“yelled Homer Sulaway. “Yeah, I recognize you.” He stood on the front porch, his skinny arms looped around a rifle, his lobsterman’s dungarees rolled up at the ankles. Chase had told Miranda the man was eighty-five. The toothless, prune-faced apparition on that porch looked about a century older. “You two go on, now! Leave me alone. Can’t afford to fix no more broken windows.”“But I paid for it, remember?” said Chase. “Had to mow lawns for six months, but I did pay for it.”
“Damn right,” said Sully. “Or I’d ’a got it outta your old man’s hide.”
“Can we talk to you, Mr. Sulaway?”
“What about?”
“Stone Coast Trust. I wanted to know if—”
“Not interested.” Sully turned and shuffled back across the porch.
“Mr. Sulaway, I have a young lady here who’d like to ask—”
“Don’t have no use for young ladies. Or old ladies, either.” The screen door slammed shut behind him.
There was a silence. “Well,” muttered Chase. “The old boy’s definitely mellowed.”
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