The Night Killer

gone. So was the skeleton.
    Just as they were about to get out of the Jeep, the lights came on in the house.

Chapter 7
    “Looks like we woke them up,” said Diane.
    She had managed to slip her backbone back into place, so she was not nearly as freaked as she thought she might be when the lights came on in the house.
    “Looks like it,” said the deputy.
    Diane and Deputy Conrad got out of his Jeep and walked to her SUV. The dome light wasn’t on. It automatically turned itself off after a period of time to save the battery. Diane climbed in. The seat was wet from the rain. The key was still in the ignition. She tried to start the engine. It sputtered a little and she looked at the fuel gauge. Empty. She’d had almost a full tank when she left.
    “Well, son of a bitch,” she said.
    “What?” Deputy Conrad was standing next to her just outside the vehicle. “Something wrong?”
    “They drained my gas tank.” Diane didn’t know why she was surprised, but she was. The sheer effrontery.
    Conrad shook his head. “Slick’s got a bad habit of siphoning folks’ gas. I’ve talked to him about it more than once. Look, it’d be best not to make him give it back. He’d doctor it with sugar before he gave it to you. I’ve got some in a can in my Jeep.”
    “Well, hell,” she whispered to herself as the deputy went back to his Jeep.
    She looked over to the passenger side. The contents of her purse had been dumped into the seat. Fortunately, there wasn’t much in it for them to take. The really important things she always kept on her person. Her lipstick was gone, as was a small mirror. So was her small Swiss army knife and first-aid kit she carried in her purse. She stuffed the contents back into the purse and opened her glove compartment. It was empty except for papers. No flashlight, tire gauge, or seat-belt knife. All the small change was gone out of her ashtray.
    “Jeez, these people are rats,” she whispered.
    “Wha’d you say?”
    Diane looked up into the face of Slick Massey leaning into the car. She was pissed off enough that when she looked at him again she didn’t have the fearful response that she assumed she would.
    “Nothing for your ears,” said Diane. “Where are the contents of my purse and glove compartment?”
    “Whataya talking about?” he said.
    “She’s accusin’ us of stealing from her.” It was a hard-edged female voice that Diane guessed to be the girlfriend’s.
    “Folks, let the woman get out of her vehicle.”
    Diane was glad to hear Deputy Conrad’s voice.
    Slick stepped back and Diane got out. It was starting to feel like a replay of a few hours ago. The only light they had was from her dome light she’d switched on and the deputy’s Jeep lights. Everything was in high contrast and rather surreal.
    “That’s the thanks we get for trying to help,” said the female.
    “This is Tammy Taylor,” said Deputy Conrad, nodding in the direction of a woman still in shadows. “I put a couple-three gallons in your tank. That should get you to a gas station.”
    “Thank you,” said Diane.
    Diane eyed Slick. He sported a black eye, and it took Diane a second to realize that she was the one who gave it to him. It gave her some mild satisfaction. The rest of Slick was not much to look at either. He had grubby clothes, torn, dirty jeans that, Diane realized, could have been purchased that way some places for a lot of money. His short-sleeved plaid shirt was half tucked in and half out, and only a couple of buttons were buttoned, revealing a bare chest with sparse hair and a bad tattoo of some sort of animal. He had shoulder-length, stringy blond hair with dark roots, and his straight teeth looked a brilliant white in the light. Diane assumed they were dentures.
    “She’s saying we stole her stuff,” said Tammy. She walked into the light and glared at Diane. “That’s the thanks we get for tryin’ to save your skinny ass.”
    Tammy took a drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke in Diane’s face. Diane waved it away and stepped back.
    Tammy wore black, tight capri pants and a black tank top decorated with rhinestones. Her hair was light brown, shoulder length, and frizzy. She had long, polished fingernails. All the better to scratch your eyes out , thought Diane. Tammy could have been in her thirties, forties, or pushing fifty, for all Diane could tell. Her face was lined with light wrinkles that looked like they came from too much time in the sun.
    “Miss Fallon