Sharp_Objects

dark-haired fellow with a rangy beard.
    “I know, I mean I work in a supermarket, for Chrissakes,” said Ron Laird, a kindly, mouse-faced guy with a booming voice. The three glowed with misplaced civic pride. Infamy had come to Wind Gap, and they’d take it. They could keep working at the supermarket, the drugstore, the hatchery. When they died, this—along with getting married and having kids—would be on their list of things they’d done. And it was something that merely happened to them. No, more accurately, it was something that happened in their town. I wasn’t entirely sure about Meredith’s assessment. Some people would love to have the killer be a guy born and raised in Wind Gap. Someone they went fishing with once, someone they were in Cub Scouts with. Makes a better story.
    Richard flung open the door, which was surprisingly light for its looks. Any customer who wasn’t a regular used too much force, so every few minutes the door banged into the side of the building. It offered an interesting punctuation to conversation.
    As he walked in, pitching his jacket over his shoulder, the three men groaned.
    “This guy.”
    “I’m so fucking impressed, dude.”
    “Save some brain cells for the case, buddy. You need ’em.”
    I hopped off the stool, licked my lips, and smiled.
    “Well fellows, got to go to work. Interview time. Thanks for the drinks.”
    “We’ll be over here when you get bored,” Jason called out. Richard just smiled at him, muttering idiot through his teeth.
    I slugged back my third bourbon, grabbed the waitress to set us up, and once we had our drinks in front of us, I rested my chin on my hands and wondered if I really wanted to talk business. He had a scar just above his right eyebrow and a tiny dimple in his chin. He tapped his foot on top of mine twice, where no one could see.
    “So what gives, Scoop?”
    “Look, I need to know something. I really need to know it, and if you can’t tell me, then you can’t tell me, but please think hard.” He nodded.
    “When you think of the person who did these killings, do you have a specific person in your mind?” I asked.
    “I have a few.”
    “Male or female?”
    “Why are you asking me this with such urgency right now, Camille?”
    “I just need to know.”
    He paused, sipped his drink, rubbed his hand over stubble on his chin.
    “I don’t believe a woman would have done these girls this way.” He tapped my foot again. “Hey, what’s going on? You tell me the truth now.”
    “I don’t know, I’m just freaking out. I just needed to know where to point my energies.”
    “Let me help.”
    “Did you know the girls were known for biting people?”
    “I understood from the school there had been an incident involving Ann hurting a neighbor’s bird,” he said. “Natalie was on a pretty tight leash, though, because of what happened at her last school.”
    “Natalie bit the earlobe off of someone she knew.”
    “No. I have no incident reports filed against Natalie since she came here.”
    “Then they didn’t report it. I saw the ear, Richard, there was no lobe, and there was no reason for this person to lie. And Ann attacked someone, too. Bit someone. But I wonder more and more if these girls got tangled up with the wrong person. It’s like they were put down. Like a bad animal. Maybe that’s why their teeth were taken.”
    “Let’s begin slowly. First, who did each of the girls bite?”
    “I can’t say.”
    “Goddam it, Camille, I’m not fucking around. Tell me.”
    “No.” I was surprised at his anger. I’d expected him to laugh and tell me I was pretty when defiant.
    “This is a fucking murder case, okay? If you have information, I need it.”
    “So do your job.”
    “I’m trying, Camille, but your screwing around with me doesn’t help.”
    “Now you know how it feels,” I muttered childishly.
    “Fine.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I’ve had a real long day, so…good night. I hope I was helpful to you.” He stood up, nudged his half-full glass over to me.
    “I need an on-record quote.”
    “Later. I need to get a little perspective. You may have been right about us being a horrible idea.” He left, and the guys called me to come back and join them. I shook my head, finished my drink, and pretended to take notes until they left. All I did was write sick place sick place over and over for twelve pages.

    T his time it was Alan waiting for me when I got home. He was sitting on the Victorian