“Yeah, that’s because you’re not an out-of-towner here to change things.” He emphasized the word as if they were all heathens afraid of innovation.
“Virgil embraces change just fine,” Creed said. He thought to mention the ballistics business but decided that might be giving something away. “What have you got to say that he’s not hearing?”
Earl slicked his wet hair back. “He’s not pushing people hard enough. It’s like he doesn’t understand how important it is to find out not just who shot Eddie, but why.”
“Virgil’s been doing a fine job for almost a decade now. I’m betting he knows more about how to handle folks around here than you do.” Creed wasn’t sure what this fellow thought he could—or should—do.
“Thing is, I’ve reported this to the home office, and they might send a man out here to look into things.” Earl started cracking his knuckles one by one as if he didn’t realize he was doing it. “I’d hate for them to think things weren’t being handled right and decide to take over the investigation.” He shrugged. “That’d be embarrassing for your friend.”
Creed couldn’t get a read on this fellow. First, he didn’t think Virgil was doing a good job, and then he suggested he wanted Virgil to look good for whoever the Feds might send.
“Virgil can handle whoever shows up. And if they did take over the investigation, seems like that’d be taking things serious enough.”
Earl stood and moved back and forth, head down, kneading his fingers. “You don’t want those federal boys messing around in your business, trust me. Virgil needs to turn up some answers and quick.” He stopped and glared at Creed. “Seems like if you really were his friend, you’d be down there helping him, not up here hiding out.”
Creed jerked his head back a notch. “I’m not hiding out. Virgil didn’t need me anymore. Anyway, I’ve got work to do.”
“Yeah, well, if it had been someone you knew who got killed, I bet you’d still be down there doing everything you could to figure things out.”
Creed wet his lips and picked up his hoe. “Reckon it’s time for you to leave.”
Earl eyed the hoe and raised both hands. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Hope you rest easy up here on this mountain where you don’t have to worry about anybody else’s troubles.” He headed back toward the trail. “Just remember there’s a man dead before you lay your head on your pillow tonight.”
Creed watched him go, then kicked the water bucket, making it slosh. He still didn’t know what the man had been playing at, but when he accused Creed of hiding . . . well, he might have been closer to the truth than Creed cared to admit.
seven
Loyal was still angry with Mother, but he knew that if he ever wanted to leave the front porch, he’d better get on her good side. So he did all his chores without being asked and even pulled the push mower out of the shed and began trimming the patch of yard in front of the house. He liked watching the whirling blades slice through the grass, making it spin and fly through the air. There was a rhythm and satisfaction to making the plot smooth and pretty.
He’d just finished and was standing back to admire his work when Michael slouched down the street with Rebecca a few paces behind. The older boy’s posture straightened when he spotted Loyal. He waited for his sister to catch up, then jerked his head toward Loyal. “Look, it’s your deaf boyfriend. Bet he talks worse than you.” He threw his head back and laughed.
Rebecca ignored her brother and smiled at Loyal. She approached the picket fence and admired the yard with its abundance of late-summer flowers. “Your yard sure is pretty,” she said.
Without considering that she didn’t know sign, Loyal fanned his fingers and touched his thumb to his chin. She cocked her head and wrinkled her brow. He licked his lips, focused on forming the word mother with his mouth and voice. He rarely spoke, but everyone at school had learned to do so, and he could do it if he needed to. Something about Rebecca made him want to talk to her any way he could.
Her eyes lit up. “You can talk!” Loyal shrugged.
Michael butted in. “I was right. He talks worse than you. You two can stand here making noises at each other, but I’m going on into town.” He stuck his chest out. “I’ve got business.” Rebecca rolled her eyes and turned her back to her brother. He waited a beat as if expecting her to follow, then swatted at the air and continued on his way.
Rebecca looked at Loyal, mimicking the sign he’d just made. “This means mother?” she asked. “She grows the flowers?”
Loyal nodded as he reached out to adjust her fingers a little until it looked right. She smiled, and it was blinding. “Show me father.” He did, then moved on to brother, sister, family, and finally she asked for the sign for friend. Loyal hooked his index fingers together, flipped the position of his hands back and forth, released and then re-hooked his fingers. “Oh, like your fingers are hugging.” Rebecca repeated the sign. “I like that one.” She eyed Loyal intently. “Can we be friends?” she asked, hooking her fingers and holding her hands between them.
Loyal said yes as he raised his fist and moved it like a nodding head. He also smiled almost as big as Rebecca. He had plenty of deaf friends at school, but not many hearing friends. Well, none really, and he liked Rebecca a lot.
They were quiet and still for a moment, just admiring the flowers. Rebecca tapped him on the arm, and he turned to her, eyebrows raised. “I talk funny,” she said. “I guess you can’t hear it, but kids make fun of me sometimes. My brother does all the time.”
Loyal furrowed his brow and tilted his head to the side.
“I have a lisp,” she said. Loyal didn’t even know what that was. He guessed you had to be a hearing person to understand. He smiled and shrugged, lifting his hands in the air.
She laughed. “I guess you don’t care since you can’t hear it.” Her smile softened. “And when I’m with you, I don’t care either.”
They stood there quietly for a moment, smiling at each other. Loyal hadn’t realized a hearing person could understand him so well without sign. He wondered if it was just because no one else had ever cared enough to try.
Virgil sent Bud up the mountain to fetch Creed later that week. Creed didn’t much want to go back to town. Didn’t much want to be caught up in this mess over a dead man he didn’t know, but since Loyal was involved, he went regardless. He didn’t want Virgil or anyone else putting his son on the spot, questioning him or pressing him for information. He remembered how his own father had always been pushing him. Do more. Try harder. Always have the right answer ready. The man was never satisfied, even after Creed worked his tail off to become sheriff. His dying words for Creed were to make sure his grandson—then almost two years old—turned out better.
Well, Creed had messed that up, too. He sure wasn’t going to let anyone else make things worse.
Virgil had his bald head bent over a stack of papers. His free hand worked across his shiny pate in circles as though rubbing it helped him think. He flung his pen down and stood when Creed came in.
“I’ve gotten twenty-eight calls from Washington, D.C.”—he dragged out the D and C—“since you went and turned up Eddie Minks’s body. Now they want me to fill out all these forms like that’s gonna help them more than me getting out there and figuring out who did it.”