“Yeah, we’re just here for the race. Sandy’s agreed to take some pics for me at the party, since we aren’t going,” Declan said.
The first runners were starting to appear at the far end of Main Street now, small figures resolving into people as they closed the distance. The crowd around us stirred.
"Huh," Beckett said, scanning the incoming runners. "I'm actually surprised Fletcher isn't up front."
I looked at him. "Fletcher runs?"
"Ran. State track, back in school. Still goes out every morning. I used to see him on the running trail all the time. Dude used to be fast. That’s why they called him the Flash." He watched the leaders cross under the finish banner. Fletcher wasn't among them. "Guess he had other things on his mind this morning."
That was odd, though. We didn’t have that many races in Ravenstone, so you would think if he was a runner, he would’ve wanted to participate. Of course, with Roy’s death and figuring out what to do with the brewery, Beckett was probably right and he simply had other things on his mind.
"Speaking of Fletcher," Beckett said. "I got a call from Kettlebrook last night."
Declan turned. "What kind of call?"
"The kind where they tell you they've decided not to move forward with the contract from Black Feather." Beckett looked at his water cup. "Too much bad publicity, they said. The cheating came out, and they don't want their name attached to it." He paused. "So they're starting over. Two new candidates."
"You're one of them," I said. It wasn't a question.
"They said since the winning recipe was technically mine, I'm a candidate." He glanced up, letting out a slow breath. "Donny Pace is the other. He came in second fair and square, so they're giving him a shot."
"That sounds fair," Declan said.
Beckett looked at him for a moment. "Yeah." He almost smiled. "Yeah, I think so, too."
More runners were coming in now. The crowd's energy picked up, cheering for names they recognized, clapping for strangers.
Declan and I spotted Sandy in a t-shirt that readI run on beer and denialand we cheered for him. Clapping our handsand shouting that he could do it, like there was any danger of him quitting feet from the finish line.
Declan reached for the coffee cup he'd set down on the table and accidentally knocked it off.
What came next happened all at once.
Declan said, “Darn it. I’d barely even drank any of that.” At the same time, Becket bent down to pick up the cup.
The sharp crack rang out, and the large water jug at the station behind Beckett exploded.
Water cascaded across the ground. People near the station lurched back, shouting as the cheerful noise of the crowd from a few minutes ago fractured into confusion.
My hand reached for Declan's arm, pulling him hard against me, putting myself between him and the direction the shot had come from. He made a startled sound but huddled closer to my side.
"Gideon—"
"Don't move," I said. I was already scanning. Buildings, rooflines, and the narrow gap between the pharmacy and the post office. The crowd was surging in confused directions, some people dropping, some people running, none of them sure what had happened.
Beckett turned around slowly. He looked at the jug. Then, to where he'd been standing.
The math was simple and horrible.
"Was that—" Beckett started.
"Yes," I said.
A caw split the air above us. Licorice was already moving, a black streak cutting across the sky in the direction of the gap between the buildings. I tracked her with my eyes but didn't follow. Not yet. Not while Declan was in the open.
"We need to get off the street," I said.
Grady's voice cut through everything else, carrying the particular authority of a man who'd gone from race spectator to sheriff in the span of ten seconds.
