Loyal spotted his father climbing into the sheriff’s car. He lifted a hand to flag him down, but the car was already pulling away from the curb and Father didn’t turn toward him. He wished he could yell or whistle—shoot, he knew he could—he just wasn’t quite sure how to manage it properly. He longed to know where the two men were headed and wished he was going with them. Then Rebecca poked him again and pointed to the public square, a grassy area on the corner across from them. This time he saw Michael standing near a tree, watching the sheriff’s car as if he were a spy.
Rebecca tugged on his arm and motioned for him to follow her. They crossed the street and walked toward Michael. He jumped as they approached. Loyal guessed he didn’t hear them coming. He knew how that was.
“Where’d you two come from?” the older boy snapped.
Loyal didn’t see how Rebecca answered but could tell she was being sassy. Loyal bumped her and made the sign for what, then gestured toward Michael.
“Yeah, what are you doing?” she asked. “Were you hiding from Sheriff White?”
“No.” Loyal could see the annoyance in Michael’s eyes. And when he glanced at Rebecca, he noted caution in hers.
“Then what?”
Michael shrugged and slouched onto a nearby bench. “Just seeing what I can pick up around town.”
“What do you mean?” Rebecca asked.
Michael darted a look at Loyal and jerked a thumb at him. “He can’t hear, right? Like he has no idea what I’m saying?”
Rebecca looked at Loyal out of the corner of her eye. “That’s right. Deaf as a post.” Loyal tried not to frown. He hated that saying.
Michael leaned forward. “I’m trying to figure out what the sheriff knows about—” he paused and glanced around them—“you know. That day on the river. What happened.”
“Do you mean, like, has he figured out it was us?”
Michael’s eyes darted all around as he patted the air as if tamping down dirt. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”
A look of alarm spread over Rebecca’s face. “What if he thinks the wrong person did it? What if someone innocent gets into trouble?”
Michael gnawed at his lip. “Best-case scenario, it just goes unsolved.”
“But what if—?” Michael stood abruptly, cutting Rebecca off. “I don’t want to talk about this. You and your boyfriend go on now,” he said with a sneer. “I’m going to see if I can’t find some stuff out.” He stuck his thumbs in his pockets and sauntered down the street in an exaggerated way that Loyal supposed he thought looked casual.
A soft touch drew his attention. Rebecca was looking at him with tears welling in her eyes. “How much did you see that day?”
He hesitated, then shrugged, not sure how to tell her he’d just seen them running.
“You saw everything?”
Loyal thought for a minute. The sign for running might not make sense to her. He pointed at her and then moved his arms as if he were pumping them to help him run.
“You saw us running away.” He nodded. “But you didn’t see . . .” She ducked her head, and when she looked at him again, a tear trickled down her cheek. He reached out to gather the moisture on the tip of his finger and shook his head.
“It was awful,” she said. Loyal wanted to comfort her but wasn’t sure what to do. Hug her? That seemed awkward. Although he also thought it might be kind of nice. While he was still trying to decide, Rebecca pushed a smile onto her face. “Thank you for being my friend,” she said and made the sign he’d taught her earlier.
Loyal put his flat hand to his chin and moved it forward and down. Then he managed a smile of his own. He pointed toward the horseshoe pits in the square and raised his eyebrows.
“Okay,” Rebecca said, “but my aim is terrible.”
Loyal waggled his eyebrows and rubbed his hands together. He was delighted to see Rebecca’s posture relax. He’d think more about what Michael had implied, later when he was alone.
eight
The road to the Hacker family cabin was barely wide enough for the police car as they bumped over its many ruts and gullies. Creed considered that if they needed to leave in a hurry, they likely couldn’t do it by car.
“What is it you plan to talk to Clyde and his boys about?”
Virgil flicked him a look. “Whatever they want to tell me. You know there’s not much use in asking ’em anything straight out.”
“Yeah,” Creed agreed. “Although they might tell us something straight out. Like ‘get off my property and don’t ever come back.’”
Virgil laughed. “I thought you and Clyde were friends.”
“If by friends you mean he won’t shoot me on sight, then yeah, I guess we’re friends.” He paused. “At least I think we are. You, on the other hand . . .”
“Don’t go trying to make me feel overconfident,” Virgil said as the car broke through the trees and came out in a bare patch leading up to a surprisingly grand cabin that looked as if it had taken root and was now flourishing in the protected mountain cove. The Hackers might be backwoods, but they were also craftsmen. The two-story cabin boasted a stout front porch and railing made from rhododendron branches polished to a sheen. A hound bayed from under the front steps, and Clyde himself stepped out onto the porch. He was unarmed, but Creed knew there was bound to be a rifle or shotgun close to hand.
As Creed climbed out of the car, he lifted his arm in greeting. Clyde braced his hands on his hips. “You bringin’ the law here for a reason?” he called out, making his long white beard jump.
Creed shot a stay here look at Virgil and stepped closer to the porch. “I’m helping Virgil look into that shooting over at the bend of the river.” Clyde’s eyes narrowed. “A body can’t hardly stir on the mountain without you’uns knowing about it. We’re hoping you might’ve seen or heard something.”
Clyde spit. “Or done something?”
Creed shook his head. “Don’t have any reason to think that.”
Clyde stood motionless for too many breaths, then seemed to come to a decision. “You fellers come in the house. Don’t have much of anything to tell you, but we can sit a minute since you come all this way.”
Creed let out a gusty breath and waved for Virgil to follow him. The front room of the cabin was as handsome as the outside. The stone fireplace was a work of art with chunks of quartz worked in and polished until they gleamed. Clyde waved his visitors to chairs that were clearly handmade with skill and precision. Creed wondered if Clyde might trade him one to give to Delphy for Christmas.
Now, what had made him think such a thing?
“Heard about that government man getting shot down,” Clyde said, refocusing Creed’s attention. “Neither me nor my boys were over that way, but word gets around.”
“You have any dealings with him?” Virgil asked.
“Him and his partner sent word the government might like to buy up some of our land.” Clyde grinned. “Guessed they couldn’t find their way to the house to ask in person.”
“You selling?” Virgil asked.
Clyde got a cagey look. “Well now, that’d be between me and whichever one was doing the buying.”