“Who’s that?” The question came out more like a growl.
“That would be Harlow’s dad,” Corbin’s strained voice replied.
Of course it was. Of. Fucking. Course.
Reason number four-hundred and fifteen to hate her.
Lies. It wasnumber three. Maybe.
Gradually, I eased back into my seat. I draped an arm along the back of the booth, giving off an aura of nonchalance. Though the way my jaw was locked down tight enough to potentially decimate my molars betrayed me.
I don’t know how Corbin managed to maintain a look of statuesque stillness. It was like bearing witness to a lion waiting to pounce through the weeds, if that lion were carved out of marble.
The crew unexpectedly slowed to a stop at the edge of our table. Sheriff Hawkins gave a thin-lipped smile.
“Didn’t expect to see you boys here. Thought you would be helping set up for the opening festivities tonight. The sun isn’t getting any higher in the sky.”
Blow me, bitch. Can’t be worse than your daughter.
Across from me, Corbin must have picked up on the way my fingers twitched towards the blunt-edged knife resting near my bowl of chili. He intervened with a tone cooler than the autumn mornings around here.
“Don’t worry, Sheriff. I already dropped off the birdseed the Mayor requested.” His smile showed a few too many teeth in a slow spread across his face.
Undeterred by Corbin’s effort to keep things cordial, I retrieved the peanut butter-smeared knife anyway. Held it loosely, not wielding it threateningly, but prepared to if needed.
Idly, I tapped the tip of the knife on the edge of my bowl in a consistent rhythm.
Tap. Tap-tap.Pause. Tap-tap.Pause. Tap.
Repeated it over and over while maintaining unforgiving eye contact with Sheriff Hawkins.
In my peripheral, movement distracted me, and I watched as Marjorie leaned over and whispered to Harlow’s dad. I’m sure it was likely some warning about Falston’s troublesome duo. It seemed like something the principal of Falston High would do.
MacElroy looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. Smart man. I guess that’s why everyone trusted him as the local bank manager where all of Falston held their accounts.
As for Mayor Dennison? Stonefaced. Even his words carried the cold of the grave. “And what have you done all day, Bale?”
My knife paused.
“Counted crows.” I met his steely gaze with one of my own. I paused long enough to let the implication of the old lore settle as comfortably as a cross frame up one’s ass.
Shifting in my seat, I added, “The paper ones being used as targets for the apple cannons, of course.”
“Of course.” He stroked his fingers over the patchy grey goatee around his mouth. “And tell me, just how many crows were there?”
I had been hoping he’d ask; my cocky-as-shit smirk didn’t hide it either.
“It’s not a good number this year.”
He slipped his hands into his dress slacks, but not before I caught how his hands curledinto tight fists. “Pity. I suppose we’ll have to reevaluate for future festivals.”
“Suppose so. Though, if you’d like my humble opinion, I recommend reevaluating more than just the rotting apples in this town.”
The icy glare that broke through his composure gave me more than enough petty satisfaction that I released an amused chuckle under my breath. Oh, this year was going to befun.
A forced laugh came from Harlow’s dad as he pushed forward between Marjorie and Sheriff Hawkins. He immediately jutted out his hand in greeting toward me.
“Hey now, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Wade Lenoir. My family and I just moved into the old Faust property. I’ve been trying to make my rounds with everybody in town.”
