Chapter One

Trying unsuccessfully to ignore raised voices coming from inside the house where she lived with her sister and brother-in-law, eleven-year-old Jillie Ross stooped to retrieve a green plastic toy soldier and two milky white stones—the latest of many gifts left by a growing number of crows in exchange for the bits of bread she scattered on the porch daily. The toy soldier was missing a leg, but the crystalline stones were pretty. She did a happy dance for the benefit of the crow watching from its perch atop the backyard fence, stuffed the toy and stones into her jeans pocket, and headed for the back door.

Her stomach tightened as it always did when her sister Beth and brother-in-law Digger argued. Usually, she’d walk the mile or so to their neighbor Mrs. Potter’s house and hang out long enough for the storm to die down, but for some reason, that day she chose to stay close by.

She sighed, repositioned the eyeglasses on her sweat-slick nose, and shot a final glance toward a sumac bush underneath which she’d seen a huge rattlesnake that morning. After making a mental note to warn Beth about the snake, she stepped to the back door.

“Stop your blubbering, and tell me where it is.” Digger Elliott’s angry voice blasted through the open door. The sound of flesh smacking flesh confirmed that the argument had escalated, as usual.

Hesitantly, Jillie opened the screen.

“You will tell me, you know,” Digger said. “It’s just a matter of time. I ain’t even started on you good yet.” He paused and looked thoughtful. “Or maybe I been going about this all wrong. Maybe it’s your little sister I should be working over, the white-haired little freak.”

Beth sniffled but otherwise remained silent.

“I’m talking to you,” Digger yelled.

“Why would I lie?” Beth said. “I’d tell you if there was such a thing.” Her voice sounded tired and sad—like she’d said the same thing so many times she’d lost count. “She doesn’t know any more than I do.”

“Well now, it’s a sad fact of life that innocent folks sometimes get hurt.”

Beth’s quivering voice rose. “Don’t you touch Jillie. I swear I’ll kill you if you so much as look at her funny.”

“Whooooeee, listen at you threatening me. Just who the hell do you think you are?” Digger growled, the sound like something from a wild animal.

Beth wiped her hand across her face and smeared blood over her mouth, chin, and cheeks. Tears streamed from the bright green eyes. The usually smiling lips were swollen and cut.

“I gotta take a leak.” Digger lifted his shirt and unbuckled his belt. “You and me’ll finish this when I get back.” He weaved, bumped into the wall, stumbled for a couple of steps, then disappeared into the bathroom. The sour smell of booze floated on the air behind him. An open, half-empty bottle of yellowish liquid on the kitchen table offered testimony to his condition.

Beth glanced down the hall then back toward her sister. She shook her head once and held her finger to her lips.

Jillie stood still.

“Go to Mrs. Potter’s.” Beth’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “He’s pulled the phone out of the wall, so you’ll have to call the police from there.”

But Jillie couldn’t move. She couldn’t stop looking at her sister’s nose, all sideways on her face, or at the streaming blood that made parentheses around Beth’s mouth before dripping onto her white ruffled blouse.

“You got to go get help.” A pink bubble appeared under Beth’s nostril, dangled for an instant, and then popped. “Hurry, before he gets back.”

The sound of a door opening down the hall, followed by heavy footfalls and cursing, spurred Jillie to action. Wishing for the cell phone Digger had steadfastly refused to buy—I ain't paying good money so the gov'ment or some foreign hacker can listen to me trash talk my buds—she tore her eyes from her sister's pleading face, turned, and ran through the kitchen and out the back door.

After only a few steps, she slowed. While she was running away, Digger would be hurting Beth. Her gaze frantically darted around the yard for anything big enough to make him stop.

Sun glancing off metal caught her eye. Digger’s machete lay where he’d left it, next to a clump of sagebrush he’d gotten tired of whacking at.

Jillie jumped over a discarded metal detector, grabbed up the machete, and ran back to the house. She flung the screen open, screaming at the top of her lungs, “Leave my sister alone!”

Digger’s eyes remained fixed on Beth. “Get out of here, Freak,” he yelled “Go on back outside, and talk to your birds.” He dropped to his knees astraddle Beth. “You know what I hate? I hate the way you find money for her to feed those lousy birds when I have to beg my parents for cigarette money.”

“That money pays the bills, and what’s left belongs to Jillie.”

“Yeah, yeah, a monthly check for the poor little orphan after her mammy and pappy died.” Digger snorted. “That money comes from taxpayers like me, and all’s I want is some of it back.”

“You’d have to pay taxes to be called a taxpayer.”

“Bitch.” Digger growled. “Where is it? Ever’body knows it’s here someplace.”

Beth moved her hands in slow motion. Her eyes grew unfocused, a far-away look in them like she saw things no one else could see.

Digger lifted his fist.

