“You’re never going to believe it.” The shrill voice nearly trembles—with fear or anticipation, I can’t tell. “There was evidence ofwitchcraft.”
I frown at Everett, but he looks as confused as me.
One of the women sucks in a breath. “What kind of evidence?”
The heavy door to the Blue Moon bangs open, stealing my attention. Barry strides in, still wearing his deputy’s uniform. Instantly, the crowd at the bar shouts to him and swallows him up. I glance at Everett, suddenly nervous. I’ve never seen the two of them in the same room before, not even in high school, and I don’t know how it will go. “It’s not too late to leave.”
Ever nods in the direction of the bar. “I think it is.”
Someone has clearly whispered I’m here, because Barry leans back from the bar, beer in hand, eyes searching. When he sees me, they widen in surprise. Then he notices Everett, and the pleasantness falls from his face. He launches from the bar.
“Incoming,” Ever mutters.
Barry strides up, wearing a plastered-on grin. He takes off his deputy’s cap and rustles his mop of brown hair. “Ruth, what are you doing here?”
It feels like the whole bar’s watching. “I haven’t seen much of you the last few days.” I try to speak loudly, so everyone can hear. “What with the investigation. Thought I’d surprise you. Plus, look who came to visit.”
Barry leans down and pecks me on the cheek. When he rises, he directs his affable grin at Everett. Barry looks like I’d always imagined Heathcliff would—short and stocky, with longish brown hair and a thick, square jaw. But he has none of Heathcliff’s broodiness. He, like Lila, grew up in the sun, with his football career and perfect church attendance and easygoing smile. The wayatta boysandyes, sirsroll off his tongue makes everyone love him, including my parents. “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.”
The women at the booth next to us titter. The tables have turned, and now they’re spying on us.
Ever glances at me. I give him the slightest nod, and he sticks out his hand. “Nice to see you again, Barrett.”
Barry chuckles and grips his hand. Their forearms flex as they each squeeze tight. “Please. Barrett Holt’s my daddy. It’s good to see ya, ol’ boy. Wasn’t sure we’d ever catch you here again. Figured you had more exciting places to be than little ol’ Bottom Springs.” He shares a knowing grin with Gerald and his table.
“Ruth’s still here,” Everett says as they release each other. “That’s reason enough.”
“Sure, sure.” Barry chuffs my cheek. “Tell you what, why don’t I join you.” He glances between me and Ever, trying not to let his displeasure show over how close we’re sitting. I swallow. I need to smooth things over.
“Please, sit.” I gesture to the other side of the table. “We’ve been dying for you to get here. You must be exhausted from the investigation.”
He drops into the seat with a sigh. “It’s been a long week, I’ll tell you what.”
Gerald shoves his chair back and stands. “You talking homicide?”
“Oh yeah,” Barry groans, with what seems like overperformed resignation. “What else? We got more news this afternoon.”
“Well, in that case,” Gerald says, hunching down next to Barry in the booth. “I’m all ears.”
There’s a mad scramble as another one of Gerald’s fishing crew members scoots in next to Gerald—now there’s three grown men squished into their side of the booth—and the women in the booth next to ours climb to their knees to peer over the partition. Even more people scoot their tables and chairs close to ours. One woman looks ready to claim the third seat on Everett’s and my side of the booth, then glances at Everett and thinks better, settling for a chair instead.
“Is it true you found witchcraft in the swamp?” asks one of the women hanging over the partition. It’s the one with the shrill voice.
Every eye is on Barry. He sighs and takes a long swig of beer, drawing out the wait. “We got the call a few days ago from Hardy Tullis—you know, that crazy fella that tries to wrestle gators?”
Everyone murmurs.
“Well, he said there were symbols carved into all these trees out in the swamp. At first, Sheriff said to ignore him, on account of his being Crazy Hardy. But eventually I decided to check, and it’s a good thing I did. Otherwise we never woulda found the skull. Anyway, sure enough, there they were. The same symbol, carved into a dozen trees. Most hair-raising thing you ever seen. I swear I started praying the minute I saw it.”
“What kind of symbol?” Gerald asks.
I glance at Everett. He’s playing like he’s not interested, slowly tearing the logo from his bottle, unwinding the paper delicately, like it’s a sash from a woman’s dress he’s unraveling.
“Spooky Satanic stuff,” Barry says, and chills race up my arms. “A circle with two horns, one on top, one on bottom. Sign of the Beast.”
A jolt of recognition hits me as whispers ofSatanspread like a hissing echo through the bar. Everett leans forward. “The horns—did they look like crescent moons?”
I swallow hard as people turn to stare at him. It’s clear they’re not surprised Everett Duncan knows to ask such a question, and of course, neither am I. Suddenly I wonder if we’re doing more harm than good being out in public.
