thirty-one

The sheriff sat in a kitchen chair pulled up close to the sofa. He leaned his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. Rebecca moved to the end of the sofa where she was careful not to touch Loyal’s foot. He liked having her there. He was worried that the sheriff might not believe him—or worse, that he’d somehow messed up the evidence.

Fishing in his pocket, Loyal pulled out one of Sam’s chewed-up sassafras sticks and handed it over. Sheriff White looked confused, then his expression cleared. “You’re thinking Sam is the killer,” he said. Loyal blinked in surprise, then nodded. The sheriff leaned closer as though he might be overheard. “I’m thinking the same thing.”

Loyal felt relief and disappointment wash through him in equal parts. He was glad he didn’t have to make himself understood, but at the same time it seemed like he’d gone to a lot of trouble—caused a lot of trouble—for something that wasn’t coming as a surprise to the sheriff.

Sheriff White leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Between you, me, and the fence post, I’m expecting some hard evidence that’ll finally wrap all of this business up.” He looked at Rebecca. “And your family can get back to normal.” He stood and nodded at Loyal. “Take care of that ankle.”

Loyal watched him carry his chair back into the kitchen. The feeling of disappointment was definitely outweighing the relief he’d felt earlier. Had the sheriff already known what he’d set out to learn? Had he wasted his time and been responsible for Father getting shot? Now he wished Rebecca would just leave. He didn’t want her to know what an idiot he’d been. He looked at her and saw that she was looking back at him intently.

“Normal,” she repeated. “I’m not sure what that is. If it’s what we were like before all of this happened, I’m not sure I want it.”

Loyal frowned and signed Why not?

“Because normal meant we didn’t talk to each other or do things together. Michael usually ignored me, and Daddy was always busy.” Her chest rose and fell with a sigh. “At least I haven’t been lonely the last few weeks.” She smiled. “I like being here with your family. Your mom is nice, and she lets me help her in the kitchen. Mrs. Tompkins won’t let me near the kitchen.” She cocked her head to one side. “You sure are lucky.” She turned her head as if she’d heard something, then flashed him a smile and left.

Loyal wiggled deeper into the sofa. His ankle throbbed with each beat of his heart, and he was pretty sure he’d made more of a mess instead of fixing anything. And yet . . . Rebecca thought he was lucky. She thought the deaf boy who’d managed to get himself kidnapped was lucky. He closed his eyes, still tired from the previous night’s trouble. In Sunday school, his teacher liked to talk about the importance of counting blessings. Maybe he’d try counting a few right now.

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Delphy hadn’t felt this emotional since she’d been afraid Loyal’s fever would do worse than leave him deaf. One moment she was mad that her son and husband had taken such risks, the next just thankful they were both on the mend. She went from thinking life had at least been simpler when she was estranged from her husband to wishing he’d hurry up and heal so they could . . . well. She was a mess. Which didn’t help matters when she heard someone creeping down the stairs and saw that Creed had decided to get out of bed against the doctor’s orders.

She never should have told him that Virgil was planning to come by. She’d assumed the sheriff would just talk to Creed while he was propped in their bed, but apparently her husband had a different idea. He’d even managed to dress himself. As he slipped into the kitchen, she gave him a look that he clearly understood.

“Woman, if I’m going to talk to Virgil, I’m going to have the conversation sitting up in a chair instead of lying in bed.” He eased onto a chair as though it were made of glass. Or maybe as though he were made of glass. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow, and his hand strayed to his injured side. He forced a smile and leaned against the table. From the expression on his face, it didn’t do much to lessen the pain he must be feeling.

“Virgil can walk up those stairs easier than you can walk down them,” Delphy said. “I don’t know why you’re so determined to act like you weren’t almost killed just a few days ago.”

“I was a long way from death’s doorstep,” he said, swiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Exercise will do me good.” He grinned, but his lips were tight, and his eyes glittered. “Where’s Loyal?”

“He and Michael are playing cards on the front porch. The swelling’s gone down on that ankle, but I don’t want him overdoing it.”

She saw words taking shape on his lips, yet he bit down on them. Good. He wasn’t in the best position to stick his oar in on her parenting right at that moment. She set a plate of tea cakes on the table and put out some of her nice china cups, along with a fresh pot of coffee.

“Virgil won’t know what to make of all this. I don’t think he’s used to fancy.”

Delphy made a humphing sound. “Fancy. This is no more than I’d do for anyone else sitting down at my table. And Julia has plenty of nice things.” Creed was right. It probably was silly, but lately she’d been feeling domestic.

Creed reached out and hooked an arm around her waist as she came near. He tugged at her until she stopped and let him draw her close. She knew it had to hurt, the stretching and pulling, so she went to him willingly and gently.

“You’re acting like a hen caught in the rain.” He settled his head against her side. “What’s the matter?”

She didn’t know how tense she was until she relaxed against him. She let her hand stray to the overlong hair at the nape of his neck. She felt him relax, as well. “I don’t want to lose you.” Her voice was small and quiet.

Creed stilled and seemed about to speak, but she pulled away when she saw Virgil coming in through the back door. He grinned. “Looks like you’re recovering just fine.”

“Wasn’t much more than a scratch,” Creed said.

Delphy thumped the coffeepot down on the worn table, glared at him, and leaned against the sink with her arms crossed. If he was going to act the fool, she was going to at least keep an eye on him.

Creed frowned at her but didn’t suggest she leave. “What’s happening with Judge Kline?”

