KIN (41 page)

The cruiser crept so close that Pete thought for a moment it was going to run him down. With great effort he stood his ground and the vehicle halted, the headlights on either side of him, the grille almost touching his knees. Dust swept out from under the tires, momentarily blinding him. He swallowed, and wiped a hand over his face. He was hungry, tired and dirty, in need of a bath, and he was afraid, though it felt odd to be afraid of Sheriff McKindrey, who had always been decent to him and had treated him with sympathy and kindness once it had been revealed what had happened to his Pa. But back then, Pete hadn't been on the run, had done nothing to give the police reason to track him down. They sure had a reason now, and more than one.

For a moment, after the car stopped, nothing happened. The engine made the sound of a clock ticking away the seconds as it cooled. The lights were still on, so Pete could only see the vague shape of the man inside the vehicle. It unnerved him further, made him think of running and to hell with the consequences. But he was not alone, and to run would put more than himself at risk. Claire needed him, as she had needed him from the moment he'd first set eyes on her, and nothing she would ever say or do would convince him he was wrong. She was hurt, angry, confused. He knew that now, and realized he should have recognized it before, having felt those same exact emotions in the days after his father's death.

He loved her, and so would do as she had asked.

The cruiser door opened and above the lights, Pete saw McKindrey wince and lean on the door for a moment as he put his hat on and tugged the brim down so that it cast a shadow over his eyes. A wide white bandage was taped over his nose and deep bruises ringed his eyes.

"Pete," he said by way of acknowledgment.

"Hi Sheriff," Pete said.

McKindrey rested his elbows on the door and looked around. "What brings you all the way out here? Last I heard, you'd split town."

"I come back," Pete told him. "Wanted to see if I could find whoever hurt my Pa."

McKindrey nodded his understanding. "But we got the man did that, son."

"No."

"No?"

Pete shook his head. "Weren't that doctor did this. He were a decent man. He wouldn'ta hurted no one. He tried to help."

"That so?"

"Sure is."

"They say he was out of his mind. Went crazy after his wife passed."

"People say whatever they like. I knew him. Saw him that night and he looked fine to me."

McKindrey nodded at the house behind Pete. "So what was it you was plannin' to do if you found them out here?"

Pete shrugged. It was an easy question to answer because he hadn't really known from the moment he'd set his sights on the Merrills what he'd hoped to achieve if he ever found himself face to face with them. He wanted them all dead, that was for sure, but it wasn't likely he'd ever be able to do that on his own, and now, they weren't even here and he was probably going to end up in jail just for thinking about it. "Dunno," he said.

"Well," McKindrey said, finally moving away from the car door and shutting it behind him. He moved only a foot or so before he grimaced and leaned against the hood. "Shit."

"You all right?"

"Yep. Busted myself up pretty good down by the creek."

"Sorry to hear that."

McKindrey nodded. "My own damn fault. I gotta learn to keep my eyes open." He folded his arms. "Pete…you know you shouldn't be out here."

"Yes sir."

"And you know I told you I'd find out all I could about what happened to your daddy and try to put this whole thing to rest, didn't I?"

"Yes sir."

"Well, you should've listened to me. Have I ever lied to you?"

"No sir."

"Right. Then why do you want to go causin' trouble for me?"

"I didn't think about it, to tell the truth. I just wanted to come back here and try to teach these people a lesson. They shouldn't be let to kill people like they do, Sheriff."

McKindrey's gaze was hard. "Well now, that's a mighty big accusation to be puttin' on folks unless you've got proof of some kind. Do you?"

Pete thought about this, was about to admit that he hadn't any proof other than the memory of waking up to find the Merrill family in his house that night years ago, when he remembered Claire.

"I reckon I do," he said, and smiled. "The girl who escaped 'em is with me. She knows the doctor didn't do nothin'. She knows who did."

McKindrey nodded, as if he knew all along that Pete wasn't alone. "Where's she at?"

"Inside," Pete replied. "But she wants to be let alone for a while. I reckon she's tryin' to find whatever's left of her friends' belongin's."

"Trespassin's what she's doin', Pete," McKindrey said, but to the boy's relief, didn't make a move. "Now I been sent out here to get her by her sister, who wants her home. She's been through enough without makin' it worse for herself and worryin' everybody else."

"We didn't want to make it worse," Pete told him. "We just had to come back. Couldn't just let things die the way they did. Nobody knows the truth and I reckon they need to know. And I figure Claire's come back to close the door on some of that bad stuff. I guess once we're done, you probably won't never see her again."

"That would suit me," McKindrey said. "Goddamn town has enough trouble without folks who was lucky enough to get free of it comin' back to stir up more." He glanced briefly down at his foot, which was wrapped in bandages and shreds of an old shirt, and shook his head. "Now you know I'm real sorry about what happened to your Pa, but you've gotta accept the fact that he weren't a happy man. He took his own life, son, and that's the truth of it right there. Whatever happened with those kids and that doctor, or whoever done it to them, it doesn't involve you and you shouldn't be stuck in the middle of it."

"But Claire said—"

McKindrey raised a hand. "It don't concern me what Claire said. Whatever happened to her messed her up real bad and I reckon, between you and me, that she probably ain't been right since. Probably convinced herself that some family she saw passin' by her on the road were the ones that did this to her. It happens, you know. Mind has a funny way of makin' up for lost memory. Happened to my own stepbrother Willard. He went out harvestin' corn, got drunk and fell over, hit his head on a rock. Swore up and down it was the scarecrow had thumped him upside the head. Still believes it too."

