twenty-eight

Loyal sat in the dappled shade of the forest near a dancing stream. He was hot, tired, and maybe a little bit lost. He dipped a hand in the chilly flow and lifted it to his lips. The water tasted cool and delicious. He took off his shoes and waded into the shin-deep water, reaching down to scoop some up and splash his face. He wondered what the creek sounded like. He’d heard people describe water as being musical or roaring. He knew what music felt like. And he’d felt the roar of a storm or a train thrumming in his chest, but this wasn’t like either of those. He sat on a rock and tried to feel what the water sounded like.

The current whispered across his skin, making gooseflesh rise on his arms and legs. He closed his eyes and . . .

His eyes flew open. He hadn’t heard anything, but he’d felt a presence. Sam Hacker stood on the far side of the creek, twig twitching between his lips as he considered Loyal. He plucked out the bit of sassafras and tossed it in the water so that it sped away on the current.

“Seems like you’re a fur piece from where you belong.”

Loyal frowned, then realized Sam meant far. He held both hands up and moved one away from the other, then pointed at Sam with his eyebrows raised.

“You asking if I’m far from where I’m supposed to be, too?” Loyal could see him jerk with a short laugh. “Farther than you know.” Sam cocked his head to the side as he stared at Loyal. “What you huntin’?”

All at once, Loyal realized that if it had been Sam who’d fired the killing shot that made him dangerous. Loyal had imagined the shooting being an accident, but now, looking into the man’s dark, piercing eyes, the notion that someone might do such a thing on purpose hit him full in the face, and he knew then and there that evil was a tangible thing.

Sam shook his head. “I been watching you. You’re smarter than folks give you credit for.” Loyal felt a spurt of pride. “Although maybe not as smart as you think.” Then a bolt of fear hit Loyal and he felt deeply foolish. “Last I knew, you and the rest of ’em were headed to Elkins to talk to that judge.” Sam narrowed his red-streaked eyes. “Hadden and that German boy didn’t come home.”

Loyal began to think that coming out here on his own had been stupid.

Sam rubbed his eyes. “Guess that means one of ’em did it.”

Loyal released a pent-up breath. Maybe Sam wasn’t suspicious of him after all.

“Come on then.” Sam motioned for Loyal to follow. “Ma took a shine to you and them other two kids. I reckon she can feed you, and then I’ll run you on home afore you get into trouble.”

Loyal tried a smile, still uncertain as he waded out of the water to put his shoes back on. Maybe if Sam really was the killer, he could find another clue. Something that would take the heat off Mr. Westfall and Otto. He wasn’t sure what that might be, yet that was how it went in the Hardy Boys books.

He trailed along after Sam while wracking his brain for a way to get the man to confess to shooting Eddie Minks. Sam wasn’t even suspicious of him—probably because he was deaf—and if he could set everything to rights, he’d be a hero and Father would be proud of him. He smiled, picturing how good that would feel.

As they walked, he sniffed the air and noticed a sharp, stale smell rolling off of Sam. At school he’d once smelled something like that when a classmate’s father showed up unexpectedly. There had been whispers about his being drunk. Loyal was so caught up in trying to tell if Sam had been drinking that he nearly stepped on a ginseng plant before he realized what it was. He stopped and must have made a noise because Sam turned back and looked almighty pleased when he saw the plant at Loyal’s feet.

“That’s a nice one,” he said, leaning close and squinting. He found a stick and began working it around the plant to loosen the root. Loyal tried to remember if this was part of one of Father’s patches. He thought it was but couldn’t be sure. So many places in the woods looked a lot alike, and as familiar as this spot was, he couldn’t say if it was where Father had shown him the plants he planned to harvest.

Sam tugged the root from the soil. He brushed off the bulbous growth that was as big around as his thumb and grinned. “You’ve got a good eye on ya there.” He rubbed his own eyes. “I’ve always had puny sight. Say, you know where there are more of these?”

