Revenge and the Wild(63)

“Your momma will hear about this,” Westie said, though she knew it was an idle threat. Most likely Olive had learned her despicable behavior from her mother and the other members of her family.

Olive melted into tears. “Oh please, you can’t tell her.”

Westie knew fake tears when she saw them. She’d mastered the technique herself long ago when she broke Nigel’s things while learning to use her machine.

“Stop the tears,” Westie said. “I’m not buying your bullshit.”

Olive watched her, a smile growing on her lips. The tears had been an act, just as Westie suspected.

“Fine.” Olive’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “If you tell my mommy what I did to those animals, I’ll tell her you took our gold.”

Westie’s thoughts skittered to a neck-breaking stop. “Wha— what?” she stammered. “I never—”

“Don’t try to deny it. I saw you and your friend in my mirror.” Olive’s lips rolled back from her teeth to form a wicked smile. “One of you crushed my doll and tried hiding it with my cape.”

Westie bit her lip. If Alistair went to jail, it would be all her fault. It would ruin him, and possibly Nigel too.

“Your threats don’t mean anything,” Westie said. “You probably already told them I did it.”

“I didn’t tell them. I even lied for you. I told them it really was Alistair who found me wearing the earrings and took them from me. I didn’t say a word about you finding them under my bed, or being in our rooms.”

Westie studied the girl to see if she was being lied to. “Why would you do that?”

Olive held the hem of her skirt, stretching it out and twisting it the way little girls did when showing off a pretty dress.

“Well, partly because my mommy would be cross if she knew I took earrings from a dead girl. I’m not allowed to take things from the people we kill.” She smiled. “I do anyway. But mostly I didn’t tell because you and I are friends. I don’t squeal on my friends.” Olive’s gaze slid sideways to meet Westie’s, a challenge. “We are friends, right?”

Westie knew that if she didn’t play Olive’s game, it could mean Alistair’s freedom. She shrugged on her poker face and swallowed the clot in her throat.

“Of course we are,” she said. It almost sounded believable.

“Besides,” Olive went on, seeming satisfied by her answer, “I hate that gold. It made us ugly. It’s all Mommy cares about now. Before we were rich, we used to live off the land. My papa was happy then. Now we have to parade around in these stupid clothes.”

Olive pulled at her dress, tearing the skirt.

Westie wasn’t sure if she could keep Olive’s secret. The girl was clearly deranged. She enjoyed killing things and took too much pleasure in her craft to just walk away from it. And what of the future? Olive seemed content with killing and torturing small animals for the time being, but what if she grew bored with it? Would she graduate to larger animals, creatures, or maybe even children? It was an addiction, a disease, just like Westie’s alcoholism.

“Olive, if we’re gonna remain friends, you’d best never hurt an animal again.”

Olive looked down at the willow switch in her hand. There were no willow trees around. The beating had been premeditated. She’d brought it with her. Olive tossed away the switch with a dismissive shrug. “It was tiresome anyway.”

A lie, Westie knew, but it would have to suffice. Noon was drawing near. Folks would be leaving church and . . .

The sudden, horrible clarity of what she’d done stopped her short. She put her hands to her head, panic surging through her veins. Once the owner discovered the robbery and Westie’s favorite brand of whiskey to be the only thing missing from his store, he would tell Nigel, and Nigel would certainly put the clues together. As if Nigel needed another check on his list of reasons to be disappointed in her. She needed to find an alibi and quick.

“We should go. It’s getting late. We can take my horse back to town,” Westie said.

They took a shortcut. There was an old bridge crossing the river that would take them right to her horse. She wasn’t sure if it was still usable. The bridge had been feeble the last time she’d crossed it as a child, but it was worth a try and wouldn’t take them any farther out of their way than they already were. The dog followed them at a distance, keeping a steady eye on Olive the entire way.

“Look!” Olive said. She was crouched next to the riverbank, pointing to the ground where a lizard was sunning on a rock. “It’s a blue belly. I hear you can pull off their tails and they’ll grow back.”

“I reckon the lizard wouldn’t like that.”

Olive reached for the lizard, taking it in her grip and exposing its blue underside. “I don’t care. It’s just a dumb ol’ lizard.” She giggled as it squirmed to escape.

Not even a half hour had passed and already Olive had forgotten her promise.

“Don’t you pull that lizard’s tail, you hear,” Westie said. “You made me a promise, and a person’s worth is only as strong as their word.”

Olive looked over her shoulder at Westie, her eyebrow raised, smirk on her lips, the kind of look made of mischief.

“Words are just sounds a mouth makes. They don’t mean anything.” She looked down at the lizard, ran a finger along its prickly back, and gripped the tail.