"It ain't like that, Sheriff."

The Sheriff frowned. "How the hell do you know what it is or ain't, son? Were you there when whatever happened to that girl happened?"

"No," Pete admitted.

"So how do you know who done what?"

"She told me."

"Don't matter what she told you if her mind's half-gone now does it?"

Pete shrugged.

"Hell boy, if I told you a bear chewed on my foot would you believe it?"

"I guess so."

"Why?"

"Because…you're the Sheriff."

"And you figure I wouldn't lie to you."

"Sure."

"You believe everythin' that girl tells you because maybe you got your eye on her, am I right?"

Pete felt his cheeks grow warm. "I dunno."

"Yeah," McKindrey said with a grin. "That's it all right. She could tell you the sky's green and the grass's blue and you'd believe it if you thought she were gonna let you into that sweet pink paradise of hers."

"What does that mean?"

"Never mind. It don't matter. What does matter, son, is somethin' you may not be aware of."

"What?"

"Her sister thinks you kidnapped Claire."

Pete's mouth dropped open. "No…She asked me to take her here, I swear it!"

McKindrey hushed him. "I believe you. I do. But a whole lotta folks won't, and the longer you stay down here foolin' around, the deeper the shit you're in's gonna get."

"I wouldn't kidnap no one."

"Course you wouldn't, but folks'll suspect you're sweet on that girl, and they'll know she ain't right in the head, so they'll reckon you told her to come down here so you could have her to yourself."

"That ain't how it is."

"But that's what they'll say. They'll ask themselves why a rich white Northern gal like that would come all the way down here with a poor young buck like you, and they'll come up with all sorts of awful notions. Then
you'll
be the bad guy."

"Claire'll—"

McKindrey limped away from the car and put his hands on the boy's shoulders. Like a lame dog, he kept his wounded foot slightly raised. "Listen," he said in a quiet voice. "Claire won't do shit for you when you need it. You need to forget about her before she hangs you out to dry. See, the folks who done this to her are long gone, way out of her reach, so she needs to punish someone. That's why she's here. She can't stand the fact that no one's gonna swing for what they did to her, so she'll maybe lead you inside that house, let you fuck her, then she'll cry rape and claim you tried to kill her just like you did before."

Alarmed, Pete shook his head. "Sheriff…I took
care
of her. I drove her to the hospital."

"Sure you did. And she'll say you did it out of guilt for what you did to her after killin' her friends and havin' your way with her. She'll say she was confused, thought someone else did it, but when she saw you at her house it all came back to her. Then she'll say you dragged her into your truck and brought her back here." He shook his head in sadness. "And who's gonna say otherwise? Wellman might have backed you up, but he's dead. Your Pa too. Who else is gonna prove what you say is the truth?"

No
, Pete told himself.
You don't know Claire. She wouldn't do that to me
. But as he had already realized earlier, though he had committed himself to the task of protecting her, at the back of it all, he
didn't
know her at all, and hadn't liked what he seen since arriving at her house. She was cold, and weren't cold people capable of the kinds of things McKindrey was suggesting now? Nevertheless it seemed impossible that he could be so completely wrong about someone. But why would McKindrey lie?

His head hurt from the strain of trying to make sense of it. He was torn between the desire to stay and look after Claire, all in the hope that she would show her appreciation for his efforts, and heeding the Sheriff's advice to avoid the kind of nightmare the man had detailed for him as the most likely reward for his loyalty.

"What do I do?" he asked.

McKindrey nodded as if Pete had answered a math problem correctly. "You get goin'," he said. "They're only interested in the girl, not you, unless you give them reason to be. Head back into town and wait for me in my office. Stella's there, she'll make you a nice cup of somethin'."

"What are you goin' to do?"

The Sheriff sighed and put his hands on his hips. "Talk to her, I expect. See if I can get her to come with me without makin' things hard. We need to get her back to her people."

"Why can't I wait and get a ride from you?"

"Because I don't want you around if she decides to make up another one of her stories. Least if you're with Stella, she can vouch for you, you know?"

Pete shook his head.

"She can say you were there and not here," McKindrey explained.

"You ain't gonna hurt her, are you?"

"No," McKindrey told him. "Not even a little bit."

*

Breath trapped in her throat, a hand over her nose to keep the foul stench away, Claire stood by the grime-encrusted window, listening. She hadn't been able to make out what the Sheriff had said to Pete, but whatever it was, it proved enough to convince him that he was better off leaving her. She watched, incredulous, as the boy cast one final longing glance back at the house and started down the path toward the road, and the truck. McKindrey, looking like every hillbilly sheriff she'd ever seen on TV, stood with his hat tipped back away from his forehead, fists clenched on his hips, monitoring the boy's progress. All he was short was some chaw. She could clearly imagine him leaning over and spitting a great gob of tobacco juice into the dirt.

She didn't know the Sheriff, but now she was alone with him and he could only be here for one reason: to take her back home. She did not wait for him to turn and start toward the house. Instead, she quickly moved away from the window, her eyes watering at the smell of death that seemed to seep through her skin to get at her. In the small beam from the flashlight, she could see what looked like an ornate bed, the cast iron rusted and stained. The filthy mattress in the middle had sunken so low into the frame it was almost folded in two, springs and wires poking out here and there and coated with what looked like dried skin and coarse dark hair. Opposite the bed was a haphazard mound of clothes of every conceivable kind: T-shirts, shorts, underwear, jackets, hats, raincoats, shoes, socks. Fighting the urge to gag, she reached down and began to feel her way through the clothes.

What are you doing? This is insane!