"Brackett, Beverly - Sherrif Funderburk - Booger" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brackett Beverly)

The youngster shrugged and cast a sidelong glance at his older brother. "I dunno, musta fell down," he whispered.

Funderburk let the half-hearted explanation drift away, watching Davey intently.

The boy retreated into his silence, avoiding eye contact, staring down at his shoes. He scuffed his feet in the dirt, raising small clouds of orange dust.

"Does it hurt much?" Funderburk asked softly.

The boy nodded.

"Well, when the lady from Social Services gets here, I'll tell her to make sure you see a doctor..." He patted Davey lightly, this time on the shoulder, and the boy flinched as if expecting a blow.

Pretending not to notice, Funderburk glanced casually around the barren front yard. "Kinda hot out here, ain't it?" he commented. "How about I get a deputy to come sit with y'all and run the air-conditioning in that car?"

"Okay!" The children nodded eagerly.

A deputy stood several feet away, watching as Funderburk talked with the children. As Funderburk approached, the young man straightened visibly and stepped forward.

"That your vehicle?" Funderburk asked, jerking his head towards the car behind him.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, go sit in the car with the kids and turn on the air con. See if you can't get them to open up a bit. But don't interrogate them, just talk with them." He glanced at the vehicle and shook his head. "Poor things, they're scared to death."

As the deputy headed across the dirt yard towards the cruiser, Funderburk returned to the battered trailer the children called home and climbed the sagging wooden steps that led to the front door.

Pausing briefly, he watched as the deputy approached the cruiser and began talking to the children. They seemed to relax in the company of the younger, less intimidating man; even the oldest became more friendly. As snatches of their conversation floated across the yard, it occurred to him that the children had never even asked about their father.

* * *

Wallace Funderburk was working his way through a plate of pecan pancakes at Duke's Diner when a shadow fell across his table. He looked up to see Betsy Tanner, the head of Keowee County's Department of Social Services, looming over him.

"Hey, Betsy! How you doin? Wanna sit down and have a cup of coffee?" He gestured with his knife in the direction of the seat across from him.

She sighed and nodded, an uncharacteristically quiet response for her. As she slid into the booth, Funderburk motioned for the waitress, who came over with a full pot and an empty cup and saucer.

"Did you want to order breakfast this mornin'?" she asked Betsy.

Betsy shook her head. "No, thanks, just coffee, please..."

As the waitress returned to her place at the cash register, Funderburk raised an eyebrow and gazed across the table at Betsy, who shrugged and reached for her coffee.

"So how did you track me down?" Funderburk asked.

"I called your office and demanded to know where you were," she answered, a slightly amused smile playing around the corners of her mouth. "Naturally, they told me what I wanted to know without a lot of fuss."

Betsy Tanner was a formidable woman; when people addressed her as "Ma'am" it wasn't just courtesy. They meant it. She spoke her mind without censor and smoked like a pile of burning tires. In her younger days she'd run a honky tonk on Ram Cat Alley, serving up drinks and bouncing the heads of rowdy customers off the pavement. She was rumored to have tattoos.

She also had a Master's in Child Development and the work ethic of a beaver on speed.