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Walking beside me, Kimberly is doing her best to mentally note all the various outbuildings, while appearing to look at nothing at all. Neither Walt nor I are fooled. We are a curious little trio of mutual suspicion. Plus, we all share Jacob. And I guess, if Walt is truly to be believed, we all had our reasons for wanting Jacob dead.
Walt takes up position in a hard wooden chair on his front porch. It seems to be his vantage point of choice—where he can sit and survey his kingdom. This forces Kimberly and me to perch on the broken-down love seat wedged across from him, with our backs to the yard. Kimberly is definitely uncomfortable. I didn’t like it yesterday, and I don’t like it now.
Most serial predators are eventually caught due to their own arrogance. The more misdeeds they survive, the more careless they grow. I wonder if the same is true for vigilantes.
“Do you know Howard and Martha Counsel of the Mountain Laurel inn?” I ask Walt.
He shrugs. “Mayor Howard? Everyone knows him.”
“Martha was found hanged yesterday. And today, one of the maids from the B and B was left hanging outside our motel. She hadn’t just been murdered. Someone worked her over with a knife beforehand.”
Walt’s expression doesn’t change. Neither do his hands move from the shotgun resting on his lap. “These woods are a scary place,” he says at last.
I lean forward, stare at him intently. “The trees might scream at night, Walt. But trees don’t murder young women. Men do. Men like Jacob.”
“Jacob’s dead.”
“But this town isn’t settled. These mountains, the forest, the community. There are bodies and bones everywhere. You’re not living in the wild, Walt. You’re living on a graveyard.”
Walt gazes off. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Or maybe what he’s hearing—the wind howling, girls screaming? Clever and crazy. An old man who by his own admission fried his brain with drugs and alcohol years ago. Still, I think he knows more than he’s telling. But I’m also willing to believe even he’s not sure what’s real anymore.
Isolation can play tricks on the mind. Something Walt and I both understand well.
“Talk to me,” I murmur. “You and me, Walt. Talk, and I will listen.”
Beside me, Kimberly doesn’t move. If she approves or disapproves of my approach, I have no idea. But she’s still letting me take the lead, and I appreciate the show of confidence.
“Counsels are high and mighty,” Walt says at last.
“You met them?”
“Town this small? Can hardly avoid knowing each other.”
“The Counsels are the ones who told us to look you up. They said you were crazy, maybe even violent. They blamed you for the bodies in the woods.”
Walt shrugs. “People blame me for a lotta things. Makes it easier on them.”
Kimberly spoke up for the first time. “Do you think Mayor Howard is the violent type? Could he have killed his own wife?”
“Nah. Howard’s just a talker. Doesn’t have the stomach for real action.”
“Someone is killing people around here.”
Again, Walt doesn’t speak right away.
“You deliver your microgreens to Atlanta yourself, Walt?” I ask innocently.
For the first time his hand twitches on the barrel of his shotgun. “Most times.”
“Ever bring anything back?”
“Like what?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t do bad things anymore. Told you that yesterday. Woods set me straight.”
My turn to shrug. “Lots of people swear to reform. To give up violence, rage, the need to just... tap off some of that darkness inside. It’s hard to do. I know, Walt, I know.”
