both capable and intelligent. What was he doing, stuck in Sarne? Okay, not my business: but I was curious.
âI inherited my parentsâ house here,â he said, as if he were answering my unspoken question. âThey got killed when a logging truck hit their car.â He nodded in acknowledgment when I told him I was sorry. He didnât want to talk about their deaths, and that was a good thing. âI like the hunting and the fishing, and the people. In the summer, I get some hours in helping my brother-in-law; heâs got a rafting business, rents âem out to the tourists. I pretty much work around the clock for three months, but it helps me build up my bank account. What does your brother do, when heâs not helping you?â
âHeâs always with me.â
Hollis looked as if he were politely swallowing scorn. âThatâs all he does?â
âItâs enough.â The thought of managing by myself made me shiver.
âSo, how much do you charge for your services?â he asked, his eyes on the road ahead of him.
I hoped there wasnât an implication there. I kept silent.
It took a while to make Hollis uncomfortable, longer than it took for most people.
âI want to hire you,â he said, by way of explanation.
I hadnât expected that. âI charge five thousand dollars,â I told him. âPayable on a positive identification of the body.â
âWhat if the location of the body is known? You can tell the cause of death, too, right?â
âYes. Of course I charge less if I donât have to find the body.â Sometimes the family wants an independent suggestion about the cause of death.
âYou ever been wrong?â
âNot that I know of.â I looked out the window at the passing town. âWhen I can locate the body, that is. I donât always find it. Sometimes, thereâs just not enough information available to tell me where to search. Like the Morgenstern girl.â I was referring to a case that had made headlines the year before. Tabitha Morgenstern had been grabbed off a suburban road in Nashville, and sheâd never been seen since that day. âJust knowing the point where someone vanished isnât enough. She might have been dumped anywhere, in Tennessee or Mississippi or Kentucky. Not enough information. I had to tell her parents I couldnât do it.â
Though the cemetery wasnât yet visible, I knew we were approaching one. I could tell by the buzzing along my skin. âHow old is the cemetery?â I asked. âItâs the newest one, I guess?â
He pulled over to the side of the road so abruptly I almost lost my grip on my milk shake. He glared at me, his face flushed. Iâd spooked him.
âHow the hellâdid you and your brother drive by here earlier?â
âNope.â We were pretty far off any streets that tourists or casual visitors would take, a bit out in the countryside and away from any tourist amenities. âJust what I do.â
âItâs the new cemetery,â Hollis said, his voice jerky. âThe old oneâs . . .â
I turned my head from side to side, estimating. âSouthwest of here. About four miles.â
âJesus, woman, youâre creepy.â
I shrugged. It didnât seem creepy to me.
He said, âI can give you three thousand. Will you do something for me?â
âYes, Iâll do it. Since we havenât run a credit check on you, I need the money in advance.â
âYouâre businesslike.â His tone was not admiring.
âNo, Iâm not. Thatâs why Tolliver usually does this part.â I finished my milk shake, making a loud slurping noise.
Hollis did a U-turn to head back to town. He went through the drive-through at the bank. The teller did her best not to act surprised when he sent his withdrawal slip over to her, and she also tried not to peer too obviously at me. I