“I wonder where Ethan is?” Becky asked, looking up and down the gravel road. Josie wondered the same thing. He should have been home by now.
“Who cares,” Josie said, still miffed at him for nearly ruining the night. Becky shrugged.
Unhurriedly, they walked up and down dirt and gravel roads past the Cutters’ new hog confinement operation, past the old Rasmussen farm all the way to Henley farm. The sun, matching their pace, was still a few hours from setting.
Describing the Henley property as a farm was being generous. The cropland was sold off long ago, and all that remained in the Henley name was a wind-scrubbed two-story farmhouse that stood on a hardscrabble yard along with dozens of rusted-out vehicles. A half-collapsed barn and several outbuildings were bursting with broken-down washing machines, farm equipment, and lawn mowers.
The girls approached a woman holding an unlit cigarette in one hand and a bucket in the other as she crossed the weedy yard.
Sixty-one-year-old June Henley, all tendons and sinew, wearing a housedress, flip-flops, and a pink, rolled brim cloche to cover her bald head, was a curiosity to the girls. Though most neighbors knew one another, to date, Josie had never actually met June nor her adult son, Jackson, who lived with her. Josie shyly introduced herself and Becky and explained how they were looking for a lost dog.
June relayed that they had stray dogs hanging around the yard all the time and they could walk through the property and take a look. “My son is tinkering about, so just stay away from the outbuildings.”
The girls thanked her and began to explore the five-acre property. Filled with what looked like garbage to most, it was surprisingly organized. The mangled steel and rubber collections were sorted into long, weedy rows.
One row was dedicated to antique farm equipment—tractors, hay rakes, manure spreaders, and seed drills; one row to old pickup trucks; another row to stacks of old tires.
“Look at all this junk,” Becky marveled. “What do they do with all of it?”
“Probably sell it,” Josie shrugged. “My grandpa likes old stuff like this.”
They called out for Roscoe but managed only to summon a mangy tabby cat and rouse a sleeping possum. The possum bared his sharp teeth at the girls causing the girls to squeal and clutch at each other.
Laughing nervously, the two watched as the possum scurried off into the brush with his long tail dragging in the dirt behind him.
The two girls parted ways briefly. Becky turned down the row that held all the antique farm equipment while Josie veered off behind the mountain of stacked tires.
Minutes later, the girls reunited at the end of the row. Josie looked back and saw a tall, thin man staring back at them. Uneasiness coiled in her stomach.
“Who’s that?” Josie asked.
Becky shrugged. “I think it’s that lady’s son. He just wanted to know what we were doing.”
“He looks creepy,” Josie observed.
“He did smell kind of bad.” Becky wrinkled her nose and the girls laughed.
Josie and Becky made their way back toward the Henley house. They waved goodbye to June Henley, who was sitting on her front porch steps. Josie looked over her shoulder to find the man still staring after them. She walked faster.
As they left the property, Josie noticed a wadded-up cloth in Becky’s hand. “What’s that?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Becky said and dropped it to the ground. The girls made the two-mile walk back toward the Doyle house, stopping along the way at Burden Creek. They carefully picked their way down the steep bank to the edge of the water. Because of the lack of rain, Burden Creek was much lower than usual and the smell of dead fish was strong.
It did stink, but that was just part of living out in the country. The sweet scent of mown hay intermingled with cow manure. The clean, crisp smell of laundry just pulled from the line suddenly smothered by the sharp, acrid smell that came from the nearby hog confinement.
Josie and Becky walked along the bank, yelling for Roscoe and pausing to catch the small spotted brown frogs who croaked and hopped about in the shallow water. Becky giggled as the slimy creature squirmed in her hands.
It was nearing 8:00 p.m., and though the sun was finally sliding behind the trees, the temperature still hung in the mideighties, and the air was heavy with humidity. Mosquitoes buzzed around their ears and harassed them until they climbed back up to the bridge, wiping muddy hands on their shorts.
When the girls got to the top of the bank, there was a truck pulled off to the side of the road. Josie thought it was white but behind the glare of the setting sun, it could have been any light-colored truck.