“Yes,” I tell him, refusing to look away. If I don’t stand by my story, he will never believe another word I say.
“Well, then you better start interviewing attorneys. Because if I go any further with this, you are in a heap of legal trouble. Is that clear?”
Fear crests over into anger, years of being told who I am, who I should be. It froths inside me, threatening to spew. I came here for freedom, independence, a chance to live beyond the reach of Henry’s control and bloodlust, but between the venery and this, I am starting to wish I’d never made it out of that river. “Perfectly.”
This should be the point where he stalks off unburdened of theresponsibility of me, his message delivered, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. After a second, I realize he’s waiting for me to say more, anything that might absolve us of what his instincts are telling him we’re guilty of. His chest heaves, every breath a prayer that I can make this right.
I take a step toward him. “What’s clear, Sheriff Brooks, is that you think I not only slipped toxic amounts of poisonous mushroom into a stranger’s coffee for no apparent reason other than the satisfaction of watching him die a brutal, grotesque death in front of a room full of my aunt’s customers—in an amount that would be physically impossible to disguise in eight ounces of liquid even if it is that bitter swill Myrtle serves for coffee, I might add,andat a time that would render his symptoms remarkably, improbably swift—but that I then turned around and did the same thing to a man I considered a friend, who showed me nothing but kindness, who was old and vulnerable and not a threat to anyone. In the middle of the woods, likely at night no less, while a serial killer stalks women in the area and we have been repeatedly warned to stay indoors after dark.”
His jaw grinds even as his lips part, so that he looks like a cow chewing cud. A series of rapid blinks attack his eyes, lashes wrestling for dominance, but he is utterly unable to respond.
I step toward him again so that I am only inches from his face. I want this part to sink in. I want him to know he has lost. Myrtle would be proud. “Good luck making that fairy tale stick in any court of law from here to the Mexico border.”
He closes his mouth and the color drains from his face, turning him a wan, sickly blue in the dark.
“You can think whatever you want,Sheriff.But that doesn’t change the truth.” I step back and give him an icy once-over. “Maybe they were right about you. Maybe you’re terrified of commitment after all.”
I stalk back inside, leaving him to his presumptions, the callous night, and the ugly pall of defeat.
25Delivery
“Sit!” I command Myrtle and Bart as we enter the cabin. I whirl around to be sure there is no one slinking in the darkness before I close the cabin door, making sure to lock the deadbolt. When I clomp to the living room, I see they have taken my command to heart. She is poised in the armchair like a scolded child; he rests on his haunches beside her, cowering.
“What’s the matter?” She watches me start to pace, eyes gliding left to right and back. “What’d he say to you to get you so shook up, our morally superior sheriff?”
I round on her. “Regis is not the enemy here, Myrtle. You better stop thinking that way if you want keep your little outpost in the woods for the venery.”
Her eyes widen, cheeks suddenly pale. She looks older, smaller, as if she has been shrinking day by day. My words have rattled her. “What are you talking about?”
I sigh. “The autopsy. He got Ed’s autopsy results.”
“And?” She leans forward, fingers clutching the rounded arms of the chair as if she might launch herself at me.
“And they found the amatoxins in his system. Heknows,Myrtle. He’s been onto you for a long time, I suspect. He’s been watching you. After the man in the café and now this… Well, he’s put two and two together. And it adds up to you and me.” I feel suddenly dizzy and squat down, bringing my hands in front of my face as I try to breathe.
She sits back in the chair, thinking. “They can’t link the amatoxins to us. He’s got nothing.”
“They found Ed onyourproperty! That’s something.”
“Circumstantial,” she quips. “Why would I kill Ed? Everyone in this town knows I loved that man. He’s family. I depended on him. It would be shooting myself in the foot. He wouldn’t be able to rustle up a single character witness against me.”
I fall back on my rear and drape my arms over my knees, looking up at her. “Even if he can’t prove it in court, this should scare you. He’s onto you, and he’s waiting for you to slip up. Somewhere there is a file with your name on it. Don’t you get that? It’s only a matter of time. You can’t stay here.”
“Like hell I can’t stay here!” she bellows. “I ain’t leaving. I was here before that man was born. This is my town, not his.”
I rub my hands briskly over my face. “This was a mistake. We should have let him die naturally.”
Her eyes narrow, lips puckering around her wrath. “Leave that man to suffer, to die cold and alone in a puddle of his own piss and blood all because Sheriff Busybody has a bug up his ass?”
I stare up at her, weary.
“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t have left him out there. The cycle wouldn’t have let me.”
“Yeah, but I’m the one who killed him. So, you didn’t fulfill your cycle anyway.” All the food she prepared today comes back to me—the gooey casseroles and creamy pudding, the skillet potatoes with onions. What else did she put in those dishes? I shudder, fearful. “What have you done?”
Her eyes glance to the vacant firebox, a black hole in the room.
“Myrtle… what have you done?”
