“Yeah. Okay. Let’s head up before it starts coming down harder.”
She checks her mirrors, then pulls back on the empty road. “Gosh, I can't believe it's raining again.”
“Hope they got all the evidence they need,” I say, more to myself, as I look out the window.
“I think they did and Milligan confessed.”
“Why were they grilling me then?” I ask.
“The Feds don't trust us. They always expect us to foul things up, but Jerry was thorough and they took pictures of every square inch this morning. Those should hold up fine in court. If this goes to trial.”
We slowly make our way up toward the Tierneys. I try to look up my road as it forks off the main, but it’s tapped off and blocked by an unmarked sedan and another sheriff's cruiser.
“It shouldn't be more than a day now and you should be able to go home. This rain.” It was pouring now. When we reach the house, the gravel drive is already riddled with trickling streams and forest debris.
“Things will get back to normal around here soon,” I say, trying to reassure Sally.
“And if it doesn't, I heard Margee Fulton is retiring soon. I've always wanted to be a children’s librarian.”
“You’d be great at that,” I say, mustering the bit of a smile I have in reserve. “But don't hang up your badge just yet.”
She thanks me as I climb out of the car.
When I come in the door, Titus is all over me. He doesn't like change. He also loves the rain. I nudge him back to keep him inside. Their bloodhound, Fox, is awake but not so interested in me or why there’s all this commotion in their home.
“There’s food warming in the oven,” May-Bell offers. I’m too hungry to pass her invitation up.
She tries and fails not to laugh at me as I put away two servings of leftover lasagna. “You can finish it off if you want,” she says before she turns back to her book. I remember some sense of manners and leave the last two helpings for Jad.
After I wash my dishes, I can’t sit down. I can’t sit still. There’s too much running around in my head. I keep seeing Claudia’s damaged face, her torn up feet, her hands. The smell of gunpowder is still in my nose. I grab my camera and snap what I can from their back porch, though I don’t think the forest service will use them. I check and I’m right. Another photog’s images are up on my page already. Doesn’t matter. Formatting these images will give me something else to burn in my mind. Something that isn't blood-soaked or bruised.
* * *
Ispendthe next three days up at the Tierneys’. I don’t sleep for shit. Despite the fact that I saved Claudia from that son of bitch Smith, his body on my property seems to be fucking with everyone for one reason or another. Still, it’s me who sees the hole I blew in his chest every time I close my eyes. I ignore the fact that the only rest I’ve had for nearly half a week has been the few hours of shuteye I got with Claudia in that hospital bed.
The murders make the regional news. My mom leaves me a voicemail asking if I know anything about it, but I don’t respond. Instead I’m reminded to call Evelyn and let her know that the Feds might check in on my whereabouts. She tells Meegan and Marcos what happened and they start blowing up my phone. Everyone at The Club is worried about me, but proud of me too. They’ve been following the news online. I stopped a monster. Milligan and Smith are monsters.
On the third day, May-Bell and I head to town to hit the market. I’ve eaten most of their food and she’s worried cabin fever’s getting the best of me. We take Titus with us. He needs a break too. Everyone I see has kind words and odd congratulations. Apparently Claudia’s added to the myth of my greatness. Some people mention her by name. She feels indebted to me. It’s not true, but there’s no point in arguing. It’ll just draw these conversations out.
When we stop by the diner to grab some pies May-Bell’s ordered from Connie, Tanner and Lightfoot are enjoying a leisurely lunch at the counter when we walk in. Lightfoot greets me with a smile.
“Mr. Olsen,” she says. “Just the man we were looking for.” Everyone’s quiet again, but it’s different this time. They are ready for the suits to beat it. The case is closed as far as we’re all concerned. One died and one’s behind bars. There’s not much left to sort out.
“Come on down here and pay, sweetheart,” Connie says to May-Bell. “How you doing, Shep?”
“Just fine, Connie,” I say before I turn to Lightfoot. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing at all. We’re heading out today. Sheriff Bingham has your truck waiting for you down at the station and you are free to enter your home.”
“Is there going to be a trial?” I ask.
“With this confession and what we were able to collect, I don’t expect there will be. But you never know. Even the red handed turn tail and try to save their own asses,” Lightfoot says with a shrug.
Tanner waves at Connie and asks for the check. She doesn’t acknowledge him, but drops the bill in front of his plate a few moments later anyway. He smirks then pulls out his wallet. “I’ll need a receipt.”
“Sure thing,” she says, tight lipped.
“Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.” Tanner collects his change and they leave.
