Unraveled by Reavis Z Wortham Page A

crooked column of cars was parked close to a strip of woods bordering the pasture, some with their headlights on, illuminating the nearest trees and casting harsh shadows into the woods.
    Onlookers milled in the beams. A still body lay facedown in the trampled grass.
    â€œStep aside, men.” Ned rounded a bumper and pushed toward the still figure. “Y’all don’t get in my light. Anybody see what happened?” Heads shook as Ned knelt and shook the colored man’s shoulder. “Feller, you all right?”
    â€œI believe he’s dead, Ned.”
    He looked up, squinting at a backlit figure. “Who’re you?”
    â€œIt’s me. Rick Patterson.”
    â€œOh, Rick.” Ned had known him since the man was a kid. His daddy owned the Chisum feed store. Ned felt for a pulse. “You didn’t see what happened, neither?”
    â€œNaw. I swung in to park and the lights caught him laying there. We left ’em on for you.”
    â€œYou didn’t see anybody leaving?”
    â€œNary.”
    Ned rolled the body over and felt a chill down his spine. “Well, if that don’t beat all.”
    â€œWho is it?”
    â€œMerle Mayfield.”
    â€œI don’t know him.”
    â€œI do.” Ned rose, picking up the silver Cross pen that had fallen from his pocket. Merle Mayfield was one of Hollis’ younger brothers. Ned frowned at the sight of Top and Pepper pushing through men lining the area. James stepped up behind them, put his hands on their shoulders, and turned them away, back toward the car.
    Ned felt empty, standing in the harsh headlights. With Merle Mayfield dead, he was sure the long-standing feud between the Mayfields and Clays was back with a vengeance.
    â€œâ€™I god, this is just getting started.”
    Someone handed Ned a flashlight. He glanced up to see the frightened eyes of Isaac Reader. Most of the gathering crowd kept a respectful distance, but the twitchy little sun-browned farmer stayed close by. It seemed that Ike was a magnet for death and trouble, which kept him rattled most of the time.
    â€œIke, what’n hell are you doing? Don’t you know they have clowns in there?”
    Reader was deathly afraid of clowns and often slept with a shotgun close at hand when the bigger Carson and Barnes Circus folks came through town on their way to the winter grounds across the river in Hugo, Oklahoma. Ike admitted to worrying that someone dressed as a clown would show up at his door, asking to borrow a gallon of gas for a dead car or something.
    â€œListen, listen, I know they do, but this ain’t the circus. The only clowns in there are selling balloons, and you can tell where they are by watching over folks’ heads.” He lowered his voice. “I came to see that tattooed lady I heard about. They say she don’t wear much, ’cause she’s all covered in pictures…”
    â€œI get what you’re sayin’.” Ned snapped on the light to examine the body and surrounding area. “Good Lord. He’s been beat to pieces. Y’all stay back. I don’t want no one tramping through this grass and maybe destroying evidence.”
    â€œHe’s right. Give him some room.” The deep voice of Deputy John Washington filled the night air, clear as a bell over the cacophony behind them. Dressed in black slacks, his khaki shirt with the deputy sheriff patches and badge, and his ever-present Stetson, the giant of a man towered over the crowd.
    â€œGlad you’re here, John. You get a call?”
    â€œNawsir. We was already inside when I heard there was trouble with one of my people out here. You know who that is?”
    â€œMerle Mayfield. He’s been beat plumb to death.” Ned directed his flashlight through the crushed grass, realizing he’d been smelling it since he walked up. “It wasn’t with no fists, though. His skull’s busted in. Somebody used something on