The Dead and the Dark(62)

Except it wasn’t Brandon being led from the motel room.

Alejo emerged with Sheriff Paris close behind him. His hands were pinned behind his back, balled into fists like all his fear was concentrated in his fingers. Brandon followed them out of the room and wedged himself between Alejo and the cruiser. His chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes wild with quiet panic. Behind them, Deputy Golden stood at the motel room door, brow furrowed in quiet confusion.

“Woodley,” Paris sighed. “You gotta move.”

“You know he didn’t do anything,” Brandon said. “You know he didn’t.”

“How would I know that?” Paris asked.

“He wasn’t here for the first one.”

“We haven’t found Tristan Granger’s body. He could still be alive,” Paris said. “Which is the point of questioning. Unless you have information I don’t.”

“He wasn’t here.”

“Is there something you wanna tell me?”

Brandon grimaced.

This was all wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be Alejo. It made no sense. Brandon was right—Alejo wasn’t in Snakebite when Tristan disappeared. Alejo wouldn’t kill anyone. This was the same man who got emotional when someone cried on his favorite cooking show. The same dad who had to turn off the news if there was too much violence.

Alejo looked at Brandon with a quiet expression she couldn’t read.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“If he didn’t do it, he has nothing to worry about,” Paris said. He patted Alejo squarely on the back. “You know me and him are friends.”

Quietly, Deputy Golden stepped to Paris’s side. “We’re okay to take him in? Just … like that?”

Paris’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want to do this, either. But there’s a witness.”

Logan blinked. Alejo narrowed his eyes. Brandon’s face drained of color.

“How could there be a witness?” Brandon asked.

“Woodley, move.”

Brandon stepped aside.

“No,” Logan muttered. “No, he didn’t do anything.”

Paris paused. He glanced at Logan over his shoulder and his expression was complicated; concern and confusion tugged at his focus. He motioned to Brandon and said, “Why don’t you take Logan inside. She shouldn’t be out here for this.”

Logan’s heart hammered in her chest. This was wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Brandon approached her tentatively, hands raised in front of him as if she were some kind of wild animal he had to calm. The fear in his face made her sick. He was supposed to be fighting for Alejo, not talking her down. Even if he didn’t care about her, he was supposed to fight for Alejo.

He offered her a small frown. “Let’s go inside.”

“You’re just gonna let this happen?” Logan asked.

“What else is he supposed to do?” Alejo said as Sheriff Paris ducked him into the back seat of the cruiser. His expression softened. “Go back inside with your dad. I’ll be okay.”

Logan clenched her fists.

Paris fixed them each with a skeptical look before walking to the driver’s side of the car. He pulled out of the Bates parking lot with Deputy Golden’s cruiser trailing behind. Logan watched Alejo in the back seat, his eyes trained forward, jaw tight like he was swallowing his panic.

The morning was thick with hanging clouds. The sky was blank white and too bright to look at. Logan squinted into the empty horizon.

This was the end of them.

Brandon turned back toward room eight in silence. Logan followed him inside and slammed the door. Before she could speak, Brandon tore off his glasses and threw them against his nightstand. He pressed his palms over his eyes and turned his back to Logan, taking one measured breath and then another.

“Okay,” Logan said, “what’s the plan?”

Brandon moved his hands to look at her. His expression was as empty as the sky outside. He looked at her like he’d just realized she was in the room. His eyes were wide and glassy with a fear that went deeper than Alejo’s arrest. It was fear of something else, deeper than false accusations, like an animal trapped in a net.

“I know you didn’t let them take Dad without a plan to get him back.”

“I don’t know.”

“We have money from the show.”

“We do.”

Logan leaned in expectantly. “So … we should use it to get Dad out of jail. What do we have to do?”

“I don’t know,” Brandon said again. He fixed his gaze on the floor and massaged the back of his neck.

“I’ll look it up and—”

“No.” Brandon sat on his bed and curled his fingers around the edge of the mattress, knuckles white with tension. “We should … we should leave him. The person is still out there. They’ll know it isn’t him.”

Logan shook her head. “In jail. You think we should leave him in jail.”

“Until we know what’s going on,” Brandon said. “He’ll be safer.”

“Oh, cool, so you’re hoping more kids die.” Logan clenched her jaw. “There’s, like, forty total kids in this town. We just got here and there’s already been three murders. I knew two of them. The next one could be Ashley. Or me.”