"I know it."
"Put her down in the booth. The back one. Nobody'll see her from the door."
He did. He laid Dovie on the red vinyl bench of the last booth, by the jukebox that hadn't worked since 1978, and Coralee went to the hook behind the kitchen door and got her car coat, the brown corduroy one with the sheepskin collar, and brought it out and put it over the girl, all the way up to her chin. Dovie turned on her side and put two fingers in her mouth and did not wake. The red rain boots stuck out the bottom of the coat. Ozias Kroll pulled them off one at a time, carefully, the way you'd draw a cork, and set them side by side on the floor under the table with their toes pointed the same way.
Then he sat down across from her, in the other side of the booth, and Coralee sat down beside him, because it was the only place left, and for a while neither of them said anything.
"You lied to him," Ozias said finally. "That deputy."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don't know yet." She got the pot and two clean cups off the counter and poured them both coffee. "I'm going to find out in a minute. You're going to tell me."
He wrapped both of his hands around the cup and did not drink from it. "What do you want to know?"
"Whatever's true."
He laughed, a short dry sound with no pleasure in it. "That'll take a while."