a month in child support. Again, that didn’t matter right now. At this point, Taylor only wanted to know if Scotty was hiding anything about Anna’s disappearance and murder.
“It’s hard enough,” Taylor offered as he sipped his beer, “to take care of one person on these wages. I can’t imagine taking care of a whole family.”
Scotty chewed a fingernail.
“How old’s your kid?” Taylor asked “Three or four now.”
“Boy or girl?”
“Girl.”
“Does she have a name?”
“Of course.” He sipped some beer. “Kendra.”
“Kendra.”
“Kendra Sue.”
“Pretty name.” Taylor grinned. “Do you have any pictures?”
“Not any more. I used to. But it was ruined when I fell into the septic pond last summer. It was in my wallet and it ruined my wallet.” He gulped his beer. “You sound like a cop now too. What does this have to do with Anna?”
“Nothing. Just wondering if you had a picture of your little girl.”
“Nope.” Scotty finished the last of his fries. “Do you think it was someone we know?”
“The killer? Could be.”
“That sounds so weird,” said Scotty.
“What.”
“The killer. Like it’s a movie or something.”
“This isn’t a movie.”
“I know. It just sounds weird to say it out loud. It doesn’t seem real.” Scotty hooked his fingers as quotation marks, “‘The Tanglewood Killer’.” He pretended to shiver. “I was thinking.” He sat forward then looked around to ensure there was still no one within earshot. “I think it was that Mexican.”
“Which Mexican?”
“What’s his name. You know, that mean little guy with the switchblade. The one who hit Michael Voracci the other day…you know…Miguel!”
“Miguel has a switchblade? Are you sure it was Miguel?”
“Sure. I saw it once.”
“You’re talking Michael Voracci?” Taylor watched as Scotty nodded. “When did all this happen?”
“A couple days ago, remember? Oh, maybe you were in the cooler then. Voracci told him to move his boxes out of the aisle, and Miguel punched him in the head. I know. I was right there.”
“You saw him hit Voracci?” Taylor asked.
“Sure. I was just coming in. I guess he was breaking down some old boxes. They were all over the floor, and Voracci slipped on one, and he got sore. I guess he yelled at him and Miguel took a swing at him. Cut his face a bit, cuz he had the box cutter still in his hand.”
“He cut him?”
“Just a bit. Right here.” Scotty touched his temple near the hairline. “Saw him today though. You can barely see it. He doesn’t have a black eye or anything. I think he got off pretty lucky. Miguel is a crazy fuck. Everybody knows that.”
“He seems quiet to me,” said Taylor.
“Sure. Ever see him smile?”
“Not really.”
“There you go. I think he did a lot of drugs. His eyes were always red and glassy, y’know?”
“Yes. I noticed that.”
“I think he’s an illegal too. Voracci said he was going to call the cops, but I don’t think he ever did. He can’t tell the cops he used an illegal, y’know.”
“I guess not.” Taylor had finished with his burger. The bun was hard, and the meat was burnt on one end. He pushed his plate to the side.
“The cops should find him, though—especially with this thing with Anna. I don’t think Miguel is his real name though. The migrant workers, the Mexicans, all called him something else, I think.”
“Maybe you should tell the cops.”
“Why me?”
“Like you said, Voracci may not want them to know about
Miguel. And if you think he had something to do with Anna, you have to tell the police.”
“Maybe. I don’t want to get Voracci in trouble though,” Scotty said quietly as the waitress came to pick up their plates. He smiled at her again, but she did not seem to notice.
Scotty watched her black skirt sway as she walked away.
“She’s cute,” Taylor said.
“She’s hot. I’d love to take her out some night.”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
Scotty guffawed. “Are you kidding me? She wouldn’t have anything to do with us. We’re farmhands.”
“Come on, she’s a waitress. She’s cute. Kind of grumpy, but that might just be at work. Give it a shot.”
“No way,” said Scotty.
When the waitress returned, writing out their bill, Taylor pretended to notice her name tag for the first time. “Nice meal, Cindy.”
“I’m glad you like it,” she said with a flirtatious smile.
“You’re not Beck’s daughter, are you?”
“Nope.”
“That’s good.” He sat back, crossed his arms and grinned at her.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you something since the first time we met a couple weeks ago.”
Cindy seemed to be bracing herself, suddenly nervous. “What’s that?”
“Who the hell is this Beck guy, anyway?”
“Becky,” she grinned. “The owner’s daughter.”
“Is that her nickname, or did someone lose the ‘Y’ on the sign?” asked Scotty.
“That’s her name,” she replied. Then she shrugged and picked up their plates.
Taylor nodded. “Anyway, that’s real sweet. How old is she?”
“Now? Probably in her sixties. This place has been here a long time…sir.”
Taylor grinned. “Are you
