Real Bad Things(36)

He was right. How many times had they shown up at the trailer park claiming someone had done something? How many times had Angie’s uncles and brothers and father been stopped and questioned when doing something as simple as walking down the road? How many times had they laughed with Warren after a neighbor had called them because it sounded like someone had put their fist through a wall—which he had—and then just walked away like nothing had ever happened?

“He’s right,” Georgia Lee said. “They won’t believe us.”

“Us?” Angie asked. Her voice hitched into disbelief. “Please. You’ll be fine.”

“You’re both right,” Jane said. Then she looked at Georgia Lee. “They’ll burn us alive.”

No matter that Georgia Lee was from Maud Proper and they weren’t. They’d all get caught up in this one.

“Grab his arms or leave.” Jane couldn’t look at Angie. She didn’t want to see her face, her pain, her disappointment.

After a while, Angie said, “There’s the boat.” The abandoned flat-bottom boat. Teens from the trailer park partied in it, sometimes took it out at night and drunk dared each other with how close they could get to the dam before getting caught—by the lock and dam engineers or the currents that could suck you under the lock and crush you.

Everyone in Maud had heard stories about the missing men in the river. How they wandered into the water, presumably drunk. Or jumped off the bridge right into the lock—probably drunk, maybe just lost. Sometimes, their bodies would be found floating downriver. Most times, nothing resurfaced.

Everyone also knew that Warren was a drinker. Everyone would believe he fell in, became one of the lost men. No one would know any different. Angie and Jane and Jason had watched the rescues from the river. The boats that dragged the bottom. The ones they did find were considered drownings. Accidental. Even with an autopsy. Any head trauma a matter of how hard they had hit the concrete walls of the lock.

Georgia Lee held Warren’s arms aloft, waiting for Jane and Angie to lift his legs. It would’ve looked comical if not for the streaks of blood and dirt and the sheer determination on her face. When Jason moved toward the body, Jane intervened.

“No. Go home,” she said.

“But I—”

“After you clean up here. As much as you can. Get rid of everything. What’s left on the ground.” Blood, so much blood. How would he get rid of it? Where would he put it? “And then get home.” She paused. “Where’s Diane?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Make sure the house looks normal. She’ll freak otherwise, especially if Warren’s not there.”

“What if she asks—”

“You’ll think of something,” she interrupted. “You’re smart. She’ll listen to you.”

His eyes pleaded and pooled with imminent tears, his fingers danced with nervous energy, fear, something else.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll take care of it. I promise.”

“Okay,” he finally said and stepped back so they could lift Warren’s body. But before he could get far, she called after him. “Wait.”

They all faced one another, fear clouding their faces.

“When the body’s found, you can’t say anything,” Jane said. “Not a word. The cops will ask us when we last saw him.” She turned to Jason. He no longer looked scared but like he wanted to say something. “We tell them we saw him tonight. That he was drunk. That he was yelling—”

“What about us?” Angie asked.

“You and I went out for a walk. It’s not a lie.”

“And her?” Angie pointed at Georgia Lee, a look of irritation below the fear. “What if someone saw her at the house? The hoarder?”

“I’ll tell them I ran after Warren and Georgia Lee and found Georgia Lee alone,” Jason said. “She hid from him. He didn’t find her. I did.”

Jason and Georgia Lee shared a look whose meaning Jane couldn’t decipher.

“It’s true,” Georgia Lee said. “Jason did find me.”

Angie blew air out her nose and crossed her arms. “But then what? What do they say when the cops ask if they saw Warren out here?”

“We lie,” Jason said. He’d calmed. His body no longer shook.

“We lie,” Jane repeated. “We don’t know what happened to him. When we last saw him, he was drunk. That’s all we have to say. Don’t offer any more information unless they ask. Don’t say anything more.” She looked each of them in the eye. “We don’t know what happened to him after that.”

Finally, Jason broke from the group and headed toward the dark area of ground where the grass had been pushed down and soaked with Warren’s blood. The three girls positioned themselves around Warren’s body.

None of them spoke as they labored under Warren’s weight and inched away from Jason and where he’d begun to kick the wet dirt toward the nearby riverbank. Georgia Lee pushed forward from behind Jane and Angie, nearly tripping them in the process. Jane refused to turn toward Angie, though she could see her looking her way and could feel the heat of her blame.

Jane’s arms burned, and she almost dropped Warren at least five times. They walked a ways and came to a stop.