fifteen

Loyal fought tears with each step. He wouldn’t break down and blubber like a baby. At least not yet. It wasn’t just the fact that he’d probably gotten Michael and Rebecca into deep trouble. No, it was that he’d thought he could trust Father. He’d known whatever Michael had hidden might be bad, but he’d never guessed it would be a gun. And the way Father acted, it was probably the gun that had been used to shoot the man he’d found. And if Michael had hidden it, that meant . . . what? That he’d seen Otto shoot the gun? But why would Otto give the gun to Michael? Maybe Otto had dropped the gun, and Michael found it. But why then would he hide it? None of it made sense. And the way Rebecca had talked about what happened made him afraid . . . Well, what if Michael shot that man, and Otto was protecting him? That would explain a lot.

No matter which way he looked at it, he didn’t see how Michael and Rebecca could stay out of trouble. Loyal’s stomach heaved, and he nearly tripped over nothing. He felt like throwing up. More than anything he wanted Father to stop and puzzle this out before going to the sheriff. But Father was walking so fast, Loyal could barely keep up. Father acted like he didn’t even remember Loyal was with him.

He considered falling behind so he could slip away to go warn Michael and Rebecca. Which would be awful. He’d have to tell them it was his fault they’d been found out. He kept trotting behind Father. He guessed it would be better if he tagged along to find out what the sheriff was going to do. He could always slip away later. Adults had a way of forgetting he was around—especially when something serious was happening.

Creed was relieved when he saw Virgil waiting for them outside the old courthouse building. He didn’t want to have to give him the gun in front of anyone else. Virgil saw them coming and took a step their direction. Creed moved close, shielding the gun between them. “Can we talk somewhere private for a minute?”

“Based on what you’ve got hanging from that stick, I think that’d be best,” Virgil said. He motioned toward the Odd Fellows Hall, and they stepped inside, Loyal trailing behind them like a starved puppy.

“Don’t tell me that’s the murder weapon,” Virgil said as soon as the door was shut behind them.

“Can’t say if it is or isn’t.” Creed deposited the ugly piece of hardware on a table. “Turns out Loyal did know one or two things he hadn’t shared yet.” He darted a look at his son, who glowered at him. “But it’s my fault he didn’t get a chance to tell anyone.”

Virgil laced both hands over his bald head as though trying to keep it attached to his body. “I’ve got a roomful of people across the street waiting to hear from your boy. This right here is a whole lot more than any of us bargained for.” He dropped his arms and sagged into a chair. “And durn if I want to discuss it in front of Earl or that feller he dragged in here to talk with his hands.” He stared at a knot in one of the floorboards. “Alright. I’m gonna go over there and tell them the boy’s sick and the interview’s being delayed until tomorrow. Here’s hoping no one was looking out the window when you walked up.” He stood and moved toward the door, then turned back to glare at Creed and Loyal. “You two don’t move even an inch from this room. I’ll be back shortly.”

Once the sheriff was gone, Creed risked a look at Loyal. The boy’s face was a thundercloud. He sat down on the floor where he stood and drew his knees up to his chest. He glared at Creed and then rested his forehead on his knees, dismissing his father as effectively as if he’d left the room. Creed sighed and sat in the chair Virgil had vacated. Maybe he should’ve just kept minding his business up there on the mountain. Getting tangled up with people was every bit as complicated as he’d remembered.

Creed pulled out his pocket watch. It had been a good twenty minutes since Virgil left them. Not long and at the same time forever. Creed guessed the sheriff was having a time convincing his audience that Loyal’s questioning would have to wait. The boy hadn’t moved since sitting down. Creed could almost imagine he was asleep, except that every line of his body exuded tension. He’d let Loyal down in some way he didn’t quite understand. He wanted to touch him—to talk to him—but was afraid he’d make things worse. He wished Delphy were here except that she’d likely skin him alive.

Finally, the back door of the hall eased open and Virgil stepped inside. He looked like a man who’d just come from a henpecking. Creed halfway expected to see blood and bruises, but all he noted were the dark circles under Virgil’s eyes and the slump of his shoulders.

