took his order—the daily special of pot roast, with a side of grits, okra and a serving of corn bread—the door opened and four young men walked in, followed by an older man. The boys were joking; the older man looked weary.
“The boys from Parsonage House,” Delilah murmured to him, nodding.
“Parsonage House?” he asked politely.
“It’s a center for wayward boys. At least that’s what we used to call them. Addicts—and other kids who’ve gotten into some minor trouble. None of them are hardened criminals. The Parsonage runs a program for them, and they offer all kinds of therapy. Including horse therapy.” She paused, wagging her head. “We have a famous facility for that, you know.” When he murmured that he’d heard of it, she continued. “The Parsonage has a good success rate—although some people around here aren’t so fond of having it in the neighborhood. But me, I like the boys. They come in every few nights, after their N.A. meeting at the old chapel,” Delilah told him. “Some of them—well, quite a few of them, actually—make it. Some of them, though, they come back, and they come back—and then we hear they’re up at the state prison or they’ve wrapped themselves around a tree off the highway. Drew, over there, he works for the Horse Farm. This is a sideline for him. Guess he likes the company of people now and then, seeing how most of the time he’s with critters.”
She walked away to fill his order. He picked up a copy of the free local paper, which was only six pages—mostly ads, a few columns of local news. The restaurant was small, and even if he wasn’t interested in what was going on around him, he wouldn’t have been able to avoid eavesdropping.
Two of the boys were cutting up, stealing another boy’s baseball cap and tossing it back and forth.
“Stop. Give it back. We’re in a restaurant,” the older man said. He didn’t yell, but he spoke sternly and they listened to him.
One of them complained teasingly, “Hey, Joey had a good day. He was out with Olivia Gordon for half the afternoon!”
“Yes, and you had your horse therapy session, too,” the older man said.
“Yeah, yeah—but I had Aaron.”
“Aaron’s great with the horses—and with you kids,” the older man said.
“Joey’s happy he didn’t get Aaron, right, Joey?” one of the boys joked.
Dustin could just see Joey. The kid was blushing.
“Joey’s got a crush on his therapist!” another one teased.
“I don’t have a crush on her—you guys have a crush on her!” Joey protested. “And it’s dumb. She thinks we’re all kids.”
“You are all kids,” the older man said.
“Hey, Drew,” one of the boys said. “Did you ever try to date her?”
The older man laughed. “I’ve known Olivia Gordon since she was a kid, and no, Sean, we never dated. She was a Nashville girl, and we met when she came out here to visit her uncle.”
“So? City girls didn’t date country bumpkins?” Joey asked.
“No, Olivia was never like that,” the man, Drew, said. He was smiling; it was evident that he liked Olivia Gordon, too. “She’s always been nice to everyone, and she’s very serious about her work. So don’t go making life miserable for her, huh? She’s...”
“She’s what?” Joey demanded.
“She’s just different,” Drew said. “Special. And a really fine therapist, so you all behave like gentlemen when you’re around her, y’hear?”
“Yes, sir,” one of the boys who’d teased Joey said. “This whole thing, though... It’s all a little hypocritical, isn’t it?”
“He’s talking about old Danby going back on the juice,” another boy said.
“Hey, that’s nothing but a rumor,” Drew said firmly. “Certainly at this point. I’m not even sure how it got started.”
“But what if the rumor’s real?” Joey asked.
“I don’t believe it,” Drew said. “I knew and worked with Marcus for years. But if he did go back to drugs, well... Hell, that’s not what you want for yourselves. Found dead in a ditch. Anyway, he shouldn’t be remembered for his relapse, if there was one. He should be remembered for everything he did right—for people and animals!”
Delilah stepped between Dustin’s booth and that of the group. The boys ordered, and when they spoke again, they were subdued. In another few minutes, Delilah brought out Dustin’s order. “Enjoy!” she said. She rolled her eyes toward the boys and Drew at the end of the dining car and hurried back around the counter.
The food was