Shallow Graves

case there’s cans of gas or oil. Also, your spare’ll burn for hours you don’t douse it good.”
    “You find anything interesting?”
    “Sir?”
    “You said the sheriff wanted to look inside.”
    “I don’t know. I was at the hood.”
    “You have one of those pikes handy?”
    He wasn’t yet uncomfortable under this questioning but he was growing warier. “They’re mounted on the truck, sir. We’re not really supposed to let civilians into the house, you know.”
    Pellam nodded. He looked at the truck through a greasy window. The pikes looked blunt and heavy. It didn’t seem they’d leave holes as small as the ones he’d seen in the car. “What’re they made out of?”
    “Steel of course.”
    “One last question. Why was the area dozed over?”
    “Sheriff ordered it. Somebody called him up and told him to, I heard. I don’t know why.”
    “You don’t know who called, do you?”
    “Sure don’t.”
    Pellam thanked him then said, “Aren’t you going to ask me?”
    “Ask you what, sir?”
    “Whether we’re going to be making a movie here?”
    The man shrugged. “Don’t make a lick of difference to me, sir. I work in feed and grain, not movies.”
    AT NOON, MEG Torrens walked out the door of the Dutchess County Realty office, set the hands of the Be Back At clock at 1:15. She looked around the square. Pellam’s Winnebago camper was parked opposite. She looked up and down the street, then crossed over and circled the camper. Taking in the tan and brown paint, the battered fenders, the mud stains, the chips in the windshield.
    What the hell was she doing here?
    Going shopping on my lunch hour, that’s all.
    And when was the last time, my dear, you bought anything in one of these rip-off antique stores? Three, four years ago, wasn’t it?
    She imagined herself in one of the campers, on location. She imagined what it was like to be in a movie. The modeling she’d done had been pure effort—exhausting. And she’d been treated like a dim-witted cocker spaniel. Making a movie would have to be different, she believed.
    She caressed the metal skin of the camper. Noticed the faint remains of some graffiti on the side. It looked like two crosses.
    Meg slung her leather bag over her shoulder and strolled up and down the street, looking at sights she’d walked past for years and never noticed. A cornerstone dated in late September, 1929—could that have been Black Thursday? A painted wooden barrel on the sidewalk emblazoned with the number 58 in red paint. One building was topped with a weather vane in the shape of a whale—why here, a hundred fifty miles from the ocean? Another was decorated with a beautiful round stained-glass window.
    Meg was gazing into the window of Steptoe Antiques when she heard slow footsteps. A voice asked her, “Could use seconds on the brownies.”
    Meg turned, looking blank at first, the way she’d rehearsed in case this happened. She said, “Should’ve eaten them while you had the chance, cowboy.”
    Pellam stepped next to her to look at what she was examining. “How’re the driving lessons coming?”
    “’Bout the same as your photo classes.”
    Meg pointed to a tattered rug hanging on the wall in the window. “See that? Price tag looks like it says sixty. Wrong, that’s six hundred. They’ll sell it for that too.”
    “What’s that supposed to be on there, a dog?”
    Meg looked at it closely. “Could be. Maybe a cat. I don’t know.”
    “Dinner was nice,” he said. “I enjoyed it.”
    She lifted an eyebrow. “I did too.” She’d chosen the pronoun carefully.
    “Your house is beautiful. That was the first dinner I’d had in a house, I mean a real house, in over a year.”
    “No kidding,” she said, though she wasn’t surprised. “Sam’s done nothing but talk about you. You better make good on that promise.”
    Pellam said, “The practice bombs. I haven’t forgotten.”
    They walked past another real estate office. Pellam looked at some of the listings.
    Meg’s voice dropped a half octave. “I’ve got some wonderful properties, Mr. Pellam. Owner financing is available . . .”
    They laughed.
    Eyes were on them. Cars slowed as they passed. Meg thought, Go to hell. But the defiance was shaky. She felt vulnerable, like the time she found herself at a Florida resort wearing a new bikini that turned out to be more see-through than she was comfortable with. As she did then she now crossed her arms over her chest.
    “I guess I better