Still Lake - Anne Stuart [38]
In the meantime he’d better make sure that anything incriminating in his bedroom was out of sight in case King or his son wandered up there. It wouldn’t do to have them find a pile of books connected to serial killers in general and the Colby murders in particular.
He set his mug of coffee on the newel post and took the steps two at a time.
For a moment he thought the upstairs was deserted, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Only to see Perley King standing in the middle of the room, peering at the notebook Griffin had left on the bed, a confused expression on his face.
Shit, Griffin thought. I am totally screwed. And he cleared his throat, racking his brain for a plausible explanation.
8
“What are you doing?” Griffin said, and the man turned bright red, dropping the notebook on the bed.
“I d-didn’t mean no harm,” he stammered. “I was just checking the water leaks by the chimney like my pa told me to do.”
“By reading my private notes?”
“Can’t,” the man mumbled.
“Can’t what?”
“Can’t read,” he said in a slow, expressionless voice. “Never had much call for it, I guess. Pa says I do just fine without. I can write my name.”
“I’m sure you can,” Griffin said, crossing the room and picking up the notebook. It was opened to his list from the day before, written in his dark scrawl. Perley King seemed unperturbed, and Griffin had no choice but to believe him. If he’d understood the words on the notepad he wouldn’t have the pleasantly vacant expression on his face.
He’d already upset a battered-down, grieving mother, Griffin thought. Why not move on to someone mentally impaired for good measure? Just so he could feel really good about himself on this warm summer morning.
“You like living here, Perley?” What the hell kind of name was Perley, Griffin thought absently. The tall, shambling man/boy hardly seemed pearl-like.
Perley squatted down by the chimney, poking at the wood with a screwdriver, checking for rot. “It’s okay,” he muttered. “Kind of lonely, though, since Valette’s been gone.”
It shouldn’t be that easy, Griffin thought. He moved to the dresser, making a show of looking through the drawers. “Who’s Valette?”
“My sister. She was real pretty. She went away a long time ago. Satan took her.”
“Satan?”
“She was a sinner, Pa said. We aren’t to speak her name ever again. But I miss her. She used to get after Pa when he beat me. Made him stop. But then when she was gone, Pa was saved and gave up liquor and he didn’t take the belt to me no more, nor to Ma, either, so I guess things are all right. She was pretty as a picture, Valette was.”
“What happened to her?”
Perley had given up stabbing at the floor and was now attacking the ceiling around the chimney. Sooner or later he was going to come upon the soft spot in the back, but Griffin wasn’t in any hurry to enlighten him.
“I told you, Satan took her,” Perley said with great patience. “Mama said God wanted another angel in heaven, but Pa said it was Satan, and Pa’s always right. Still an’ all, I woulda thought Satan had enough to keep him company with them other ones.”
Bingo. “Other ones?” Griffin prompted.
“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” Perley muttered. “That was long ago, and we didn’t have nothing to do with it. Pa says it’s nobody’s business.” He stabbed at the wood, a steady, methodical jabbing motion. Was Valette the one who’d been stabbed to death? Griffin watched the rhythmic plunge of the long screwdriver with a kind of sick fascination.
“It sounds very sad,” Griffin said, his voice noncommittal.
“I go to her grave sometimes. Pa beat me when he caught me, even without the liquor, so now I go when he’s off on business. I’m not the only one