Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

Four hours later, we're driving back into town, the trunk of the Oldsmobile empty.

My father's body is buried in the ground in what looked like an abandoned hiking trail about ninety minutes away from here. Slug knew exactly where to go. He said something about his brother taking him there to camp when he was little, and I didn't question it. I have to assume he's telling the truth, because the alternative is too terrible.

Slug has the radio on in the car, and he's singing along to a Dr. Dre song. He doesn't look like a guy who just buried a dead body, even though his fingernails still have dirt ground into them.

"You sure your parents won't be pissed you were gone all night?" I ask.

"Nah." He taps out a beat on the steering wheel. "My dad sleeps like a rock, and my mom pops Ambien like candy. They won't even know I left the house."

"Oh. Okay."

"But I need to get some sleep." He lets out a yawn. "So you're on your own getting your house cleaned up."

I don't mind that part. Sleep seems all but impossible, so I may as well spend the night scrubbing the kitchen floor with bleach.

"Get all your bloody clothes into the washing machine," he tells me. "Lots of steaming hot water, detergent, bleach—the works."

Why is Slug so damn knowledgeable about this stuff? "Okay…"

"When is your mom getting back home?"

"She's gone another day." I squirm in my seat. There's dirt on the seat of my pants and it's making me uncomfortable. "But they might notice when he doesn't show up for work tomorrow. Of course, that's not too unusual for him."

"What are you going to tell your mom?"

"I'll just say he took off on a bender."

He's done it before. One time he was gone for over a week. She'll be worried, but she won't call the cops right away, because she'll know that'd end up being more trouble for him. We might have three or four days before she starts to get concerned. Of course, the fact that his car is still in our garage is a red flag, but it's too risky to get rid of the car.

"Also," Slug adds, "we have to figure out what to do about Alison."

I look up sharply. "What to do?"

"She saw us, Tom."

"I know, but…" I rub at the knees of my jeans, which are caked with dirt and blood in equal parts. "She didn't really see anything. I don't think she did, anyway."

"Yeah? You want to bet your freedom on that?"

"So what are we supposed to do?"

Slug is quiet as gangster rap music plays in the background. His eyes stay pinned on the dark road ahead of us, illuminated by the headlights.

"Slug?"

"I'm just saying, Tom—it's a problem. A big problem."

I shake my head. "I thought you liked Alison. You're always talking about how great she is. How she's like a sexy librarian."

"She is." He shrugs. "But she saw us tonight, and if we don't do anything about it, it could be a problem. Do you really want to take that risk?"

"Yes," I say firmly. "I want to take the risk."

Slug doesn't say anything. He just keeps driving. I'm hoping that's the end of it. Alison didn't see anything. I know she didn't. If she had, she definitely would have said something.