eleven

Loyal watched Father’s face as they hurried back to town. He was clearly upset, which made Loyal feel uneasy. What had the men talked about? Did it have anything to do with the gun they’d gone there to ask about? He knew he should tell about seeing Rebecca and Michael that day of the killing. The fact that Michael had threatened his sister weighed heavy on him. He couldn’t see his way clear to do anything about it, but Father . . . well, maybe he could help. And while he still wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, it must have been bad if Michael was that worried about Rebecca talking to anyone about it.

As they neared town, Father slowed. Loyal tugged at his shirt. His father stopped and looked at him like he’d forgotten they were together. “Sorry, son, am I walking too fast for you?”

Loyal shook his head. He lifted his hands but then wasn’t sure how to proceed. How to make Father understand? He supposed he could try speaking, but it was much harder than signing and what if someone else heard? Maybe he should write everything down. Father’s expectant look had shifted to something more like concern.

“What is it?” he asked.

Loyal shook his head in a never mind gesture. He’d write it all down when they got home. Father started to speak again, then snapped his mouth shut and glared over Loyal’s shoulder. Turning to see who or what had drawn Father’s attention, he saw a stranger staring at them. He jerked a thumb at Loyal. “That your boy?”

Father stepped forward, putting himself between Loyal and the man. Which also put his back to Loyal so he could no longer read his lips. He craned his neck, but Father held up an arm to keep him back. After a moment, the man spoke again. “He was there when you found the body, right?”

This time Father turned and bent down to look Loyal in the eye. “Go home. I’ll see you there.” Loyal frowned as hard as he knew how and shook his head. Father gripped his shoulder tight enough that it hurt. “Do it.” Loyal considered refusing, but Father’s expression changed his mind. He let his shoulders slump and headed toward home dragging his feet. He looked back once and saw Father jabbing the man in the chest. He hoped Mother could tell him who it was.

“You leave my son out of this.” Creed hadn’t much cared for Earl from the first time he laid eyes on him, and his interest in Loyal made him even less likable.

“He’s a witness. He’s in it whether you like it or not.”

Creed lowered his voice. “The boy’s deaf. He can’t tell you anything. You may as well think of me as the one who found the body, because my son can’t help you.”

Earl curled his lip. “He must communicate some way. Is he simple?”

Creed balled his fists. “Smarter than you and me put together. He talks with his hands.” He started to add that Loyal could read lips but decided this fellow didn’t need to know any more details.

“You understand that hand-talking?”

Creed swallowed hard and flexed his fingers. “Some of it.” That was barely the truth—another thing Earl didn’t need to know.

“So, I’ll ask the questions and you translate for me.”

“No.”

“But I’ve got the right—”

Creed cut him off. “You been to talk to Virgil today? I’d assumed you were here because he got a confession.” Earl paled, which was not what Creed expected.

“Who confessed?” The question was little more than a whisper.

“Let’s go talk to Virgil. He can tell you.” Creed took a few steps toward the sheriff’s office, then paused. “Or not.” Earl followed him like an obedient dog. Creed almost felt sorry for him. His partner had been murdered, and the man who confessed to the killing seemed unlikely to have actually done it. He didn’t envy Earl’s position.

Virgil looked like he’d just walked into the office himself, hat flung on his desk and sweat beading his forehead. And he didn’t look happy to see Earl trailing in after Creed.

“Figured you’d turn up eventually,” he said to Earl. “I made my report to your superiors just a little while ago. Word must travel fast.”

“Creed told me somebody confessed.” Creed flinched at the thunder in Virgil’s eyes. He might have some explaining to do. “You have the murderer?” Earl asked.

“I have someone who says he’s the murderer. The truth of that confession remains to be seen.”

“What the devil does that mean?”

Virgil thumped into his chair, making the swivel mechanism squeal. “Just what I said. Sometimes people lie when they say they didn’t do something, and sometimes they lie when they say they did.” He smiled tiredly. “And once in a blue moon, they tell the truth.”

“Let me talk to him,” Earl said.

Virgil barked a laugh. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“Well, why don’t you believe him?” Earl was almost whining now.

“Creed, why did you bring this man here? To torment me?”

Creed grimaced. “Sorry, Virgil. He followed me like a hungry pup.”

Virgil snorted. “After you gave him scraps from your plate.” He turned to Earl. “Call your boss. He has my report to this point, and he can choose what to share with you. Or you can go by Mrs. Gibbs’s boardinghouse and see if Fred Mason has rejoined the land of the living.”

Earl looked like he was going to stomp his foot and throw a fit. “Who in tarnation is Fred Mason?”

“The federal investigator they sent down once you reported the shooting. Unfortunately, he’s been sick as a dog since he got here and hasn’t been much help.” Under his breath Virgil added, “Or much hindrance.”

Earl steeled his jaw, spun on his heel, and stormed out the door. Virgil glared at Creed. “I thought you were helping.”

Creed sighed. “Sorry about that. He was set on questioning Loyal, and I had to distract him.”

“Hunh. Wish you’d tried something else, but at least I managed to run him off.” He gave Creed a dark look. “I sure hope you have some information for me to make this day worthwhile.”

