know. But I need to know.
When Benny and I got to the house last night, she was sitting on the side of the hill, legs crossed and covered in mud. I didn’t recognize her at first. Her hair was darker and short, really short. Daze stood over her, pointing his flare gun at her. He had shot one off—just to show her, I guess, what kind of damage it would do. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t moving.
She looked Benny dead in the eye and said, “I hit him over the head with a shovel and buried his ass.” She didn’t say she was sorry, and she didn’t seem too upset about it.
Benny started asking questions, and I was sure she would have told him anything right then, so I told her to hush. She turned to me as if she didn’t even realize I was there then put her elbows on her thighs and rested her chin in her upturned palms. She didn’t say another word.
I went to the house and got a blanket from the bedroom. When I got back, Benny already had her hands cuffed behind her. I glared at him, thinking how inhumane it was. He didn’t flinch, just told me to stay there while he went to the dock with Daze. I wrapped the blanket around Cassie and sat on the wet ground next to her.
Benny made a real show of driving back into town, lights flashing and his siren on. It was damn near three o’clock in the morning, but I guess he had to let the town know that something was up, something big. Murders aren’t common around here, so I guess that would classify.
I sat in the back with Cass. She said nothing. I’m not sure, but I don’t think I spoke, either. I didn’t know what to say. “How was your weekend? Do anything special?” That didn’t seem appropriate for the situation. I listened to Benny on his two-way and watched the town go by, bathed in the siren light—blue, white, blue, white.
Afterward, I got a ride out to Fat Tina’s with Jimmy Ray to pick up my truck. I stopped by Babe’s a few minutes after four. She was sitting on the porch because she “had a feeling something wasn’t right.” I told her what had happened on the drive back to the police station.
She kept rubbing the crystals and whatever other totems she had in that worn leather satchel of hers, repeating, “She didn’t kill him.”
But Cass did kill him. And I’ve thought about that all night.
“Cassie?”
This time, she raises her head, those flaming green eyes burning like toxic hellfire.
I want to turn away, but I don’t. “I gotta know why.”
She stares at me for a long time. Then the fire slowly dies, and she sighs. Her lips part slightly, but the words don’t come. Her shoulders slump, and she turns away.
I don’t know who’s hurting more. All I can do is get up and call for Jimmy Ray so I can get out of here. The room is warm, and I can’t breathe. I just want to be away. Jimmy Ray shows up, and I walk out of the room without looking back. I hesitate in the doorway, though, when I hear Cassie speak in a soft voice.
“He wasn’t what everyone thought.”
I stand there and think of my brother. Rolly Adams: the charmer, everyone’s friend. Then I turn back to Cassie: his murderess, his victim. “I know.”
“Tell her I’m sorry. I just need to sleep.” I’m talking to Maryanne.
“But you promised. I need to see you, Clay.”
I promised Shaylene I would come over this evening, but after seeing Cassie, all I really want to do is sleep. I know what Maryanne wants to talk about, and even if she’s pleading, I don’t want to have that conversation. It’s what she needs, not what I need or what Shaylene needs. Not what Cassie needs.
When we were younger, Maryanne and I were close friends. That started mostly because she hung around with Cassie and I was usually in charge of Rolly, but I liked her, just never in a romantic way. She was a nice person, what my momma would have called a “good soul,” and I hate to say I missed her while I was in the Army, but I damn sure did. She was always that friend, the one
When Benny and I got to the house last night, she was sitting on the side of the hill, legs crossed and covered in mud. I didn’t recognize her at first. Her hair was darker and short, really short. Daze stood over her, pointing his flare gun at her. He had shot one off—just to show her, I guess, what kind of damage it would do. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t moving.
She looked Benny dead in the eye and said, “I hit him over the head with a shovel and buried his ass.” She didn’t say she was sorry, and she didn’t seem too upset about it.
Benny started asking questions, and I was sure she would have told him anything right then, so I told her to hush. She turned to me as if she didn’t even realize I was there then put her elbows on her thighs and rested her chin in her upturned palms. She didn’t say another word.
I went to the house and got a blanket from the bedroom. When I got back, Benny already had her hands cuffed behind her. I glared at him, thinking how inhumane it was. He didn’t flinch, just told me to stay there while he went to the dock with Daze. I wrapped the blanket around Cassie and sat on the wet ground next to her.
Benny made a real show of driving back into town, lights flashing and his siren on. It was damn near three o’clock in the morning, but I guess he had to let the town know that something was up, something big. Murders aren’t common around here, so I guess that would classify.
I sat in the back with Cass. She said nothing. I’m not sure, but I don’t think I spoke, either. I didn’t know what to say. “How was your weekend? Do anything special?” That didn’t seem appropriate for the situation. I listened to Benny on his two-way and watched the town go by, bathed in the siren light—blue, white, blue, white.
Afterward, I got a ride out to Fat Tina’s with Jimmy Ray to pick up my truck. I stopped by Babe’s a few minutes after four. She was sitting on the porch because she “had a feeling something wasn’t right.” I told her what had happened on the drive back to the police station.
She kept rubbing the crystals and whatever other totems she had in that worn leather satchel of hers, repeating, “She didn’t kill him.”
But Cass did kill him. And I’ve thought about that all night.
“Cassie?”
This time, she raises her head, those flaming green eyes burning like toxic hellfire.
I want to turn away, but I don’t. “I gotta know why.”
She stares at me for a long time. Then the fire slowly dies, and she sighs. Her lips part slightly, but the words don’t come. Her shoulders slump, and she turns away.
I don’t know who’s hurting more. All I can do is get up and call for Jimmy Ray so I can get out of here. The room is warm, and I can’t breathe. I just want to be away. Jimmy Ray shows up, and I walk out of the room without looking back. I hesitate in the doorway, though, when I hear Cassie speak in a soft voice.
“He wasn’t what everyone thought.”
I stand there and think of my brother. Rolly Adams: the charmer, everyone’s friend. Then I turn back to Cassie: his murderess, his victim. “I know.”
“Tell her I’m sorry. I just need to sleep.” I’m talking to Maryanne.
“But you promised. I need to see you, Clay.”
I promised Shaylene I would come over this evening, but after seeing Cassie, all I really want to do is sleep. I know what Maryanne wants to talk about, and even if she’s pleading, I don’t want to have that conversation. It’s what she needs, not what I need or what Shaylene needs. Not what Cassie needs.
When we were younger, Maryanne and I were close friends. That started mostly because she hung around with Cassie and I was usually in charge of Rolly, but I liked her, just never in a romantic way. She was a nice person, what my momma would have called a “good soul,” and I hate to say I missed her while I was in the Army, but I damn sure did. She was always that friend, the one
Similar Books