The sheriff eyed her warily as if considering whether or not he could talk in front of her. She tightened her arms and stared him right in the eye. He gave his head a little shake and turned to Creed. “We got a rush on a ballistics report for that bullet Bernie dug out of your back. It matches the bullet that killed Eddie Minks.”

Delphy’s hand flew to her mouth, but she managed to keep quiet.

“So, Sam’s the killer,” Creed said, looking wilted.

“Most likely. Problem is, all that ballistics test proves is that Sam’s gun killed Eddie. It doesn’t tell us who pulled the trigger. And we have yet to run Sam to ground. But even if we do, he may have gotten rid of the rifle.” Virgil poured coffee into a dainty china cup and then spent some time figuring out how to pick it up. He glanced at Delphy as he lifted the cup by its rim and took a slurp. She tried not to smile in spite of the sober topic. “Which is to say we have some important evidence, but it still doesn’t tell us the whole story.”

“Does it let Otto and Hadden off the hook at least?” Creed asked.

“While it’s not what Judge Kline would call ‘conclusive,’ it sure as heck makes it hard to argue either one of ’em would’ve had access to Sam Hacker’s fancy rifle.”

Creed leaned on the table, and Delphy could see the sheen of perspiration across his face. She figured right about now he was wishing he’d taken her advice and stayed in bed. “So what now?” he asked.

“I was hoping to talk to Loyal.”

Delphy took a step toward them. “About what?” she demanded.

“Anything he might’ve seen while he was with Sam Hacker.”

Creed looked at her. “It sure would be easier for Virgil—and Loyal—if you’d translate.”

She pinched her lips. “Is this official police business? Are you suggesting we go to your office or the courthouse?”

“No, I’d just like to talk to the boy—unofficially—to see if there’s anything we need to make more official.” He smiled and picked up a tea cake. “And I sure would be grateful for your assistance.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t try to butter me up, Virgil. I’ll do it, but for Loyal’s sake—not yours. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go fetch Loyal.”

Virgil let out a low, almost-silent whistle she was pretty sure she wasn’t meant to hear and gave Creed a look that she decided to take as a compliment.

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Loyal was beating Michael at gin rummy when Mother stepped out onto the porch. He sensed the tension in the air before he realized she had joined them. She was smiling, but it didn’t look right. He was on his guard immediately.

She began signing while speaking aloud for Michael’s benefit. “The sheriff wants to talk to you.”

Talk about what? he signed back.

She finger-spelled S-a-m H-a-c-k-e-r.

Loyal nodded. Finally the sheriff wanted to hear what he knew. He laid his cards facedown, shook a finger at Michael, and followed Mother inside, only limping a little.

In the kitchen, Father sat at the table with Sheriff White. Loyal smiled, glad to see his father up and around. You okay? he signed. Father smiled and made the sign for yes. Pleased, Loyal stood and waited for the sheriff’s first question.

Sheriff White looked at Father and asked, “Can you talk with your hands now?”

“Not much,” Father said. He smiled at Loyal. “But I’m learning.”

Happiness swelled in Loyal’s chest. Father was learning to sign, and the sheriff wanted to hear what he knew. The sheriff tapped his arm. Loyal gave him his full attention.

“How are you feeling?” the sheriff asked. “Looks like you’re limping some.”

Loyal furrowed his brow. He thought they were going to talk about Sam.

Fine, he signed, and Mother translated.

“Good, good. I guess you know why I want to ask you some questions?” Mother’s hands flew as the sheriff spoke.

Loyal frowned. He wasn’t a baby. He glanced at Mother and began signing. She translated, her lips not quite matching her hands as she shifted what he shaped into words that flowed smoothly for hearing people.

Sam told his brother he killed the man. I saw them talking.

Virgil’s eyebrows shot up toward his naked scalp. “When did this happen?”

I could see through a crack in the door.

“When you were inside the springhouse?” Loyal was grateful for Mother’s signing. The sheriff’s lips were pretty easy to read, but it was much easier to follow Mother’s hands.

Yes. They argued about it. Glen said Sam was only supposed to scare the man, but he shot him.

Mother’s lips tightened. Loyal guessed she didn’t like knowing how he’d spied.

Virgil licked his lips and looked toward Father. “Loyal’s testimony combined with the ballistics and the way Sam’s running should be enough to convict him if we can catch him.”

“Testimony?” Loyal could tell the single word was a question.

“I expect Judge Kline will want Loyal to take the stand.”

Mother frowned, and Father shifted in his chair. Maybe because he was hurting or maybe because he didn’t like the idea of Loyal in a courtroom. Loyal stood straight and tall. “I’ll testify.” He spoke the words, hoping his voice didn’t sound too rusty. It had been a while since he last spoke.

“Will that really be necessary?” Mother asked. Loyal had to read her lips—her hands had fallen into her lap like weary birds in a nest.

“Probably,” Sheriff White said. “Why? That’s not a problem, is it? Are you worried about the boy’s safety?”

Father spoke then. “I expect we can keep him safe.” He darted a look at Mother, who frowned more deeply. “Why can’t he just talk to Judge Kline?” she asked.

“If Earl wasn’t gumming up the works, we might could get by with that. As it is, I expect we’re going to have to put on a proper show.” He glanced at Loyal and winked. “And I expect this young man will do a fine job.”

Loyal felt his chest expand another notch. He smiled. Maybe he was going to get this right after all. Maybe he was going to make Father proud at long last.