Loyal clenched his jaw. He wasn’t supposed to lie, but Father also told him how important it was to keep the location of his plants a secret. And Sam clearly meant to dig them up. He settled for a shrug. Sam appeared to chew the inside of his cheek. “Tight-lipped, are ya?” Then he laughed. “Guess you are at that. Come on.”

They continued on their way, and even though Loyal spotted another ginseng plant with its crown of berries, he made a point of not looking right at it. This must be Father’s patch—the one where they’d found half a dozen plants that looked ready for harvest come fall. Sam hadn’t even planted the seeds from the root in his pocket.

Sam didn’t notice any more plants, and Loyal kept his head down so he wouldn’t either. Because of that, he didn’t realize that they’d come up on the Hacker place until they were standing at a door built into the side of a hill, with a small peaked roof over the door. He recognized it as a springhouse. Sam made a motion like taking a drink from a cup. Loyal nodded. He was definitely thirsty again after their hot tromp through the woods. Sam smiled and held the door open, making a sweeping gesture to invite Loyal inside.

Loyal nodded his gratitude and stepped through the doorway into the cool, dim interior. There was a trough in the back of the space, where the spring water would flow and they could keep things like milk and butter cool. And he could dip up a drink. But when he stepped closer and his eyes began to adjust, he saw that the trough was dry. He turned to see what Sam thought about it just in time to see the door shut out the light.

Clyde appeared to be napping on the front porch when the police car pulled up to his house. But based on the way he eased his hat back on his head and gave them both the once-over, Creed guessed it wasn’t what you’d call a deep sleep.

“Sheriff, we live out here in the wilds of Rich Mountain because we’re not partial to company. Seems like you’re starting to make it a habit to call on us with some regularity.” He stood and stretched. “I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be able to extend my hospitality.”

“Aw, Clyde, don’t start talking fancy. You know good and well this isn’t a social call.”

Clyde snorted. “Is that supposed to make me glad to have you stop by?”

“No more than I’m glad to be here.” Virgil stopped at the bottom of the steps and propped one booted foot there. “You seen Loyal?”

“The deaf boy?”

“That’d be the one.”

“Nary a hide nor a hair since you took him out of here,” Clyde answered. “Don’t tell me you’ve misplaced him again?”

Creed flexed his fingers. He didn’t like the way Clyde was talking about Loyal, yet he didn’t want to alienate the man. He pinched his tongue between his front teeth in order to keep his thoughts to himself.

Virgil started up the steps. “Mind if I look inside? Maybe check with some other members of your family?”

“I do mind, but since it looks like you’re coming in anyway, let’s get it over with.”

Creed followed Virgil through the door. He kept his lips pressed together and his hands in his pockets. He’d never had a reason to dislike the Hackers, but then he’d never had a reason to like them either. They kept to themselves, and so did Creed. At least he used to.

Clyde’s wife, Bernie, sat at the kitchen table, threading beans on twine to dry into leather britches for winter storage. She nodded but didn’t pause in her labor.

Sam walked in through the back door. He jerked, his eyes registering surprise. His left hand went to his pants pocket, then froze. He flexed his fingers and reached into his breast pocket instead, fetching out a twig that he stuck in his mouth. “You boys planning to lodge some more young’uns with us?”

“We’re looking for Loyal. You seen him?” Virgil asked.

“Nope.”

Creed couldn’t stand this any longer. “You sure?” he said, pushing forward. “Not much happens out here without your bunch knowing about it.”

“Maybe he ain’t out here,” Sam said. Creed was close enough now to smell the sassafras twig clenched between Sam’s teeth—along with the reek of alcohol. “Seems like whenever something bad happens, townsfolk figure a Hacker must be involved.”

“Now, everybody just simmer down,” Virgil said. “We’re not accusing you of anything, just looking for help in finding Creed’s boy. He was here not so long ago, and we figured there was a chance he might have come back.”

Sam thumped into a chair opposite his mother and glared at them. “Too many people poking around out here. You’d think somebody dying would cut down on the traffic.”

“Who else has been poking around?” Virgil asked. When Sam didn’t answer, he looked at Clyde. “You see anybody other than the two of us and those kids?”

