Thicker Than Blood - the Complete Andrew Z. Thomas Trilogy - Blake Crouch [139]
When Vi turned back she started.
The door had been opened and in the threshold stood a tall old man, his kind face brimming with years and creases. Slightly hunched, he looked down at her through sunken black eyes, his white hair long but scarce.
"Who are you?" he asked.
Vi reached into her purse, withdrew her badge, and held it close so he could see.
"Sir, my name is Violet King. I’m a detective with the Davidson Police Department. May I speak with you?"
Rufus Kite looked up from the badge and beamed a toothless smile.
"Come in, young lady."
As Vi entered the house of Rufus and Maxine Kite she reached into her Barbour coat and unsnapped the latchet on her holster.
After Rufus closed the front door it took a moment for Vi’s eyes to acclimate to the dimness. The effluvium of mildew permeated the home—a bouquet of age, neglect, rotting mahogany, wet stone. Her heels slid on the dusty floor.
Rufus helped her out of the coat and hung it on a tottering coatrack beside the door. Then he led her through the dusky foyer into the living room and offered her a seat in an armchair beside a massive dormant fireplace.
Rufus eased himself down onto a crushed velvet couch, once gold, now a badly-faded flaxen. Light trickled through those tall windows, weak and dismal.
"Beautiful!" Rufus yelled.
"What?" a voice carried down the staircase.
"We have company!"
"Be right down!"
"Would you care for anything to drink or—"
"No, thank you." Vi was sinking into the armchair so she scooted forward onto its ottoman. "I’ll wait for Mrs. Kite," Vi said. "So I don’t have to start over."
"Of course." Rufus smiled, all gums. Vi smiled back. Rufus reached into the patch pocket of his flannel shirt and took out his teeth. He slipped them in and smiled again. "Your first visit to Ocracoke?"
"Yessir. Ya’ll have a lovely island."
"Ocracoke is quite a place. Particularly this time of year when the dreadful tourists are gone. How old are you if you don’t mind? I can get away with inappropriate questions at my age."
"Twenty-six."
"My goodness, you’re just a baby."
Footfalls on the steps drew their attention to Maxine Kite, carefully making her way down the creaking staircase. At the bottom of the steps she stopped to catch her breath and straighten the scallop-edged collar of her canary sweatshirt with an appliqué bunny rabbit on the front.
Vi rose and walked back into the foyer, her stomach cramping at the prospect of telling this frail elderly woman what her son was suspected of doing.
At sixty-two inches, Vi rarely had the occasion to tower over anyone, but she found herself looking down into the sweet somewhat startled eyes of Maxine Kite.
When Vi had introduced herself and helped Maxine over to the couch beside her husband, she returned to the ottoman.
"Mr. and Mrs. Kite, would ya’ll mind if I recorded our conversation?" Vi asked, pulling the tape recorder from her purse.
"Actually, I would," Rufus said, "since we don’t know what this is all about."
"Oh. Okay." Vi dropped the tape recorder in her purse and crossed her legs. "When was the last time either of you saw or spoke with your son, Luther?"
Rufus and Maxine glanced at each other. Then Rufus squeezed his wife’s hand and looked back at Vi.
"We haven’t had contact with our son in seven years."
"Do you know where he is?"
"No, ma’am."
"Where did you see him last?"
Rufus leaned back into the couch and put his arm around Maxine. She lay her head on his chest and stared into the hearth as he stroked her bony shoulder with thick liver-spotted fingers.
"I love my boy," Maxine said. "But he isn’t like most people, see. He drifts around. Doesn’t need the same things we need. Like family and—"
"Stability," Rufus cut in. "He never wanted to settle down. Wasn’t for him. And he knew it. He certainly knew it. That’s admirable in a way. To know your