Then he shifted to the front center position. He hated this spot. Since he couldn’t hear what was happening behind him, he had to twist back and forth to try to see everything. The server hit the ball, and he craned his neck to watch it go over the net. A tall boy on the other side leapt into the air to spike the ball, and Loyal dove to keep it from hitting the floor. Instead, he crashed into one of his teammates who was trying to do the same thing. They ended up in a heap with the ball bouncing away.
As he stood, Loyal could tell the boy he’d crashed into was mad and he chose not to read his lips. He swiped at his own lip and realized it was bloodied. Reverend Harriman was suddenly there handing him a handkerchief and waving him toward the door and the boys’ lavatory. Loyal shuffled after the pastor and obediently washed his mouth out and then pressed the folded handkerchief to his lip. The reverend looked worried. Loyal guessed he was already imagining what Mother would say. Which made Loyal smile. Which hurt.
Reverend Harriman leaned down and looked into his face. “Do you want to go home?”
Loyal shook his head no, not bothering to make the sign. The pastor looked relieved. “Okay, just sit down until the bleeding stops.” He made a little squatting motion as though to help Loyal understand what “sit down” meant. Loyal nodded and made his way to the wall where Rebecca sat cross-legged watching the game. He tilted his head as a sort of question. She smiled and patted the floor next to her. Loyal flopped down, letting his shoulders fall. His lip throbbed, but at least he wasn’t bored anymore.
Now if he could just figure out how to talk to Rebecca.
She touched his arm, and he turned toward her. “Are you okay?” she asked.
He pulled the handkerchief away and touched his lip with the tip of his tongue. The bleeding had stopped. He nodded and gave her a lopsided smile, trying not to stretch the injured spot.
He could tell she laughed, and the strangest longing to hear that laugh hit him. He’d always wished he could hear his mother’s voice—thought he could almost remember it—and he was pretty sure it would be nice to hear music, but this feeling was different. He looked away.
She touched his arm again.
“You saw us at the river yesterday.” He could tell it was a statement. Not a question. He nodded. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “That man is dead.” Another statement. He nodded again. “Will you tell on us?”
Loyal widened his eyes. Then he wrinkled his brow and let his shoulders rise and fall once.
“You know about what, but thank you for acting like you don’t.”
Loyal was astonished. She’d understood exactly what he meant even without words or signs. He lifted his hand to make the sign for who when the ball bounced over and struck him in the leg. He tossed it back toward the game, and Michael caught it. The older boy paused, the ball propped on his hip. “Rebecca, about time we headed home.”
She made a face and clambered to her feet. She gave Loyal a rueful look and said, “See you later. I’m glad we got to talk.”
Loyal watched the pair leave the gymnasium. Glad we got to talk. She’d said it just like he was a regular person.
As Creed and Virgil climbed out of the car, Hadden’s man Otto limped around the side of the massive brick house. Otto took care of Hadden’s prized hunting dogs. When he showed up in Beverly, folks had been suspicious of his German accent and his bum leg, but Hadden—not known for acts of generosity—took the boy in. Now he was devoted to his employer and treated the hounds like they were royalty.
Virgil called out to him. “Otto! Is Mr. Westfall to home?”
“Yes, sir. He is inside the house using the telephone. I will tell him you are here.” The boy’s accent was less pronounced than when he first arrived, but Creed supposed with all that was happening in Europe these days, even a hint of an accent would make folks suspicious. He felt sorry for the young man.
“Naw, that’s alright. We’ll find the way.” Otto looked skeptical but didn’t appear to be willing to contradict the sheriff. He just continued on his way toward an outbuilding, glancing back at them as he limped along.
Creed and Virgil peered in through the screen door on the wide front porch. The house sat on a hill overlooking a rolling valley and the Tygart River—one of the prettiest spots in the county. They could see Hadden standing in the hall, receiver in hand. He waved them in as he finished his conversation. He had long been high up with the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad, and now he was involved in building an airport, of all things. Creed was a little bit in awe of this man, who seemed to have his finger on the pulse of Randolph County but tried not to let it show. Virgil just acted like he did around everybody, as if he were a country bumpkin playing sheriff. Creed—and most everybody else—knew it was an act.
Hadden dropped the receiver into its cradle with a clatter. “I’m betting you’re here about the dead man you found down along the river.” He waved them into a fancy sitting room, and Creed dusted the seat of his pants before perching on a velvet settee.
“You know anything about him?” asked Virgil.
“Not a blasted thing beyond who his employer is. And it’s almighty inconvenient for him to get shot on my property. Shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”
“So you knew he’d been poking around?” Virgil settled into a wing-back chair and crossed his legs like a dandy.
“Two of them have been poking around. They already have terms for the adjoining land, and I’ve been working directly with the government office in Washington, D.C.” Hadden poured clear liquid from a crystal decanter and slugged it back. “If, and I stress the word if, there’s going to be an agreement, I won’t be making it with two ne’er-do-well flunkies parading around Randolph County.” He sat in a chair that matched the one Virgil selected. “There was no reason for either one of them to be out there.”
“So, you do plan to sell land for this Roosevelt community.”
“Not unless those idiots offer me what it’s worth. They think just because the country is in this ridiculous downturn, they can pay half the value.” He snorted. “They don’t realize who they’re dealing with.”
Virgil nodded his head. “Guess Eddie didn’t realize either.”
“You’ve got that . . . Hold on. What do you mean by that?”
“You have a reputation for flying off the handle now and again. If you got fired up and tried to scare off a trespasser, I can see how a shot might go awry.”
Creed braced himself for a burst of anger from Hadden. Instead, a slow smile spread across his face, and he relaxed back into his chair. He propped his elbows and steepled his fingers. “Virgil, I sometimes forget you’re not the fool you try to make people believe you are. No, I did not take a shot at one of those government flunkies and kill him by accident.” He smiled wider. “Nor did I kill him on purpose.”
Virgil winked. “That’s good to hear. Don’t guess you’d have any notion who might have done it instead?”
Hadden shook his head. “No, I do not. I haven’t seen the Hackers over this way since I ran them out of the hollow down there near the old home place. Although I hear the government is after their land, too. Only other person I see out here is Creed.” Creed tensed the muscles in his legs almost involuntarily. Like he might need to run. He forced himself to relax. “But since he’s tagging along with you, I assume you’ve eliminated him as a suspect.”