Relief floods me. If the carvings and Fred’s murderarerelated—there’s no evidence they are, but still—the more information I have, the better. “Don’t forget our other question,” I remind her.
She blinks at me.
I clear my throat, pushing away thoughts of Ever. “If Le Culte de la Lune still exists, who are they, and why are they carving these symbols all of a sudden?”
Nissa is practically buzzing. “I’ll do an internet deep dive, but if the answers aren’t there, I bet they’re in LSU’s Louisiana Heritage Archive. They have materials on old languages and symbology.”
“I’ll comb through old newspapers,” I offer. “Bottom Springs used tohave its own, theBugle, and we have copies on microfilm. Maybe something about Le Culte de la Lune has cropped up before.”
Nissa rubs her hands together so fast she’s liable to start a fire. “Look at us—the librarian dream team. The sheriff asked for all hands on deck, and boy, are we giving it to him.”
Though I’m halfway to standing, I freeze. “You’re planning to show the sheriff what we find?”
She stacks our history books. “Someone’s got to help. You know some people are going around whispering Fred was murdered by the Low Man? If we can show this town how useful libraries can be, maybe people will actually start coming in. Plus, don’t you want to help solve a crime? We’ll be like CSI: Bottom Springs.” Nissa chuckles to herself.
“I don’t think the sheriff—” I start to say, but the sound of the front door scraping open and Nissa’s look of surprise stop me.
“Well, I’ll be!” she calls. “If it isn’t the man himself. I think we must’ve conjured you.”
Stomach dropping, I turn to see Sheriff Theriot tugging his belt higher on his hips as he makes his way to us.
“Well, ain’t that a coincidence, Mrs. Guidry.” The sheriff gives her a smile, but his eyes flick to me. With every step he takes toward the circulation desk, I can feel the old demon trying to take over, making my heart pound, air hard to come by.
The library is supposed to be my sanctuary—hallowed ground. It feels wrong for the sheriff to step foot in here.
The skull isn’t Renard’s, I remind myself.You aren’t guilty.
Sheriff Theriot tips his hat. “Morning, Ruth. Barry says the Duncan boy’s in town. I tell you what, must be nice to have a visitor.”
“Yes.” I can barely hear the word over the blood pounding in my ears.
The sheriff turns to Nissa with an apologetic smile. “Do you mind if I talk to Ruth alone? Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
“Of course,” Nissa says, almost tripping over herself to pick up our books and scoot away. Before she leaves, she gives me a warning look I easily interpret:Don’t you spill the beans about Le Culte de la Lune and steal my glory.
Once Nissa is tucked safely in the back office, I’m alone with the sheriff. He leans casually against the circulation desk. “You can go ahead and retake your seat.”
Only then do I realize I’m still half-standing. I drop obediently into the chair. “How can I help you, Sheriff?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard the remains pulled out of Starry Swamp belong to Fred Fortenot?”
“Yes, sir.” It’s difficult to keep eye contact, but I force myself. The sheriff has a thick mustache the same mud-brown as his shirt, and I allow my eyes to rest there. “Terrible.”
“Tragic,” he agrees. “You were close to the Fortenots, weren’t you? Being neighbors and all.”
I shift uncomfortably. His unblinking eyes feel like a spotlight. “I wouldn’t say close. But we were neighbors. Have you told Mrs. Fortenot and Beth the news?”
He clears his throat. “We’re still working on tracking them down, actually. Any idea where they are?”
I shake my head. Even if I knew, I wouldn’t say. I owe those women that much.
He sighs. “Well, that makes your insight even more critical. Let me ask you, Ruth: in all your years living next door to the Fortenots, did you ever see anything unusual?”
“Unusual?”Like Fred Fortenot choking out his daughter on the kitchen floor?
“Anyone coming by and making threatening remarks. A stranger lurking, maybe—someone you didn’t recognize from church.” He squints atme. “Do you recall anything suspicious? Even if it happened a while ago, I’d like to know.”
“Have you talked to my parents?”
