Alone in the Wild(49)

“Perhaps, but I wouldn’t be so quick to write off a potential threat as mere curiosity.”

“Threat?”

“She’s a hostile. She makes people nervous. Remember how they tried to lynch Oliver Brady. If they know you have a hostile here, they might decide to do something about that.”

“Most residents don’t even know what hostiles are,” Dalton says. “Hell, they see Tyrone Cypher and think that’s what I mean. And Ty’s in town tonight, so if they decide to form another mob, they’ll just go after him. Which is fine. He can look after himself. Give his rusty occupational skills a workout.”

“Tyrone Cypher has no legal authority here.”

“I don’t mean his skills as a former sheriff. I mean from when he was a hit man.”

Phil looks at Dalton. “I realize I’m still relatively new, but I believe we may dispense with the hazing jokes. Whatever Rockton’s issues, the council would not put a killer on the police force.”

“Uh…” I say. “I know you’ve read my file.”

“You’re an exception.” He pauses. “Like Deputy Anders.”

“Given the track record of Rockton law enforcement, I suspect ‘killing someone in cold blood’ is actually a prerequisite. Except for Eric. Eric’s special.”

“In so many ways,” Phil murmurs under his breath. “My point—”

“Your point was that you think Maryanne is in danger,” Dalton says. “And it’s interesting that you jump to that rather than the more mundane explanation of a bored resident. Also interesting considering you’re the person who was trying to break into her house. Ever been diagnosed with multiple personalities?”

“Don’t give him any ideas,” I say.

“I wasn’t. Dissociative identity disorder is exceptionally rare and experts disagree on whether it exists at all.” Dalton catches my look. “We had a resident who said she had it. So I did my research. She was wrong. Had a helluva time convincing her of that, though.”

“Cultists, psychopaths, multiple personalities, hit men … Is there anyone you haven’t had here? Oh, wait. No zombies. At least not yet, right?”

“Actually…”

I arch my brows.

Dalton says, “Well, he wasn’t really a zombie. But he hated it here. Wanted to go home before his two years were up. He was looking for a loophole, and he knew we can’t handle residents with serious mental illnesses. Seems he’d seen a TV special raising money for…” His eyes roll up, accessing his files. “Collard’s syndrome? Cotard’s delusion? Something like that. Anyway, it’s a real illness where people think they’re dead and rotting. He faked that. I convinced him he was wrong, which was much easier than convincing the multiple-personality lady.”

“Do I dare ask what you did?”

He shrugs. “We can’t have rotting residents. That’s unsanitary. So I dug a hole, cuffed him, and tossed him in.”

“Whereupon he had a miraculous recovery.”

“I’m a man of many talents. Especially when it comes to sniffing out bullshit.” He turns to Phil. “You don’t have dissociative identity disorder. And you’re not a zombie. But you were spotted trying to break into Casey’s old place tonight.”

“No, I was not. If someone was, then I would suggest you reconsider Maryanne’s stay in Rockton.”

I eye him. “Would you?”

“Yes. Personally, I have no problem with it, and neither does the council. But, if she’s in danger, then I would suggest you give her supplies and turn her out.”

“In the middle of the night?”

He hesitates.

“How about first thing in the morning?” I say. “Before dawn.”

Phil nods. “That should be acceptable.”

“Really?” Dalton says. “’Cause if you’re worried about a resident attacking her, that would happen at night.”

I hold up a hand against Phil’s protest. “You’re not half bad at this game, Phil. However, the next time you decide to play dress-up, I’d suggest changing your boots. They’re very recognizable. Let’s go sit down and chat, shall we?”

When he doesn’t answer, Dalton and I pull off our outerwear and proceed into the living room.

Phil lowers himself to the sofa. “I don’t see the point of this. Someone spotted a resident attempting to break into your old house, and that resident mistakenly identified my boots.”

I sigh. “I just took off my stuff. Please don’t make me go outside and find the fresh trail you made through the forest to my old house.”

He goes still.

“It’s winter,” Dalton says. “You walked through snow and made a trail that we don’t need Storm to follow. Now, if you need us to prove this, I’ll go out myself while Casey warms up, but if I find that trail, you’ve just undone every iota of goodwill you might have built since you got here. Trust is—”

“Fine,” Phil says. “It was me. I was curious about Maryanne, and I will admit I went about it the wrong way.”

“Yeah, no,” Dalton says. “You weren’t sneaking in the back door to watch her while she sleeps.”