Bitter Falls (Stillhouse Lake)(26)

“Oh shit,” she says. I give her a look. “Crap. Whatever. The Hillbilly Mafia?”

“They want us gone from Stillhouse Lake.”

“Why?” Connor asks.

I remember Lilah Belldene’s words. Not personal. But it was, and is, deeply personal. It always is when my kids are involved. “Same reason people in Norton don’t like us. We bring too much attention.”

“Mom?” My son’s put away his sunglasses, and his bruised eyes make me wince. The swelling’s not so bad, at least. “Maybe it’s also what I did. Hank Charterhouse is hurt pretty bad.”

“Who’s Hank Charterhouse?” Sam asks.

“One of the kids Connor hit. Also, first cousin to the Belldenes,” Lanny says. “I mean, everybody in town knows that’s why Hank gets away with stuff.”

The idea that Connor’s also someone they may hold a grudge against is unsettling, and it raises my hackles high. Don’t you dare come for my kids.

Melvin Royal tried coming for our kids. Melvin Royal is rotting in a cardboard coffin in a pauper’s grave, marked only with a number. I did that.

The Belldenes ought to take a lesson.

I eat a few bites of chicken before I say, “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Now that you kids are enrolled in the Virtual Academy, you can do your lessons anywhere, right?”

“Yeah?” Lanny, at least, doesn’t sound sure she likes where this is going. “Uh, we did our lessons, Mom. I mean, you can check.”

“I already did, and thank you. But I need to ask you all a serious question.” That gets all their attention, and for a second I doubt myself. Maybe I shouldn’t start this. Maybe I’m doing the entirely wrong thing, running away again. But I have to open the question. “What do you guys think about not fighting this war with the Belldenes?”

Sam slowly sits back. “You’re talking about moving.”

“Well, yes. I think it might be the right thing to do.” I take a deep breath and plunge in. “Look, we’ve got no reason to fight with them; we’ve got nothing to win here except staying put in a place that barely tolerates us, in a house that’s now listed on message boards and websites all over the internet to make it convenient for even more people to harass and threaten us. Sam, I know finding work has been tougher for you since—since all that mess with the documentary. And kids—” I look at Lanny and Connor. “You haven’t had an easy time of it here. I’m sorry for that. I thought I was doing something good making you part of the community, but . . . the community’s not taking us in. And I know how much that hurts.”

Connor doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at his plate. Lanny says, “Well, there are some nice people here. Kez and Javier, even Detective Prester. A few teachers aren’t terrible.” She’s trying to be fair, but I know it hasn’t been easy for her either. The friends she made a year ago aren’t her friends now. I don’t like my kids feeling so . . . alone.

Sam’s not giving me anything. He’s gone quiet, which means he’s trying not to put too much weight into this conversation—which is less a conversation right now and more of a monologue. I need him to jump in, but when he doesn’t, I feel compelled to keep going.

“I can ask in town about selling the house,” I tell him. “That doesn’t mean we have to make a commitment right now, just . . . look at our options. Hell, we could even rent the place out, the way some others around the lake do.” Nothing except a slow nod. So I keep talking. “I need to interview the dad of my missing person in Louisiana, check with the victim’s friends there, things like that. It’ll take some legwork to cover all the bases.” I pause and look at my children. “I can take you guys along if—and this is a big if—you promise me that you’re going to treat this seriously. I can leave you at the hotel while I’m doing my work, and you can do your school assignments. And—”

Sam says, “I can come along.”

I don’t expect that, and I’m left not quite knowing what to think about it. I scramble, because I don’t know what he’s thinking. “Don’t you have work?”

“Yeah, well, seems like my services are no longer required at the jobsite.”

I’m stunned. “Why?”

“At a guess? The Belldenes have put the word out they don’t want me working anywhere in this county.”

I feel a pulse of real, vicious anger toward everybody who had a hand in putting that bitter misery in his eyes. It’s there for only a moment, then quickly gone, and he’s smiling again.

“Bright side, that’s a lot less gas I burn. Downside . . . not sure what I’m going to do now.” His voice is even, his eyes steady. Whatever fury he has boiling in there, he’s not letting it out.

“Damn, I’m so sorry. This is all—” I gesture helplessly at the world. At myself. The whole package, bound up with a past I can’t control and can never shed. Scars and wounds and armor and agony.

I’m angry for him. A little angry at him, truthfully, that he didn’t tell me before we sat down here. But it’s why he was so noncommittal earlier. He wanted me to have reasons to leave this place that weren’t about him.

I make my tone lighter, my smile brighter. “In that case,” I say, “I don’t see any reason why you can’t join us for our epic road trip out to Louisiana.” And honestly, now that I’ve said it, I realize that I’m actually relieved. I don’t even know why for a moment; it hasn’t occurred to me until now that this case is leading me back to a place I desperately never wanted to go.