Chat - Archer Mayor [68]
The night was clear, cold, and brittle as ice, the sky overhead jammed with a shotgun blast of sharp-edged stars. Despite his heavy coat, Willy felt chilled to the bone. The snow under his boots squeaked as he walked.
Lights were still on, spilling over the white-clotted bushes under the building’s windows. He could see dark wood-paneled walls of what was either a cluttered living room or a library, with book-lined shelves everywhere. A gray-haired elderly woman in a wheelchair sat surrounded by document-laden tables, a TV on in the background, its luminescence commingling with the flickerings from a glass-doored woodstove.
“It’s more comfortable inside.”
Willy whipped around, his feet slipping slightly on the packed snow of the driveway, making him flail out with his good arm for balance.
“Fuck!” he exclaimed.
“Of course,” said Joe Gunther, standing in the shadows by the side of the house, “you’ll have to clean up your language. My mother’s old-school.”
Willy recovered himself. “What the hell’re you doing out here?”
Gunther chuckled. “You’re asking me?”
Willy scowled. “I was around. You wanted me to hook up with Griffis.”
“So I did,” Joe acknowledged affably, gesturing with one hand. “Come on in. I’m freezing just looking at you.”
Reluctantly, still embarrassed at being caught so flagrantly, Willy moved toward him. “How’d you know I was out here? You taking a leak or something?”
“I saw your headlights,” Joe explained. “Plus, I placed a couple of sensors out there a few days ago.” He waved into the darkness. ”A little paranoia can be a good thing.”
He led the way into the farmhouse’s kitchen, around to the side, stamping his feet as he entered the small mudroom. “Better take your boots off. You’ll catch hell otherwise. You want a pair of slippers, they’re around the corner there.”
Willy only grudgingly removed his footwear and skipped the slippers. He hated catering to anyone’s precious house rules, even if it meant that his feet would remain cool.
They passed on into the house’s true warmth after ridding themselves of their coats, entering an atmosphere redolent of a recent warm meal, a wood fire, and the odor of old books. Joe took him into the room he’d seen earlier and introduced him to his mother.
The old lady gave Willy’s hand a firm shake and watched him closely.
“You’re an interesting man, Mr. Kunkle. I know that already.”
Willy snorted. “That’s one word.”
“A good word, though,” she agreed, adding, “complicated.”
He laughed, pointing to Joe. “Is that what he says?”
She smiled. “He says less than you might think. But I’m not too bad a judge of character myself. Would you like a seat by the fire? And maybe something warm to drink? You look like you could use both.”
Willy hesitated.
“It won’t be held against you if you accept, Mr. Kunkle.”
He shook his head, caving in and moving toward the stove. “It’s Willy, and I give up. I’ll pass on the drink, though. Been doing that all night.”
“Willy’s been pumping E. T. for information,” Joe explained, settling into an armchair.
“Really?” his mother commented. “How did you fare with that? He’s a tight-lipped old grouch.”
“I laid the groundwork,” Willy admitted, picking up from his boss that the conversation was unrestricted. “I told him I lost a son and messed up my arm in a car crash—my fault. Drunk driving.”
Joe’s mother stared at her son. “You really do that sort of thing, don’t you? Lie to people.”
Joe laughed. “Yup. Sometimes.” He asked Willy, “Did you get anywhere with him?”
“I got friendly,” Willy answered, still taking in the surroundings, trying to fit Joe in as a child growing up here. “I figured it’d be better to just break the ice. I’ll see him in the bar tomorrow. Pick up where I left off.”
“How’s that going, the bar thing?” Joe asked pointedly,