Free Beneath the Bones by Tim Waggoner Page B

instead the woman grew calmer the more Joanne spoke. When she finished, Debbie regarded her silently for a moment, her expression unreadable.
    “You don’t know who the boy is … was?”
    “Not yet. And so far no missing persons reports have come in.”
    “And he had Carl’s mark on him. But he wasn’t found on the Deveraux Farm.”
    Joanne didn’t respond, as she sensed Debbie wasn’t asking questions so much as thinking aloud.
    “It’s sad,” said Debbie. “I mean, someone died last night, and I should feel sorry for him, but my first reaction is to hope that maybe Carl wasn’t a killer after all. That someone else was responsible and my baby was innocent. I know he was guilty. He told me so, and I believed him. But here I stand, ready to forget all of that on the slim chance my boy’s memory might be redeemed.” Debbie gave Joanne a small, sad smile. “Pretty goddamned pathetic, huh?”
    “Not at all. It just means that despite everything, you still love your son.” Joanne paused and took a breath as she prepared to shift gears. “I hate to do this right now, but I have to ask you some questions about what happened here last night.”
    “Sure, I understand. You want me to brew some coffee?”
    Joanne wanted to say that Debbie shouldn’t touch anything else in the café, but then she figured what were the odds that whoever had broken in last night had messed with the coffee machine? Besides, given how little sleep Joanne had last night, she needed all the caffeine she could get.
    “Sounds good.”
    Debbie went to work and a few minutes later the two women sat side by side at the counter, two steaming mugs of coffee in front of them, the rich aroma hanging pleasantly in the air. The atmosphere seemed far too cozy, too
normal
, considering what they were about to discuss. Joanne started with the question that had been foremost on her mind since the moment she’d received Ronnie’s call.
    “Why did you wait until this morning to report the break-in?”
    Debbie held her mug cupped in her hands, and she gazed down at its contents as if she might find answers, or at least a measure of reassurance, in its black depths.
    “I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I was scared. So scared that I guess I didn’t want to face it, you know? It was easier to tell myself that it was just another cruel practical joke that had gone too far. By the time I walked home, I’d convinced myself that it was no big deal, and I decided to come in early today and clean up the mess before opening.”
    Debbie had lived out in the country for decades, but a couple years ago — after one too many rubber knives coated with red-paint blood had been left in her mailbox — she’d sold her house and moved into another on the south side of town, where there were neighborhood watch programs and more regular sheriff patrols. A longish walk, but still doable for an out-of-shape middle-aged woman, especially if she was wired from adrenaline.
    “What changed your mind about reporting the incident?” Joanne asked.
    “After I got home, I couldn’t sleep. I just lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, going over what happened, and the more I thought about it, the more it seemed different than all those other times. It probably sounds stupid, but even though I never saw anyone during the break-in, I could
feel
their hatred. It was like the air was thick with it, you know? Like the way it gets when a storm’s rolling in.”
    Joanne couldn’t have put it better herself. A storm was indeed descending on Cross County — a goddamned big one. And she wondered if there was anyplace where its citizens could find shelter.
    • • •
    Dale started to move past Tyrone, intending to leave the alley and rush across the street to Ronnie’s aid. But Tyrone grabbed hold of his arm and held him back.
    “Wait,” Tyrone whispered.
    Dale hesitated long enough to see Ronnie push back onto his heels. The deputy sat like that for a moment while he got