Creed blew out a breath and pulled up a chair. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Mother wasn’t home. Loyal found a plate with some cookies under a cloth on the kitchen table, making him realize it had been a long time since breakfast. There was a note saying she was helping one of the neighbor ladies who’d just had a baby. He ate two oatmeal cookies, downed a glass of milk, and picked up a third cookie to munch as he wandered out into the backyard. The weather had finally cooled, and butterflies made Mother’s zinnias look alive. Loyal guessed if he had to give up one of his senses, he was glad it wasn’t his sight. He polished off his cookie. Or his taste.

Feeling bored, he had a notion to pull weeds in the vegetable patch out back but couldn’t quite convince himself to do it. He wished Father would come home so he could teach him more signs. He brightened. Of course. He’d write down what he knew about Michael and Rebecca for Father.

He jogged back inside, found some paper, and went out on the back porch to get to work. He balanced a book on his knee, chewed the end of his pencil for a minute, and began writing. Loyal was so focused he didn’t feel the flooring of the porch bounce under the weight of another person until Michael Westfall was looming behind him. He startled and dropped his pencil. Michael snatched the paper from Loyal. “You saw? You were there?”

Before Loyal could react, Michael grabbed a fistful of his shirt and jerked him to his feet. “Who have you told? Why are you writing this stuff down?”

Loyal shook his head and tried to free himself. Michael gave him a push. He stumbled backward and fell hard, banging his elbow. He frowned and scooted away from the older boy. Michael looked crazy. His eyes had red veins showing in them, and his hair stuck up in back like he hadn’t combed it since he slept last. Plus, his shirttail was halfway untucked.

Michael snatched up the fallen pencil, turned the paper Loyal had been writing on over, and scrawled something there. He held the page up so Loyal could see. Have you told anyone?

Loyal shook his head.

Michael wrote some more. Are you going to?

That was a trickier question. He was planning to tell Father. But he was afraid of what Michael would do if he knew that. Loyal slowly stood. He looked Michael in the eyes and shook his head again. He wasn’t going to tell Father. He was going to show him.

“Yes, you are!” Loyal was pretty sure Michael was shouting. “That’s why you’re writing it down.” He looked at the paper, quickly reading it over. Loyal had gotten as far as seeing the two kids running but hadn’t written down the part about seeing Michael hide something. Michael glared at him. “Where’s the rest of it? How much else do you know?”

Loyal looked at him blankly. Michael began scribbling on the paper in his hand and finally held it up with How much do you know? scrawled across it. Loyal held his hand out, and Michael stared at it. Loyal mimed writing, so Michael handed him the pencil and shoved a fresh piece of paper toward him.

That’s all, he wrote. I saw you running away.

Michael crumpled the page in his hand. “I don’t believe you.” Loyal just looked at him. Michael rolled his eyes and wrote Who were you going to tell?

Loyal considered, decided there was no harm in the truth, and wrote Father on his own page.

Michael began to pace back and forth, making it hard for Loyal to see what he was muttering. He saw sheriff and trouble and Rebecca. None of which comforted him. Finally, Michael glared at him and wrote If you tell anyone, you’ll be sorry. He gave Loyal’s shoulder a hard push and shook a fist in his face. Then he ripped the paper into shreds and sprinkled the pieces over Loyal’s head before stomping away.

“Are you saying he couldn’t show you the gun or that he wouldn’t?” Virgil paced from desk to window like a bear Creed had once seen in a cage. He felt almost as sorry for Virgil as he had the bear.

“He tried to make out like he wouldn’t, but when he opened that cabinet of his, he was sure enough surprised at whatever he saw there.”

“Or didn’t see,” Virgil added. “Do you think he was acting? Trying to make you think he was surprised that the gun—which could be the one used to kill Eddie—was missing?”

Creed tried to ignore his growling belly. What he wouldn’t give for a tomato sandwich about now. “It’s possible that he was putting on a show. But if he was, it was the best show I’ve seen in a long time.”

Virgil stopped and stared out the window. “Or maybe Otto did take the gun.”

“That thought occurred to me, too. If it was Otto, he must’ve been out there waiting on Eddie. Maybe set up a meeting with him for some reason.”

Virgil cursed. “Which would make this a premeditated shooting instead of an accidental one. Doggone it. None of this feels right.”

“You think Otto was trying to do his boss some kind of favor?” Creed slouched in his chair as if relaxing might drain some of the tension radiating from the sheriff.

Virgil shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’m going to do my best to track every move that boy made the day of the shooting.” He slapped his hat on. “I was hoping to avoid putting Hadden on the defensive, but there’s nothing else for it. I’m going to have to ask a lot of questions of a lot of people. And I’m starting with the Westfall family.” He strode toward the door, then looked back at Creed. “I might need you tomorrow or the next day. You willing to hang around?”

Creed thought about Loyal. And then he thought about Delphy. “Don’t guess I mind.” Virgil nodded and left Creed to hunt up a late lunch—maybe one he could share with his son. Or his wife.