She couldn’t have gotten any closer to him, not with the counter between them. But she tried.
“There’s a rumor out that he died with drugs in his system,” she said, dropping her voice. “Marcus, I mean, not Aaron. Can you imagine that? Founding a therapy center and then biting the dust because after decades you suddenly decide to shoot up again?” she asked, sounding incredulous. Gossip, he realized, was delicious to Ellie. But then, she probably searched for any excitement out here. He lowered his head and smiled. They weren’t at the ends of the earth. Nashville was only twenty miles away. But he knew that people from the country usually stayed in the country.
“No matter how the man died, he apparently did a lot of good before his death,” he said.
“He did. He helped so many people....”
Dustin picked up his keys and finally turned to leave. “Thanks, Ellie.”
“Oh! If you’re hungry, the café down the road is open until nine or ten, depending on whether they have people in there. The food’s actually really great. The best corn bread.”
“Nothing like it.”
“And the cheese grits are to die for.”
“Another important factor,” he agreed. “Thanks for the suggestion.”
“Pleasure. Make yourself at home. Old Miss Patterson is in one of the bedrooms upstairs and Carolyn Martin’s up there, too, along with Coot—you met him outside?” Dustin nodded. “He likes to come for the winter. He lives in the hills but he’s a smart old bastard—knows he’s too old to plow snow and manage up there once the cold hits. Oh, I forgot to mention. The living area here is for everyone and there’s a room back of the dining area with games and stuff.”
With a nod of thanks, he headed over to his room. Setting his bag down, he took out his computer and Wi-Fi connector. There was a lot he wanted to look up, background he hadn’t gotten to yet. But neither had he stopped in the city to eat; it might not be a bad idea to check out the local diner and the clientele—especially since he was hungry.
First, though, he called Olivia Gordon, Malachi’s cousin, to explain who he really was and what he was doing there. She evidently knew that an agent was coming in; she couldn’t have missed that fact, since he was scheduled to start at the Horse Farm the following day.
She didn’t answer. He’d try her again in the morning—or maybe he’d just show up. Either way, he didn’t want to leave a message. Messages were recorded, and in his life, recordings could come back to bite you. But he also assumed that Malachi’s cousin was an intelligent young woman. She knew he was coming, so she’d figure it out.
Examining his room, he discovered that he probably did have the best. His bathroom was nice and large with way more closet space than he needed, and his key worked on the back door, as well. It led to the rear porch area; if he ever needed to, he could exit without being seen.
He left his room, carefully locking the door behind him. He did it out of instinct, not because he suspected anyone wanted to go through his belongings. But you never knew.
He waved to Ellie as he left, and also waved at Coot, still rocking on the front porch, as he walked out to his car.
The café was even closer than he’d realized from Ellie’s directions; it was just down the road. It was a true diner, converted from a pair of old connected freight cars. The tables were small but neat and clean, and his waitress, a heavyset woman named Delilah, was warm and friendly. The place was empty when he entered, but as she took his order—the daily special of pot roast, with a side of grits, okra and a serving of corn bread—the door opened and four young men walked in, followed by an older man. The boys were joking; the older man looked weary.
“The boys from Parsonage House,” Delilah murmured to him, nodding.
“Parsonage House?” he asked politely.