River Bodies (Northampton County #1)(69)

Becca looked from the mean dog to the front of John’s shirt and the leather vest he wore with the Scion patch. Both were smattered in blood.

She swallowed hard and took a step back, carrying Sheba in her arms. The puppy’s roly-poly belly went out and in with each breath. She was alive, but Becca had no way of knowing if she was injured. “Is that blood from my dog?” she asked.

John looked at his hands, which Becca noticed were also bloody; then he looked at his shirt and vest. Rubes lowered his head, teeth bared, but stayed where he was.

“No,” he said about the blood. “I was . . . it’s just . . . it was a deer. I was field dressing a deer.”

“I’ve never seen that much blood from a field dressing before.”

He pulled at his fingers and wiped his palms together. “Yeah, well, this one got messy,” he said about the dressing.

“Maybe it’s because you used the wrong knife. You shouldn’t be killing deer when it’s not hunting season anyway,” she said in a low voice. Becca loved animals, and although she liked the taste of venison, she didn’t like the idea of hunting for sport.

“It happened, that’s all.” He looked at her as though he were seeing her clearly for the first time since she’d stepped into the barn.

He continued. “It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to do it. But you can’t tell anyone, okay?”

“I won’t tell,” she said, because she believed him. There was something in his eyes other than fear. She saw kindness.

“Listen,” he said and looked around. “You better get out of here. If your dad finds out you’re here, you’re going to be in a whole lot of trouble.” Rubes was no longer sitting. The dog was standing, glaring at Becca and her puppy.

“I can’t outrun your dog.” She nodded at Rubes. Sheba lifted her head, then laid it back against Becca’s arm. The puppy was exhausted and maybe even bruised from where Rubes had gotten hold of her.

“Rubes won’t go anywhere.” He held on to the dog’s collar. “Now go on,” he said. “And don’t tell anyone what you think you saw.”

Becca left the barn carrying Sheba in her arms, pushing her bike toward home. She wouldn’t tell anyone anything. Not about the knife, the blood, or the dog, Rubes. She should’ve been scared. Everything her father had warned her about had been right there in front of her, staring her in the face, a poster of what a bad person looked like, a representation of the evils of the world. Yet, somehow, she’d known John wouldn’t hurt her. He was sorry for whatever he’d done. She knew that too. But most of all, she believed there was good in him.

After all, he’d saved her puppy.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

John stayed tucked inside the hemlock, the rifle raised, straining to hear every word his old man was saying to Clint.

“Your little girl saw something she shouldn’t have,” Russell said.

Clint had been walking away, back toward the John Deere mower he’d left sitting in the yard, but he’d turned back around. The two men stared at each other.

“What did she see?” Clint asked.

“Enough to be a problem.”

Clint was quiet for a long time. He stepped closer to Russell. “What are you asking me to do?”

“I need you to make sure she keeps her mouth shut.”

“She’s a child.”

“Then you should have a lot of influence over her. Explain to her that she’s never to tell anyone about the incident in the barn with my son.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed. “What incident in the barn with your son?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Russell laughed. “Well, maybe she’s forgotten all about it. You better hope so.”

“Are you threatening my kid?”

“If that’s how you want to take it, then yes. But I think you’ll see that what I’m doing is protecting my son, as I suspect you’ll want to protect your daughter.”

The two men continued glaring each other.

John’s breath came in short bursts. His heart pounded, but he didn’t move. He stayed hidden in the pines, hoping Clint would take Russell seriously, would agree to Russell’s terms.

“This incident has nothing to do with you or her or this town. It can all go away if you do what I’m asking,” Russell said and picked up his rifle, the barrel pointed to the ground. “It’s up to you how this ends.”

Clint still didn’t say anything.

“Do we have a deal, Brother?”

“Don’t call me Brother.”

“Do we have a deal, Chief?”

There was a long stretch of silence before Clint answered. He seemed to be taking his time, thinking over his options, although in John’s opinion, he didn’t have any. Maybe Clint had come to the same conclusion, because he said, “Okay. I’ll make sure she forgets everything you think she saw. She won’t talk to anybody about it. You have my word.” He turned and strode through the yard, back to his lawn mower. He climbed into the seat and returned to cutting neat little rows in the grass.

Russell walked back through the woods, passing the hemlock where John was hiding, shaking, sweating.

“You can put the rifle down now, John,” Russell said. “It’s time to go home.”