The Last Harvest(73)

“No. Nothing like that.” Sheriff shakes his head and then stares out over the crops. “Looks like you’ve got a ways to go on the wheat. You’re cutting it a little close, wouldn’t you say? First frost’s gotta be right around the corner.”

“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck. “I’ve been a little distracted lately.”

“Why don’t you tell us about that?” Tilford pulls out a notebook.

And that’s when I realize, they’re not here about Jess … they’re here about me. They still think I had something to do with all this.

“It sure is cold out here.” Ely blows into his hands and rubs them together. “Would it be all right if we talk inside?”

Tilford stares me down, as if saying no isn’t an option here.

“Just for a few minutes,” I say as I open the door. “But we have to keep it down. Noodle’s asleep and Mom’s not feeling well.”

As I lead them inside, I’m looking around at everything in a whole new light. The dried mud on the wainscoting could be blood. The worn pine planks in the entry, like someone’s paced them raw with worry. The seams of the wallpaper curling in on itself revealing the black mold underneath, like the whole place is rotting from within. The home of a killer … “Mooder in Midland” … and then I think about the flies. Mom sitting there staring at them like it’s the second coming. That’s all I need.

I can tell they want to look around, but I steer them straight into the kitchen. Tilford walks right into Hammy’s bowl; the sharp sound of metal clanking against the cabinets makes me flinch. I motion toward the table. Tilford goes to sit in my dad’s chair at the head of the table and Sheriff shakes him off.

Tilford stands back, leaning against the hutch.

“So, about Jess,” Sheriff starts off. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“I’ve been taking food up to her the past couple of nights.”

“She hasn’t been feeling good?” Greg asks. “Like your mom? I didn’t realize there was a flu going around.” His flat eyes probe into me. He knows damn well it’s no flu.

“Is this because of what happened at the Preservation Society with Jimmy Doogan?” Sheriff asks.

I feel the hair on my arms bristle. “This has nothing to do with Jimmy,” I say a little too forcefully. “She’s just been having a hard time, hanging around with the wrong crowd.”

“You’re talking about the Wiggins kid?” Tilford smirks. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

“I don’t know what you heard, but Jess is a good girl.”

“I know that … I know Jess,” Sheriff says soothingly. “Deputy Tilford needs to learn when to shut his mouth.” Ely glares at him. “So the last time you really laid eyes on her was the night of the Harvest Festival?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I focus my attention back on Sheriff. “Miss Granger took her home.” I lean forward. “But I saw Lee today,” I say quietly. “Out by the trailer park … and he had a box full of condoms.”

“If I were you, I’d be thankful for small favors.” Tilford says under his breath.

Sheriff lets out a long sigh. “At least you know they’re being safe.”

“No, you don’t under—” I swallow the rest of my sentence. That’s the last thing this family needs right now.

“And where were you that night? The night of the Harvest Festival.”

I lean back in my chair. “Haven’t we already been over this?”

Tilford starts scribbling down notes; the sound of pen scraping against paper sets my teeth on edge.

“Look, are you going to do anything about this or not?”

Sheriff gives me a sympathetic nod. “I’ll get out to the trailer park, put out some feelers. Like you said, Jess is a good girl. She’s probably on a lark. She’ll come home when she’s ready. I see it all the time. Promise me you won’t be going out there. Leave it to the law. You hear me, son?”

I nod and stand up, signaling that it’s time for them to do the same.

“Oh and Clay, I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you have any tattoos or marks on your body?”

“Plenty of scars from playing ball. You know that.”

“Anything unusual? Something that looks like this.” He pulls out a folded-up piece of paper from his breast pocket and hands it to me.

The upside-down U with two dots above and below. I try to keep my face as expressionless as possible, but I can feel a bead of sweat running down my temple.

“Nope.” I hand it back to him.

“Never seen it before?” he asks. “Huh. How about that.”

“Why?”

“No reason.” The right side of his mouth twitches. “You wouldn’t be hiding it, would you? Somewhere in plain sight.”

“I think I’d know if I had a brand.”

“See, that’s funny.” He scratches his jaw. “I never said a word about a brand.”

I feel my insides crumble. “I think it’s best you get on your way,” I say as I lead them out of the kitchen.

“Do you hear it?” my mom calls out as we pass the living room.