But instead, his eyes scour me. An ugly look transforms his face—half disgust, half vindication. “You laid with him.”
My heartbeat picks up, but I try not to show it. “Please leave my porch, Barry. I need to clean up.”
He moves in front of the screen to block my path. “Ruth, tell me plain. Are you still pure?”
“Leave,” I repeat, eyeing the gun at his waist, the width of his arms.
“You really did it. You ruined yourself.” He sounds almost awed. “God Almighty, I was right all along. He’s got some kind of sick hold over you. I know you, Ruth, and you are not a natural-born whore. Not with the great James Cornier as your father. This ishisfault.”
If only being a whore was the worst of it, I think, and almost smile. Suddenly I understand why Ever constantly makes light of things. It’s a brace against the fear. And it’s enough to rally me.
“Tell me, Barry.” I grip one of the porch columns for support. “How well did you know Beth Fortenot?”
The question floors him. I can tell by the way his mouth drops open a little, even if the next moment he’s feigning disinterest.
“We were friends in school,” he says stiffly. “Why?”
“What with the sheriff asking so many questions about Fred lately, it’s dredged up a lot of memories. I got to thinking about what happened to her.”
He swallows. “What do you mean?”
“You know—how in high school, Beth had this boy she was crazy about, who she would’ve done anything for, and he went and knocked her up.”
He shifts. The porch creaks under his feet.
“And her daddy forced her to get an abortion against her will. Not to speak ill of the dead, but can you believe it? Fred Fortenot would’ve sworn up and down it was a mortal sin, except, I guess, for his girl. What gets me is, Beth never gave up the name of the boy who got her pregnant. And he never stepped up to defend her. My guess is he thought poor Beth wasn’t worth risking his golden reputation.”
Barry’s eyes lift to mine. His face has gone from flushed to white.
“I know it was you. I found a picture of you and Beth in an old issue of theBugle. There’s no mistaking what you two were.”
“That’s impossible,” he chokes. “You couldn’t have.”
How ironic: Barry the deputy is folding under pressure. “Did you love her?” I ask, and before he can answer, I add, “I don’t know which is worse—if you did and still left her to the wolves, or if you never loved her and let her fall on her sword for you anyway. Which makes you more of a coward?”
“She was trying to trap me,” he bursts out, punching the porch column I’m holding so it shakes. “She wasn’t like you in high school, Ruth. She was willing to give it up. And if she was sleeping with me, who else was she sleeping with? Girls like that—loose girls—you never know. I wasn’tgoing to have my whole life derailed by some jersey chaser who can’t keep her legs shut. My momma, the church, everyone woulda known. You know what town is like. It woulda been over for me.”
There it is.
I laugh. “Yes, Barry, I know what this town is like. Your hypocrisy is remarkable.” But something else he said is sticking with me. “And what do you mean, I couldn’t have seen a picture of you in theBugle?”
“Because your own daddy promised they’re gone,” he hisses, like this is definitive proof he’s in the right. “He told me it was just one mistake with Beth, and no one would know.”
“Did he say he was destroying the oldBugleissues?”
“No—what? I don’t know.” Barry shakes his head. “He just said there wouldn’t be any proof, no witnesses or pictures, so everything would be okay. Why do you care?”
“Barry,” I say, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice. I take a step closer. He eyes me warily. “Did you know my father, Killian Duncan, the sheriff, Fred, and Augustus were all secret friends with matching tattoos?” Barryhadclaimed my father was grooming him to be his successor. Maybe he knows something.
He shakes his head at me. “What are you on about?”
“It’s the same design as that symbol you found in the swamp. Have you seen a tattoo like that on the sheriff?”
He looks at me for a long time before he says, “You really are going insane. Just like your momma warned. She kept tryin’ to tell us there was somethin’ wrong with you ever since you said no to the sheriff, but I wasn’t hearin’ it. She said they put you on medicine for it. Is that true?” Barry puts his hands up in surrender and inches closer. His eyes have gone soft. “It’s okay if it is. You don’t have to be ashamed. Maybe what happened is, you stopped taking your medicine. And all we need to do is get you help, and everythin’s gonna be okay.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.” But of course, as soon I say it, the old demon is back, panic clawing up my throat.
Barry’s watching, his eyes keen. “That’s what I said at first: ‘There ain’t nothin’ wrong with Ruth, Mrs. Cornier, with all due respect.’ But now I see it explains everythin’. Why you hung around Everett in the first place and won’t give him up, why you’re so antisocial and stubborn.” He speaks soothingly, as if to a child. “But we’ll fix you. Your parents’ll take you to Blanchard.”