Clyde frowned at Sam. “Most everybody knows to steer clear or can’t find their way out. Even them two government boys knew to send word about wanting our land by way of Glen when he was in town. Sam’s just cranky.”

Virgil nodded. “Speaking of those boys wanting your land, I was surprised to hear you say you were thinking about selling. Don’t suppose a deal might’ve gone wrong?”

Clyde glanced at Sam, a thoughtful expression on his face. “They was supposed to come out and talk to me, but then one of ’em got killed before that happened. I figured that was the end of it.”

“So, you really were going to sell your land.” Virgil hooked his thumbs in his belt.

Clyde dropped into a chair next to Sam. “I was doing it for these hardheaded boys of mine. Time we got out of our”—he darted a look at the sheriff—“family business. It’s gettin’ more and more dangerous, and some folks”—now he speared Sam with a look—“have been mixing in products I don’t much approve of.”

Sam snorted. “Tired of you making my decisions for me, old man.”

Clyde shook his head and turned tired eyes on Creed. “I’d have whipped him for talking like that back in the day. But now . . .” He sighed. “Guess there comes a day when you’ve gotta let ’em make their own bed and lie in it.”

Creed watched Sam, who watched his father. “How about you, Sam? Did you have any more dealings with Earl or Eddie?” He felt Virgil elbow him but ignored it.

“Nope.” He didn’t take his eyes off his father, and the look was one that sent chills down Creed’s spine.

“You sure?” Sam turned that cold stare on Creed and kept his peace.

Virgil stepped forward. “That’ll do, Creed. We’re not here to question these folks. We’re just looking for Loyal, and it seems our time might be better spent getting out and hunting for him instead of troubling Clyde and his family.”

Creed started to speak but snapped his mouth shut when he saw the warning in Virgil’s eyes. Virgil herded him toward the door. “If you see or hear anything of Loyal, let us know.”

“We’ll do it,” Clyde said. “He’s a fine young fella. Wish I had a few like him.”

Virgil almost shoved Creed out the front door and steered him toward the car. “Quit stirring up trouble and get in the car.”

Creed did as he was told and managed to keep quiet until the Hackers’ house disappeared behind a stand of pines. “I think Sam knew something about Loyal,” he burst out. “He started to go for his pocket when he saw us, and there was fresh dirt on his pants and under his fingernails. He’d been scrabbling in the dirt, and I’ve got an awful feeling it has something to do with my son.”

Virgil kept driving, eyes straight ahead. When Creed didn’t think he could stand it another second, the sheriff pulled over and shut off the engine. “I agree.”

Creed sputtered, “You do?”

“Sam was hiding something. Of course, the whole family’s hiding plenty in that barn out past the house, but it felt different today.” He thumped his hand against the steering wheel. “They know that I know what’s in the barn, and so long as they don’t cause trouble, neither will I. Plus, you heard Clyde—he was ready to close up shop. Guess that’s causing more than a little friction.” He rubbed his temples and took a deep breath. “Alright. If Clyde was gonna sell but Sam didn’t want him to . . . well, that’d give him motive to step in and try to change the situation.”

Creed nodded. “What did he have in his pocket? And what did it have to do with Loyal?”

“Might not be Loyal,” said Virgil. “Might be Eddie Minks.”

“You think Sam’s the one who shot him. But why?”

“Sam didn’t want his daddy to sell the land. But Earl and Eddie didn’t know that. Maybe Sam was the one they were supposed to meet, only no one expected two kids to show up.” Virgil shrugged. “Or maybe Sam was just feeling ornery. He’s not someone I’d want walking behind me if we were hunting together.”

“And Loyal?”

“Like I say, Sam’s jumpiness might not have anything to do with Loyal.” He laid a steady hand on Creed’s arm. “Although I can see how you’d want to think he might know something. When someone you love is missing, it’s hard to see anything else.”

Creed wanted to shake off the hand but figured he’d made Virgil mad enough the past few weeks. He needed his friend to stick by him, and letting his emotions have free rein wasn’t going to help the situation. “I hear you,” he said, “but I still want to know what’s in the man’s pocket.”