Wide Open by Deborah Coates Page A

disappeared. What the hell?
    “There’s a mark,” Hallie gestured. “On your face.”
    Jennie rubbed her hand along her jawline, like she had dirt on there or something.
    Hallie heard a truck coming up the lane fast, oblivious of the vehicles parked all down the narrow drive. She grabbed Jennie by the wrist and pulled her out of the way. A swirl of dust, clatter of gravel, and the truck—big and dark and shiny—spun to a stop on the corner of the lawn.
    The engine was still pinging over when the door opened and Pete Bolluyt dropped out of the cab.
    Perfect.
    He saw Hallie immediately, an expression on his face that Hallie couldn’t read. She smelled alcohol on his breath when he was still half a dozen feet away.
    As Pete came toward them, Jenny retreated to the line of cars along the driveway. Hallie stepped up.
    “Where were you?” she said by way of greeting, because she’d expected him at the funeral, even after last night, after sending a guy with a knife after her, she’d thought he was dumb enough or arrogant enough or cared enough to be there. “Wasn’t she worth it?”
    She’d expected it to make him angry, wanted to make him angry. And his face darkened, but when he spoke, his tone was almost mild. “He said we shouldn’t come.”
    “What?”
    “I told him … I told him we needed to be there.” Pete’s hands were shoved in his pockets, and he was leaning forward as he spoke, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, and Hallie thought he might fall on her, which, if there was anything left to piss her off about this day? That would be it. “I tried to get him to at least come here.” He hauled a hand out of his pocket and pointed at the lawn directly underneath their feet, as if Hallie might not understand which particular here he was referring to. Dell drifted across the narrow gap between them, staring at Pete’s face as if it contained the world.
    “Here,” he repeated. “Because he wouldn’t come to the cemetery. Said he couldn’t . But I think it’s because of—” He stopped abruptly, collected himself, and took a step back before continuing. “But, I knew her.…” He nodded, like he and Hallie were having a conversation. “Before. And whatever happened—whatever hap—” He stopped, caught his breath up sharp, and took another quick step backwards, as if he’d almost fallen over. “Whatever. That counts for something. Doesn’t it? That matters.”
    “What the hell are you talking about?”
    Pete frowned, as if he’d just realized whom he was talking to. He leaned toward her. “It’s important, that’s what I’m saying,” he told her. “What we do is important. And you—you need to stay out of it. Go back to the war.”
    “Fuck you,” Hallie said, said it low, because she didn’t want to be angry today. Not today.
    Pete cocked his head to the side. “No one wants you here, Hallie.”
    “Yeah?” Enough was enough. “Did they want Dell to die? Is that what they wanted? Who killed her, Pete?”
    “No one wanted her to die! I didn’t want her to die.” He was shouting now, leaning in on Hallie, and she was going to punch him in a minute.
    “She died anyway, Pete. Where were you?”
    Silence stretched taut between them. A half-dozen expressions flickered across Pete’s face—sadness, fear, rage, and something darker than any of those, something Hallie couldn’t name, something secret and base. He leaned close until his lips were right next to her ear.
    “Where were you ?” he said.
    Hallie punched him hard in the chest with the flat of her hands. He stumbled back and fell with a jarring thump. She was ready for him when he scrambled back to his feet, wanted him to come, but Boyd was there and Tom Hauser, grabbing Pete’s arms, dragging him away from her.
    Boyd gave her a look, like, What did you do? She would have punched him, too, if he’d said it out loud.
    Boyd dragged Pete to his truck, where they stood for several minutes, talking. Boyd