"Charlaine Harris - Grave Sight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Harris Charlaine)

almost completely dark.

Sarne was an ugly place once you left the tourist-oriented area centered around the courthouse.
Businesses like Mountain Karl’s Kountry Krafts gave way to more pedestrian necessities, like First
National Bank and Reynolds Appliances. The further away I drove from the square on these side streets,
the more frequently I noticed occasional empty storefronts, one or two with shattered windows. The
traffic was nearly nonexistent. This was the private part of Sarne, for locals. Tourist season would be
over, the mayor had told me, when the leaves fell; Sarne was about to roll up its carpets—and its
hospitality—for the winter months.

I was irritated with our wasted time and mileage. But I hadn’t given up hope yet, and when I felt the
unmistakable pull at a four-way stop five blocks east of the square, I was almost happy. It came from my
left, about six yards away.
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“Recent?” Tolliver asked, seeing my head jerk. I always look, even if there’s no way I’ll see a thing with
my physical eyes.

“Very.” We weren’t passing a cemetery, and I wasn’t getting the feel of a newly embalmed corpse,
which might indicate a funeral home. This impression was too fresh, the pull too strong.

They want to be found, you know.

Instead of going straight, which would’ve gotten us to the motel, I turned left, following the mental
“scent.” I pulled over into the parking lot of a small gas station. My head jerked again as I listened to the
voice calling to me from the overgrown lot on the other side of the street. I say “scent” and “voice,” but
what draws me is not really something as clear-cut as those words indicate.

About three yards into the lot was the facade of a building. From what I could read of the scorched and
dangling sign, this was the former site of Evercleen Laundromat. Judging by the state of the remains of the
building, Evercleen had burned halfway to the ground some years before.

“In the ruin, over there,” I told Tolliver.

“Want me to check?”

“Nah. I’ll call Branscom when I get in the room.” We gave each other brief smiles. There’s nothing like a
concrete example to establish my bona fides. Tolliver gave me an approving nod.

I put the car into drive again. This time we reached our motel and checked into our respective rooms
with no interruption. We need a break from each other after being together all day; that’s the reason for
the separate rooms. I don’t think either of us is excessively modest.

My room was like all the others I’ve slept in over the past few years. The bedspread was green and
quilted and slick, and the picture above the bed was a bridge somewhere in Europe, looked like. Other
than those little identifiers, I could have been in any cheap motel room, anywhere in America. At least it
smelled clean. I pulled out my makeup-and-medicine bag and put it in the little bathroom. Then I went