All the Inside Howling (Hollow Folk #2)(90)

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Not far, that’s what DeHaven said. The . . the bus station, I think.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “But DeHaven doesn’t do it. He dumps the jacket in the Dumpster outside Jigger Boss and, instead, follows River and DeHaven and . . . and what the hell happens next?”

“You think this guy, DeHaven, killed River and Hailey? Or hurt them?”

“Maybe. I saw River’s body in the Dumpster, mutilated. It was a dream, but I saw it. Then we found the jacket, and the blood—but River was still alive, and so was Hailey, so the blood doesn’t belong to either of them.” Emmett turned down his driveway, and we road over the bumpy gravel in silence.

The high-ceilinged kitchen was full of gleaming stainless steel and granite, with lots of exposed wood to remind visitors that, aw shucks, this was just a humble cabin—the kind of cabin billionaires lived in. Emmett took a look at me, dug something out of the fridge, and warmed it in the microwave. What he set before me was roast chicken, potatoes with herbs, and hot apple pie.

“I can count your ribs,” he said. “It’s not a good look on you.”

I gave him the finger, shoveling chicken into my mouth as I did. “We’ve got to talk to DeHaven,” I said.

“Swallow.”

My chewing slowed.

Emmett propped his chin on one hand. “Swallow, or you’re going to choke to death. Then talk.”

I gave him the finger again, but I did swallow. And eat a little more chicken. And then, when I could talk, I said, “He’s in jail. God, maybe they’ve already transferred him somewhere else. I don’t know how that works.” That sound in my head, instead of going away, had intensified. I dropped the plate, and the fork pinged off the counter and clattered to the floor. Scanning the room, I got to my feet. It wasn’t a train whistle. I knew it wasn’t a train whistle, but God, just this one time, why couldn’t things be easy?

It was that damn howling again. The howling that always came right before that psychic . . . force, or whatever it was, tore someone to pieces. But there was nothing here. Nothing at all. And the howling was fading. It lingered at the edge of my hearing, shrill and insistent like— —laughter—

—some insane echo. I licked my lips, tasting chicken and a powdery dryness that I was sure was fear. Was I really hearing that howling? Was I just going insane? I worked moisture into my mouth and said, “Today. It’s got to be today. We’re going to have to ask Kaden for help, and—I’m sorry. Am I boring you?”

Emmett was swiping at his phone again, his face a mask of concentration. He shook his head at me, but he didn’t answer for almost a full minute. Then he said, “Fuck,” and spun the phone across the counter so hard that it almost flew into the wall. “Great idea, but your timing is shit.”

I snagged the phone and read the screen.

DeHaven Knight had been killed in the Mather County Jail at three o’clock in the morning. His throat had been ripped out. Then the howling fell silent.





“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said around another mouthful of apple pie. The crust was good. Melt in your mouth good. But the real winner was the filling: smooth, with just the right amount of tart and crunch. And the whipped cream— “That’s the third time you’ve said that,” Emmett said, snagging my empty plate and the fork. “And that’s your third slice of pie. I can tell you’re real broken up about poor, dead DeHaven Knight.”

“He was a murderer. And he was insane. He was an insane murderer.” I glanced at the pie plate in Emmett’s hand, where only a puddle of cream remained. Three slices. Was that right? The pie didn’t taste store-bought, it didn’t taste like the filling had come out of a can, it didn’t taste like you could have made it for seventy-nine cents. “Two.”

“He killed two people?”

“I had two slices of pie.”

“You had three.” Emmett dumped the plate in the sink, and the fork rattled against the stainless steel.

“I’m pretty sure it was two.”

“So this is what you’re going to do? You’re going to eat yourself into a double-wide coffin because DeHaven Knight got killed before you could talk to him?”

Ignoring Emmett’s glare, I scooped up a piece of pie in my hand and took a bite. It really was good. “I’m not eating myself into a double-wide coffin. I can have a third piece of pie.”

“That’s your fourth, you fat fuck. And you’re acting weird. Cut it out.”

“Maybe I deserve a third piece. Or a fourth. Why not? Maybe I deserve to act weird. You know how much crap I’ve been through in the last three days? You know how many times I’ve had the shit knocked out of me? And now DeHaven’s dead.”

“So that’s a good thing, right? All this killing is over.”

“Of course it’s not a good thing.” I waved my hand at him in irritation, and apple pie spilled onto the counter. I glared at Emmett. “God damn it, can’t you just let me eat? It’s not a good thing because even if DeHaven is dead, it doesn’t mean Mr. Big Empty is going to stop. He’s just going to keep coming. He’s just going to find someone else, someone I won’t suspect, and he’s going to keep killing and killing and killing and there’s nothing I can do about it. And you know what the worst part is? The worst part is that I was wrong. I was so wrong, I don’t even know where to start. River is dead, Hailey is missing, DeHaven’s dead, and the killer, whoever it is, is still out there.”