Watcher in the Woods (Rockton #4)(106)

“Which is when you realized Roy wasn’t the only one being set up.”

“The council didn’t want me to take the fall. They wouldn’t.”

I snort.

She shakes her head. “Trust me. I have leverage like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I’m sure you believe you do.”

She starts to answer and then stops with another shake of her head. “That’s not important. The point is that I was only set up in the sense that I was given orders under false pretenses. That’s why I’m here. Something is going on with the council.”

I laugh. I can’t help it. I laugh, and when I can finally stop, I say, “Something has been going on with the council for a very, very long time.”

“I’m only just seeing that. You can laugh at my naiveté. But you haven’t exactly shared your suspicions with me, and until now, I’ve only seen the council making hard choices, like with Oliver Brady. I’m accustomed to that.”

“From the council.”

“No, from . . . before. My past life. The council, too, but I lived in a world where people made these hard choices, Casey, and I have always believed they were for the greater good. With Oliver Brady, it was. With other situations I’ve resolved here, it was.”

“Other situations?”

“Minor ones that have not interfered with any of your cases. I still believe in the council as a whole. I have just come to realize that they may not be whole. There are elements with an agenda that conflicts with Rockton’s purpose.”

“You have no idea. You honestly have no idea.”

“You’re right. I don’t. Yet you don’t see the side of the elephant I’m on. You need to understand that there are good people who can help you. That’s a conversation for another time. Right now, I believe you’re right. Someone in the council—likely multiple someones—wants this case to go away. They may be protecting the killer. They may just want to kill two birds with one stone—close this case and get rid of a problematic resident. That’s not evil, but it’s sloppy, and it endangers everyone here, forcing them to unknowingly live with a killer.”

I want to laugh at so much of what she says. At the earnestness with which she says it. She’s like the sheepdog in a cartoon, suddenly realizing one of her flock is a wolf wearing a sheepskin . . . and the scene pans to show half the sheep with wolf tails hanging out the back.

I don’t laugh because she is earnest. She really is worried that we’ll leave a killer—one killer—in Rockton. She really is blindsided by the revelation that a council member isn’t acting in Rockton’s best interests. She’s shocked that she’s been tricked into framing Roy . . . and I’m sitting here thinking “That’s it? A council member lied to you and misled you? Around here, we call that Tuesday.”

While her genuine shock makes me laugh, it also gives me hope. Of course I need to consider the possibility she’s lying. Still, if there is a chance her shock is sincere, then I have an opportunity here. One to flip an adversary to an ally and, yep, I’ve screwed that up before—hello, Val!—but I’ve also succeeded, and I cannot afford to reject the possibility. Rockton needs all the help it can get.

“I want to see this cache,” I say. I lift my hands. “You’re going to undo these, and I’m going to take my gun. You’ll leave yours here.”

Her mouth opens in protest.

I cut her off. “You want me to trust you again? Start by trusting me.”

She nods and pulls out a penknife to cut the wrist strap.





FORTY-THREE

I stop at the station first. Petra is with me. Dalton isn’t there. I know he isn’t. I caught his voice on the wind, like Storm picking up a favorite scent. I avoid him and detour to the station, in hopes of catching someone there. I do. It’s Sam, doing militia paperwork in Kenny’s absence. I tell him that Petra and I are going for a walk to chat, and please let Dalton know if he comes by. Dalton will buy the excuse . . . as long as he doesn’t see my expression while giving it.

I do consider asking if Sam knows whether Dalton has Storm or he’s left her with a sitter. I’d love to take her on this trip. Whatever Petra might do to me, I trust her around my dog. She was Storm’s first sitter, and when Jen lashed out at the dog a few weeks ago, it was Petra who went after her. I think back to that now, to the rage on Petra’s face, so uncharacteristic, it startled me. A hint at deeper wells. I’d known that. I just hadn’t pursued it, presuming it was something in her past, no concern to me except as a friend who might want to help her get past it.

I laugh at that.

“So that story about your kid was a lie,” I say as we head into the forest.

She tenses and looks over quickly.

“You remember the one,” I say. “Not really a story so much as a scrap, tossed my way so I’ll feel like you’re sharing something personal. You’d joked about Storm being a sign that Dalton wanted kids. Then you said that we should sort that out because you’d been married and you wanted a baby when your husband didn’t. You had one, and it destroyed your marriage. When I asked about your child, you suggested he—or she—had died. A poignant backstory scrap that I now realize was complete bullshit.”