Free The Blood Ballad by Rett MacPherson Page B

all about any of this. He had to speak with you.”
    â€œSteph, that’s just because of what I do. I’ve got a reputation as being the family historian, that’s all.”
    She shrugged, not entirely convinced. “I … I just wish I could go back in time and spend one day at their house.”
    â€œWhose?”
    â€œGrandma and Grandpa’s. Just one day.”
    I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “I wish you could have been there, too. But look, you can help me with this. Maybe this—whatever this mystery is we’ve stumbled upon—maybe you can help me with it. Then you’ll have contributed to the family history.”
    â€œYeah, I guess,” she said. “You must think I’m silly.”
    â€œNot at all,” I said. And I meant it. I would have felt the same way, probably worse, had I been in her shoes. “All right, I’ve got to talk to Glen Morgan.”
    â€œOff and running,” she said, laughing.
    â€œThat’s me.”
    â€œYou still smell like skunk, by the way,” she said.
    â€œGreat. Glen must have thought I was some sort of freak.”
    We were laughing as I turned to pick up the phone, but before I had the chance, Sheriff Mort knocked on the door frame. “Hey, are you busy?”
    â€œNo, come on in.”
    â€œI need you to come down and look at headlights. Remember?”
    â€œRight, sorry.”
    â€œIt’s all right,” he said. “Look, I just wanted to let you know that the body was positively identified by Rosalyn Decker as that of Clifton Weaver.”
    â€œIs she a suspect?” I asked.
    â€œEverybody’s a suspect until I say different.”
    â€œWhat was the cause of death?”
    â€œBelieve it or not, a gunshot wound to the stomach.”
    I could feel my brow creasing. “I don’t…”
    â€œYou want to know what I think?” he asked.
    For the record, I like Sheriff Mort Joachim. He’s young, spiffy, and always immaculate, even if he does spend the majority of his time in the woods. But I like him because he doesn’t view me as a threat of any kind. He sees me as a resource. He doesn’t know this town like I do. And he knows it. So it doesn’t hurt his ego in the least to come to me for help. I like it when a man has a reason to have a huge ego but doesn’t have one. It’s a good thing when people are more concerned about the world around them than what that world thinks of them. It’s also not as easy to manage as one would think. We’re all guilty of worrying about what everybody else thinks of us. And if your mouth and your brain don’t always have the greatest connection, like mine, then you’ve got reason to worry. Because, like me, you’re probably always offending somebody.
    â€œWhat do you think?” I asked him.
    â€œThis man was beaten terribly. I think he was beaten, then shot, then shoved in a box and dumped over the edge of the cliff. And I think whoever shot him was shooting at you and Eleanore, too.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œIt makes sense to me that when they saw you and Eleanore, they assumed you both had witnessed something.”
    I sat down then, feeling for the chair behind me. Stephanie disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a can of Dr Pepper. “Here, drink,” she said.
    I took a big gulp. “So, they were actually trying to kill us. Not just—they weren’t just hunters who got lost.”
    â€œI won’t know for sure until you take me out there and show me where you guys were when the shots were fired. I need to analyze the crime scene and collect evidence. But I think it’s a good assumption. In fact, those first few shots you heard may have even been the shots that killed Clifton Weaver.”
    â€œBut…” My blood ran cold and I found it difficult to form words.
    â€œPut your head between your knees,” Stephanie