“We have some time, George,” my aunt says. “I doubt they’ll be able to return in this storm as it is. I told them to call when they were heading back, but I also told them to stay and start setting up the new site if it looks to be too much to travel in this storm. Of all the days for it to rain.” She sighs, showing just how inconvenient this weather is for her.
Griggs snorts. “Fucking rain. You’d think God was out to get us.”
I’m cold, and it has nothing to do with how wet I am.
Christie walks over to the table and turns the lantern up to its highest setting, chasing away some shadows and creating new ones. The light illuminates a switch on the wall. She flips it, and the two light bulbs overhead burst into life. The light is almost blinding. Stark. “You need to call in the bridge,” she tells Griggs. “Let them know that a concerned citizen called you, saying that it looks like an accident has occurred. Your deputies will be too busy with the town to do anything about it now, but at least it’ll look like the accident happened when the storm hit. It’ll make things easier later, when they find the Ford.”
“Yeah, yeah. I was already going to do it,” the sheriff grumbles. “Don’t need you fucking harping on my back. Christ.”
“George,” Christie snaps. “Shut your fucking mouth and do what I tell you without complaint. I’m getting sick of your attitude. I’d hate for you to be a situation that needed to be rectified.”
I’m shocked when Griggs looks contrite—cowed, even. He mutters something under his breath, but then he nods and moves toward the door again, squeezing the radio on his shoulder. “Dispatch, come in.” He lowers his voice, and I can’t hear the rest of the conversation aside from an occasional screech of static.
Christie pulls out her cell phone and flips it open, presses the call button, and puts it to her ear. “Walken,” she says after a moment. “They’re here. No. No. Traynor’s dead.” She glances over at Abe and me. “I’m surprised, too, but he always was a little sociopath. We’re better off in the long run without him. No. Yes. Cal Blue is dead. No one could survive that fall.”
My anger rises again, as does my heartache. It’s like poison traveling through my body, and I allow myself to settle in it. It feels like fire.
Christie turns and continues to talk on the phone. As soon as her back is turned, Abe raises his head off my shoulder and nudges me sharply. I look at him and his eyes are narrowed. He nods down at the space between us. I widen my eyes slightly and shrug. I don’t know what he wants. He makes sure my gaze is on his, then very pointedly looks down between us. I glance back at Christie, who is arguing softly into the phone. Griggs is still preoccupied with the radio. I look down between us.
Clutched in his left hand is a pocketknife, the blade closed. Estelle’s gift from so very, very long ago, somehow missed by Griggs and Christie.
I love you, my husband. Forever, Este.
I nod. Not much time.
I move as close to him as I can get, keeping my eyes on Griggs and Christie. They’re still distracted. Abe grips one side of the knife, pointing the closed blade at me. I move my arms behind me toward him, ignoring the pain that snarls in my shoulder. My fingers brush against the metal. I extend my thumb and forefinger and—
Christie turns to look at us, frowning. I glare at her, staying still. She turns back to the phone, saying, “I don’t care what you think—” and I grasp the blade between my fingers. My fingers are wet and the blade slips before I can get a good grip on it. I grab it again. Slip. My hands are starting to sweat, and we don’t have fucking time for this and—
“She’s what?” Christie snarls. “Fucking Lola! Dougie didn’t talk to her before I got to him, did he? Shit. Fine, put her on the phone.”
I stare at her, the knife all but forgotten. Perversely, she turns to me and brings her finger to her lips, winking at me as she shushes me.
“Lola!” she says into the phone. “I’m fine, love. Don’t worry. No. No, I forgot something up at Big House and