Althea frowned at the truck. “That’s not Loretta’s.”
As we walked to the front door and Althea knocked, I got a tingly feeling between my shoulder blades. I glanced around. The blinds of the trailer behind us flickered and I knew someone was watching us. Suddenly, I was glad Althea had elected to come with me.
The door swung open and a black woman in yellow medical scrubs printed with teddy bears stared at us. A silver nametag said, “Loretta Farber, RN.” She might have been pretty, but a sallow cast to her skin testified to exhaustion, and a world-weary look in her eyes made me think not much would surprise her. She could’ve been anywhere between thirty-five and fifty-five. She kept her face impassive as she gazed through the screen at us. “Yes?”
“You going to invite us in, Loretta?” Althea asked.
Loretta’s face brightened with recognition, taking ten years off her age, and she pushed the screen door open. “Althea Jenkins! What in the world are you doing here?” She gave me a curious look.
We stepped into a kitchen with a small dinette and two chairs and cabinets painted red to match the curtains. A faint odor of bacon lingered in the air. Althea introduced us, adding, “We just want to talk to Lonnie. Is he here?”
“Now, why would you be wanting my Lonnie, Althea?” Loretta asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Wariness settled again on her features.
“I wanted to talk to him about what he might have seen at Rothmere,” I said. “The night Braden McCullers got hurt.”
“He didn’t see anything,” she said flatly.
“We’re not here to get Lonnie in trouble,” Althea said. “But since he was there that night, we thought—”
“Well, you thought wrong. Lonnie’s not above playing a prank or two—the cops told me about the fireworks and I grounded him for that—but he wouldn’t deliberately hurt someone. Deep down, he’s a good kid. He’s had a tough time of it since his dad ran off—my brother Leroy always was about as useless as teats on a boar hog—but he’s getting good grades now and might have a shot at a football scholarship that would get him a college education. He could get away from—” She gestured to the trailer and its surroundings.
“He’ll be the starting wide receiver now that Braden’s gone, won’t he? That will get him more visibility with the college scouts.”
I was mostly thinking aloud, but I knew I’d said the wrong thing when Loretta leaned toward me and poked a finger at my chest. “Don’t go there, girl. You do not want to imply that my nephew killed Braden McCullers so he could have his spot on the football team. I have a half a mind—”
A scraping noise, followed by a thud, cut her off. The trailer shifted slightly. Loretta looked down the narrow hall and then stepped to the window as an engine roared to life. Althea and I joined her at the window, craning our necks to look over her shoulders in time to see the red pickup peel out of the lot, kicking up a rooster tail of sand, gravel, and leaves. It took me half a second to realize Lonnie had exited through a window and taken off rather than talk to us. Not the way we do hospitality in the South.
“C’mon.” Althea grabbed my hand and dragged me out the door. “Good to see you, Loretta,” she called over her shoulder as we piled into the car.
“You’re not planning to—” I began as she gunned the old LTD and took off with my door still open. I slammed it shut and groped for my seat belt, shutting my eyes as we rocketed down the narrow lane.
“Which way did he go?” she asked as we approached the T intersection.
I looked both ways and spotted a red blur just about out of sight. “Right.” Bracing myself, I said a quick prayer when it became apparent Althea wasn’t even going to stop at the intersection. The force of the turn threw me against the door and the LTD’s rear end swung halfway across the center line, but no one hit us as she stomped on the accelerator.
“No one bugs out like that unless he’s got something to hide,” Althea said. “And I aim to find out what it is.”
Chapter Fifteen
“WE COULD’VE ASKED FOR HIS CELL PHONE NUMBER,” I said, flinching as we passed a bicyclist and sent him wavering onto the shoulder. He gave us the finger and I couldn’t blame him. I watched as the speedometer topped sixty and headed for seventy. We were on a two-lane road with a speed limit of forty-five, and I couldn’t decide whether to close my eyes and let disaster take me by surprise, or keep them open and see it coming.
“There he is!” Althea pointed, and the car swerved into the path of a semitruck in the oncoming lane.