The Last Harvest(51)

“Sure, I guess, and Mrs. Wilkerson went all rigid. The look on her face was like something out of a nightmare. Like she just forgot the Thanksgiving turkey in the oven. And then she said something real funny … something about a blood creed or a creed of blood.”

“Was it … ‘I plead the blood’?”

“Yes! That was it.” Mrs. Gifford puts her finger on the tip of her nose, like we’re playing a game of charades.

It feels like all the blood is being drained from my body.

“They said it was a massive heart attack that made her lock up like that. That’s why they couldn’t do an open casket down at Newcomers. Her face was stuck like that.”

“Like what?” I manage to ask.

“Like this.” She opens her mouth as wide as it’ll go, her eyes bulging, the tendons in her neck flaring.

It gives me the chills. That’s the same look my dad had in the end. His same words. What does it mean? What’s the connection?

The phone rings. She holds up a finger and takes off her earring.

“Oakmoor, this is Janelle, how can I help you?” she says in a sickening sweet voice, as I watch the hard candy bash against her teeth. “Oh, hold on a sec.” She puts the receiver to her chest. “Listen to me jabbering on,” she says. “You must be late for school. Want me to call over there and tell Miss Granger you’re on the way?”

“No … no, I’m good,” I say as I turn for the exit.

“Clay,” she calls out. “The box?”

“Yeah,” I murmur as I head back and grab it.

I think she says something else to me, but I can’t hear anything over the buzzing in my ears, like the flies … like something terrible is about to happen.





34

I SIT in my truck for hours combing through the box. There’s nothing of real interest, just a bunch of knickknacks and half-used toiletry items. But I can’t stop staring at the photo of Mrs. Wilkerson. The Lucite cross around her throat. I plead the blood is usually said when praying over someone tormented by demons. I wonder if Mrs. Wilkerson was afraid of Miss Granger in the end, like my dad was afraid of me? And what’s the connection between Miss Granger and Lee Wiggins? Why were his initials in our family Bible and all over our ledgers? If my dad was buying meth from Lee, would he seriously be recording it in the bank ledger? I thought going over to Oakmoor would give me the answers I was looking for, but I only ended up with more questions.

When I hear the bell ring for fifth period, I take the box and head over to Miss Granger’s office. I keep my head low, moving through the crowd with precision.

Everything I need to say, everything I need to talk to her about has been building inside of me. I burst into her office without even knocking.

“I don’t know what your deal is, but you need to come clean. You’re ignoring my calls and something’s going on … with you … with them … or with me … but the dreams are getting worse and—”

“Clay?” Miss Granger flashes a tense smile. “I believe you know Sheriff Ely and Deputy Tilford.”

I follow her gaze to see Sheriff sitting in my chair, Deputy Tilford leaning against the back wall.

“What’s this about a dream, Clay?” Sheriff asks.

“Nothing really.” I clench the box to my chest.

His eyes flash like he’s just caught me in a lie. “I was just telling Miss Granger here how surprised I was to see you at church on Sunday.” He leans forward, the worn leather of his cowboy boots creaking. “Haven’t been in over a year. Why the sudden religion?”

“Just trying to take your advice.” I force a smile. “Put it all behind me.” I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that he knows something’s up. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold him off.

“And now I hear you’ve been palling around with Tyler Neely and the rest of the Preservation Society kids. That’s nice, I suppose.” He puffs out his bottom lip like it’s full of chew. “Ridin’ bulls, huh?”

“Just blowing off a little steam.”

“That’s funny.” His eyes narrow on me. “Tyler said the exact same thing to me this morning.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It’s a shame about what happened out there at the fairgrounds.”

“Meanest bull in the tristate area. Worth a lot of money,” Tilford adds.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Sheriff adjusts his hat. “Didn’t your new buddies tell you? Someone went out there last night and slit that bull’s throat.”

“He’s dead?” I whisper, feeling the floor buckle beneath me. My dream. I can’t get that image of Tyler out of my head. Look, I can make him kneel, too. I humiliated him out there and he wanted to make me pay. I’m so angry, I can hardly breathe.

“Tyler said something strange happened out there in the ring. Said you put a knife to that bull’s throat. Said you were having some kind of flashback.”

“I cut the rope loose. That’s all. Ask the others.”

“Yep. They all backed up your story.” Sheriff pinches the bridge of his nose. “But I’m thinking maybe you had unfinished business with that bull.”