Not any of my business, Katie thought. She gave a ruffledlooking Miles a look that was half apologetic, half “well, that’s my cue to be on my way.”
“I better get back to Rill. He’ll wonder what’s keeping me. Nice meeting you all,” Katie said before she dashed out the door.
She plunged into the humid night. When she’d driven down the hill from Rill’s place, she’d grown used to the darkness. But coming out of the bright diner onto a street that was lit only by two distant, dim streetlights made her blink in slight disorientation.
She didn’t glance back at the diner as she started up her car and whipped around in a U-turn, but she had the impression she was being watched through the windows.
She hit something just in front of her right-hand wheel.
Thunk.
Katie yelped and broke hard when she caught sight of Errol’s pale face going down in her headlights.
Three
At eleven fifteen the following morning Rill awoke to the im-pression his cell phone ringer was burrowing like a twisting screw through his right temple. It made no sense, of course, because a sound couldn’t possibly pierce skin and bone. It sure as hell felt like it could, though. After a blessed moment of silence it began to burble again.
He didn’t have Internet up here on this remote hillside, but if he did, he’d download a funeral dirge to replace that frickin’ cheerful ringtone.
He poked his hand around on the bedside table, trying to locate the obnoxious object. His arm was cocked back to hurl the phone against the wall when he blinked and brought the name of the caller into focus.
He hit the receive button.
“Katie?” he demanded roughly. The inside of his mouth felt like he’d gargled with ooze from a toxic spill.
“Rill! It’s about time you answered the phone. You’ve got to get down here right away.”
He sat up in bed, alarmed. Katie Hughes didn’t get riled easily. “What do you mean I’ve got to get down there? Down where? What’s wrong?”
“You’ve got to come down here to the hospital.”
“Jaysus. The hospital? Who’s hurt?” Rill demanded, now fully alert. Katie sounded okay. Who could be sick? Everett? Stanley or Meg Hughes, Katie’s parents? Had there been an accident?
“It’s Errol. I hit him with my car. Several ligaments in his right knee were torn or strained.”
Rill swung his legs over the side of the bed and groaned when a wave of nausea struck him. Christ, just how shit-faced had he gotten last night? He fuzzily recalled watching a movie on one of the local networks last night—What had it been? The Shining? He recalled a crazed Jack Nicholson saying his famous line—“Here’s Johnny”—but everything was black after that.
And what the hell was Katie talking about?
“Who’s Errol?”
“Errol Banks. The guy who carries around the model airplanes and lives in a shack down by the river?”
Rill’s eyes crossed. For some reason, Katie Hughes, who was one of his closet friends from his life in California, was talking about Errol, a resident of his new life—such as it was—in Vulture’s Canyon.
Errol was the mentally disabled guy who wandered around rambling about airplanes.
Rill must still be drunk.
“Where are you, Katie?”
“At Prairie Lakes Hospital.”
He abruptly stopped rubbing his burning eyes. “Prairie Lakes . . . Illinois?”
“Yes, I’m here, just a few miles away.”
“What do you mean, you’re here?” Rill barked.