“What?” Has news about Renard gotten out despite the sheriff’s wishes?
She nods. Instinctively, our pace picks up. Now we’re hurrying as fast as everyone else down the sidewalk, as though the grim news is nipping at our heels. “Belongs to a man named Renard Michaels, I heard. He passed through town a few years ago.” She waves her hand. “You woulda been a kid back then.”
I nod.I was, until I met him.
“Now that there’s two skulls,” she continues, voice hushed, “everyone’s saying it’s proof the Low Man’s behind the killings. They say he’s risen and hunting. More bodies will come.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
“No,” Nissa scoffs, but she doesn’t meet my eyes. “The thing is, ever since the sheriff asked the town to think back on Fred, there’s been a lotof memories surfacing. Most of them ’bout how he might not’ve been the man people thought he was.”
I’m floored. “What are they saying?”
She speaks quickly, like the words taste bitter. “That Fred might’ve abused his little girl. The fishing wives have been talking, and it turns out people remember bruises on her. Apparently, this one time, she and her momma disappeared into thin air, then came back a month later, no explanation. There’s rumors it was so the girl could…” Nissa clears her throat. “Get rid of a baby.”
It seems certain I’ve done this. My prompting questions to the Fortenot Fishing wives must’ve planted seeds. Despite the fact that I’ve betrayed Beth’s secrets, I feel a strange wash of relief to have the real Fred Fortenot finally out in the open.
“And,” Nissa says, “as if that’s not enough,everyone’stalking ’bout how Renard Michaels was involved with a motorcycle gang out in Forsythe. Real nasty crowd.”
This part is Everett. The last phase of our plan: get overheard talking about the Sons of Liberty over drinks at the Blue Moon. Engineer rumors to create pressure on the sheriff to investigate our tip. At least the rumors worked.
“Old Man Jonas says the Low Man came for Fred and Renard because they were secretly bad men, masquerading as good ones. It fits, Ruth. That’s all I’m saying.”
We’re rounding the corner to the library when a voice screams, “I’m going tokillyou, heathen!” A young boy dressed like Joseph from the Christmas manger streaks past us. I startle, throwing myself flat against the brick wall, as another little boy with a toy gun and an American flag painted on his face gives chase.
“You mind where you’re going, young men!” Nissa shakes her head as I peel off the wall, trying to steady my breathing. The suddenshout—for a second, I was back at Jebediah’s compound, listening to all those screams.
Nissa clucks. “I plain forgot the Fourth of July festival was today.”
The Fourth of July festival, which Ever and I used to privately call the Uncle Sam–Jesus Christ Bonanza, is my father’s brainchild, a spectacle celebrating America as the holiest Christian nation on earth. Held in the parking lot of Holy Fire, it’s drawn bigger and bigger crowds every year, from Forsythe and beyond—but I can’t imagine, given that we just saw most of the town gossiping along Main Street, that attendance was high this year.
My father will be furious.
“Come on,” Nissa says, waving me forward. “I need to get back into the AC. We had warm summers in Baton Rouge, mind, but this swampland is hotter than the Devil’s armpit.”
“Sorry. They rattled me.”
She snickers. “Warn me if you’ve developed a sudden aversion to children. I can always take over story hour. Though heaven knows I don’t have it in me to do those voices.”
We finish rounding the corner—and there, leaning against the library’s locked front door, arms crossed, is Sheriff Theriot.
My stomach drops. What’s he doing here? He should be out in Forsythe, busting the Sons of Liberty.
“Afternoon, ladies.” The sheriff straightens. “Been out at the Fourth of July festival?”
“Hello, Sheriff.” I can tell Nissa’s surprised to see him, too. “Actually, we were having lunch at Rosethorn.”
He frowns. “Not participating in this recent silly gossip, are you?”
“Oh no,” she says smoothly, and that’s when I learn Nissa is an excellent liar. “This town can spin a mountain out of a molehill, so I keep to myself.”
“Glad to hear it.” The sheriff’s eyes shift to me, and I school my face into a smile. “Ruth, may I have a moment? Somewhere private?”
Nissa and I glance at each other. I can see the curiosity in her eyes and have to tamp down a bolt of alarm. “Of course.”
I bring him to the small office in the back of the library. He surprises me by closing the door and remaining standing, even when I take a seat behind the desk. “Well, Sheriff. Are you here to ask more questions about Renard?”
It seems to rattle him. “Renard? No.” He adjusts his belt. “After further investigation, we determined Renard Michael’s death was accidental. Like we originally thought. Man was an avid trapper who must’ve gotten turned around in the swamp and met a dark end.”
