The Taking of Libbie, SD (Mac McKenzie #7)
Page 35“What was that all about?” she asked after Saranne left.
“I met her this morning,” I said. “She was flirting with a kid in a coffeehouse.”
“I’m not surprised. She’s becoming the town slut.”
“C’mon. She was flirting with a high school kid. What’s wrong with that? I did a lot of it myself.”
“I hope you were in high school at the time. No, it’s not that. It’s—she’s starting to get a reputation.”
“Because of her relationship with the Imposter?”
“They were lovers.”
“Miller says she was raped.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“How old is Saranne? Sixteen, seventeen?”
“Sixteen.”
“I suppose.”
“In any case, there were a lot of people taken in that were much older and wiser than Saranne.” I looked Tracie straight in the eye when I spoke. “Why pick on her?”
“Convenience.”
Saranne returned a few minutes later. She managed to serve us both without uttering a word, then swiftly disappeared. I took a bite of Grandma Miller’s World-Famous Third-Pound Burger with Bleu Cheese, Lettuce, and Tomato and realized that her recommendation that I eat at home wasn’t rudeness. Saranne had been simply warning me. The beef patty was burned along the edges yet cold in the center. The bun was dry, the lettuce wilted, the tomato this side of ripe, and the cheese tasted like something you spread with a dipper.
“I didn’t think it was possible to screw up a cheeseburger,” I said.
“Why do you think I ordered salad?” Tracie said. “You really don’t want to eat here until the evening shift.”
“Then why did you bring me?”
The answer came in a loud, braying voice. “You’re back.” It was followed by Miller, who appeared next to our table as if by magic. A blue sports coat over a powder blue shirt and blue jeans covered his large frame, and he might have been considered casual chic if not for the brown farm boots with leather laces.
“That tells me something,” Miller said.
The expression on Miller’s weathered face made it clear that he expected me to ask what that something was. I didn’t. I’m not sure why. Lack of curiosity, I guess. He soon grew tired of waiting.
I didn’t have anything to say to that, either. My silence seemed to frustrate him.
“Have a seat, Mr. Miller,” Tracie said. “McKenzie has a few questions.”
I do? my inner voice asked.
Tracie must have heard my inner voice, because she quickly added, “Mr. Miller is the mayor of Libbie.”
Yes, I do.
Still, I quickly recalled what he’d told me in the police station a few days earlier. Not I’m the mayor. Instead, he said, I own most of what’s worth owning around here.
“That tells me something,” I said aloud.
“Folks around here want someone running things that knows how to run things.” He chuckled lightly, as if he were relating the punch line of a private joke.
Miller settled into an unclaimed chair, but only after he quickly surveyed the restaurant and the lawn outside the window. Probably he was looking for some small children to chase off, I told myself. Over his shoulder, I saw Saranne emerge from the kitchen, take one look at him, and retreat back inside.
“First tell me,” Miller said. “Are you here to help catch the Imposter?”
“All right, then. I’ll answer your questions. Shoot.”
“What did he take you for?”
“Me? Not a dime.”
“I meant the town.”
“The town is fine.” Miller shook his head like a Boy Scout leader about to tell his troop the proper way to tie a knot. “You doom-and-gloomers. Libbie is going to be fine. Do you know why?”
“The people,” Tracie said. “The people in South Dakota, especially this part of South Dakota, are tough. If you want to live here you have to be tough. Tough and caring. People here are good neighbors. We take care of our own.”
Miller looked at Tracie as if she were from another planet.
“No,” he said slowly. “It’s because we’re the county seat. It happened back in 1921 after they carved up Harding and Butte counties. That was a few years before my time.”