The sheriff pulled out another chair and straddled it, bracing his arms across the back. He blew out a mighty gust of air. “I’d lock you up for obstruction of justice if I thought it’d help,” he said at last. He glanced at Loyal. “But I guess I can understand what you’ve been thinking. Now tell me about that,” he said, motioning toward the gun with his chin.

Creed licked his lips. “Loyal saw the Westfall kids hide it in an old stump along that trail beside the river.” Virgil raised his eyebrows. “It was right before he found the body. Then he came and got me. He didn’t tell me about . . . that”—he waved a hand at the gun—“until last night.”

“I knew I should have hauled you two down here right away. Why didn’t Loyal say or do anything before now?”

“I think he’s worried about getting his friends into trouble. He didn’t know what Michael hid. Didn’t know it even mattered. Probably wouldn’t have even remembered it if I hadn’t asked him.”

Virgil sighed and stood. “Well, we’re going to ask him some more questions right now.” He fished in his breast pocket and pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil. “He can write his answers for now. I should make you leave the room and get Bud in here, but I guess the boy ought to have a parent present. We’re just going to do this informally, so I have an idea what direction to go next.” He turned to Loyal, still sitting with head bowed. “Now get him on up here and let’s talk.”

Creed approached his son like he was sneaking up on a half-wild dog he hoped to tame. He crouched down and laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Loyal jerked away from him without looking up. Creed started to speak, remembered it wouldn’t do any good, and tried to hook a finger under his chin instead. Loyal spun away, turning his back and clamping his arms more tightly around his knees.

“Now, Loyal, we’ve got to do this.” The words were mostly for Virgil and maybe a little bit for himself. He tried to pull the boy’s arms away, but Loyal just grunted and folded in on himself like a turtle. Creed cast a helpless look at Virgil. “Seems he’s not interested in talking to us.”

Virgil took a step closer. “I don’t care what he’s interested in. This has gone on too long already. I need some answers, and he’s going to give them to me. That trial starts in four days and this could change everything.”

Creed felt a spurt of anger and frustration. “Give him time. This is rough on him. Let me take him to his mother, and you swing on by in an hour or so. I bet Delphy can help draw him out and she can translate, too.”

“Doggone it, Creed. I’ve given you enough rope to hang yourself twice over. I’m not cutting you any more slack. Get that boy straightened out or I will.”

Creed surged to his feet and stood nose to nose with Virgil. “The heck you will. He’s my son and I’ll handle him.”

“You mean like you’ve been handling him?” Virgil’s face turned red, and veins stood out on his forehead. “Like you’ve handled him all his life? Seems like you’ve been pretty hands-off up until the last month or so. I’m starting to think involving you in this business might be the worst idea I’ve ever had.”

“You’ve got no right to comment on how I’ve fathered Loyal. That’s between his mother and me. And if you don’t want my help, I’ll be glad to leave you to solve this murder on your own.”

“Gonna run back up on the mountain and hide some more?” Virgil sneered. “Guess I’ll have time to talk to the boy then, when you abandon him all over again.”

Creed sucked air in through his nostrils, balled a fist, and drew back before he realized what he was about to do. He stepped back from Virgil, breathing as hard as if he’d run all the way into town. He shook out his hand like he was trying to sling something off. He spoke in a low voice. “Virgil, I’ve called you friend for a long time, but those are words I’d sooner expect to hear from an enemy.”

The fire went out of Virgil’s eyes, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve got a hangover headache and haven’t touched a drop. Between that and Earl hounding me about interviewing your boy, I’m feeling as ornery as a bee-stung bull.” He shook his head, slow and easy. “I’m sorry, Creed. I’ve got no right to butt into your life like that.” He sighed. “But I do need to talk to Loyal. You really think Delphy might could help us?”

Creed let the tension fall from his shoulders. “I’m sorry, too. I know I’ve made a mess of things, not telling you about Loyal finding the body on his own. I just didn’t want him to end up in the middle of this mess. It’s hard, wanting to keep him safe.”

Virgil chuckled. “I guess most boys his age got a knack for getting into trouble. We sure did.” He leaned around Creed to get a look at the boy. His face drained of color, and Creed turned to see what he was looking at.

Nothing.

Loyal was gone.