“Stop it!” Jillie hefted the machete above her head. “I said leave her alone.” Seemingly of its own volition, the heavy weapon dropped. The blade thumped against the side of Digger’s head then buried itself in the spot where his neck connected to his shoulder. He hollered a cuss word and made a grab for the blade. Then he grunted, made a funny kind of eep sound, swayed back and forth a couple of times, and collapsed onto the floor.

The sisters stared in stunned silence at the dark circle of blood pulsing outward from Digger’s neck.

Beth’s voice pulled Jillie away from the sight. “Here.” She held out one arm. “Help me up.” She kept blinking and shaking her head like she was trying to clear it. “I need to rest a bit.”

“I hurt him pretty bad.” Jillie’s lip quivered. “I just wanted to make him stop.” She glanced back at Digger. “He’s going to be mad when he wakes up.”

“Listen to me.” Beth looked into Jillie’s eyes. “He was working himself up to kill me for sure, and you stopped him. You got nothing to be sorry for.” She stroked Jillie’s hair with shaking hands. “We’ve got to go. The police’ll take you away from me after this.”

“But what if he gets better and comes after us?” It’d be like Digger to play possum to trick them into feeling safe before jumping up and whaling on Beth again.

Beth looked at her husband lying on the floor next to her. An odd look came over her face, and she sighed. “He won’t be coming after us.”

With Jillie’s help, she stood, staggered to the sink, and poured a glass of water. She took a drink and immediately vomited. She stood there, her head hanging, and eyes closed, then turned the water back on, cupped her hands under the stream, and splashed her face. Spots of red splattered the counter and the wall behind the sink.

“You’re sick.” Jillie’s stomach felt like she’d swallowed a boulder.

“I’ll be okay. Go change out of those bloody clothes. Pack the big suitcase and your backpack with as much as you can get into them. And bring your coat.”

“What about your stuff?”

“I’ll get my things together after I’ve rested up a bit. Get the money we’ve been saving; it’s in the pouch in my right riding boot. And don’t forget your sunscreen and hair dye.”

Trembling so badly she could barely control her body, Jillie ran up the stairs and into her bedroom. She pulled the old yellow suitcase down from the closet shelf and hefted it onto her bed. Unwilling to leave her art supplies behind, she shoved her sketch pad and tin of colored pencils into the suitcase, then filled it with a random pile of clothes and underwear. When the lid wouldn’t close, she sat on it and bounced up and down until it clicked in place. Then she stuffed her backpack with odds and ends before hauling everything downstairs.

“All done,” Jillie said as she dragged the bulging bags into the kitchen. Careful not to look at Digger, she placed her luggage on the floor and approached her sister who sat on the floor against the refrigerator.

Beth’s face was gray, and her legs were splayed out in front of her.

“Don’t you need to pack some stuff?” Jillie said. She touched her sister’s slumped shoulder. “Are you asleep?”

Her eyes half open, Beth stared at the floor. Her stomach had swelled up like she was three or four months pregnant.

A cold shiver moved through Jillie’s insides. “Beth, wake up.” She shook her sister’s shoulder, softly at first, then a little harder.

When Beth still didn’t respond, Jillie ran out of the house and down the road to their nearest neighbor, “Moms” Potter. She was crying so hard the old woman made her repeat herself several times before understanding dawned, and she called an ambulance.

By the time Mrs. Potter hung up the phone, Jillie was sprinting toward the front door.

“You should wait here for the police,” the old woman half yelled.

“Beth needs me,” Jillie hollered over her shoulder.

“We’ll take my pickup,” Mrs. Potter yelled back.

Without a word, Jillie changed course. She ran to the white pickup parked in front of Mrs. Potter’s house, pulled open the door, and jumped in while Mrs. Potter started the engine.

Once back at the farm, Jillie hurried through the back door and into the kitchen. Neither Digger nor Beth had moved.

Jillie dropped onto the floor next to her sister. “It’s okay, Beth. I called the police. They said they’d send an ambulance.” She picked up her sister’s hand and squeezed. But when there was no return pressure, she busted out bawling. “Don’t die, Beth. Please don’t die.”

The screen door shrieked open, then banged closed as Mrs. Potter came into the kitchen.

Jillie glanced up at the elderly woman she’d known all her life. “Digger hurt her bad this time, Moms. He hurt her real bad.”

Mrs. Potter stepped across the room to Digger, bent over his body, and pressed her fingers against the inside of his wrist. After a couple of seconds, she blew a puff of air out of her mouth, stood, and stepped to a chair near the sisters.

“I don’t think she’s breathing, Moms.” Jillie began to cry.

Mrs. Potter put a hand on Jillie’s shoulder. “The ambulance will be here soon, Little One. Be strong for your sister.”

Wordlessly, Jillie sat and stroked her sister’s hand. She was still there twenty minutes later when the Valencia County Sheriff and an ambulance arrived.