At this, Lloyd’s attention sharpened. He squinted at Reed and his father. “There isn’t a troop five-twenty-nine.”
“See. That’s what I thought,” the woman said, proudly crossing her arms.
“Like I said, we’re from across the city,” Reed’s father repeated, but his voice no longer held the same conviction. Something oily slid through Reed. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
“Who’s your scoutmaster?” Lloyd asked.
“Doug Waverly,” Reed’s dad replied, looking less confident by the second. “You wouldn’t know him.”
“Oh, I would,” Lloyd said, stepping out onto the porch, “because I’m the district commissioner for all the Midland troops, and I’m telling you we don’t have a troop five-twenty-nine.” His attention fell to the pamphlet clutched in Reed’s hand. “And we don’t have any scouts doing donation drives, either.”
“Okay, well it must be a misunderstanding, then. We’ll be on our way.” His father took a step back, pulling Reed after him.
The woman pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Just what kind of business are you two up to?”
Reed felt his father bristle. “Nothing, ma’am,” his dad said. “Thanks for your time.”
“I don’t think so,” the woman said. “You better believe I’m going to look into this.”
“You go on and do that,” his dad said, then lowered his voice. “Bitch.”
Lloyd’s face, which until this moment had carried a look of mild annoyance, flashed to something darker. “What’d you say?”
Don’t,Reed thought, peering up at his dad.Please.
He took hold of his dad’s wrist and tugged him toward the street. But his father remained right where he stood. He didn’t even look at Lloyd, simply stared past him at the woman, who was staring right back at Reed’s dad the way Reed’s mother used to before she laid into him.
“I said …” Reed’s father drew the word out. “That your wife is a fuckingbitch.”
Lloyd snarled. Reed had only seen his father in a fight once—at a pop warner football game when his dad had cursed at the ref after abad call. Another dad told him to knock it off, and Reed’s dad said to make him. So the man tried. Sure, Reed’s dad took his share of licks, but he gave more than he got, and the blows he landed were dirty—scratching, biting, kicking the guy in the nuts. Nothing was off limits. So, Reed didn’t doubt his dad would be able to handle himself against this man, either, even though Lloyd looked to be six inches taller as he shot forward and swung his arm.
Smooth as an eel, Reed’s dad slipped to the side and ducked. Lloyd’s punch hit nothing but air. And then his dad was on the guy—hammering a fist into Lloyd’s stomach before swinging around him and leaping onto his back. His teeth sank into the man’s neck like a vampire’s. Lloyd barked in surprise and heaved himself backward, slamming Reed’s dad into the front of the house with a crunch and a loud whoosh of air.
He slid down the wall looking dazed as Lloyd stumbled forward. The collar of his shirt was drenched in blood, his face white.
The woman shrieked, had been shrieking this entire time. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”
For a moment, Reed thought they would. But then his father rose with a wild light in his eyes. Blood stained his lips. His fists were bunched. He rushed Lloyd and took flight, spearing Lloyd in the gut with his shoulder. They toppled together in a lazy, slow-motion arc. When the back of Lloyd’s head connected with the cement walk it sounded like an eggshell cracking. The only thing Reed heard after that was the woman’s screams.
Chapter 24
BAILEY
Ben rings the doorbell. When no one answers, he hammers on the Nashes’ door with his fist.
“No one’s home,” I mutter, turning to leave.
He stops knocking and glares at me, his eyes pinning me in place as the faint sound of heels clicking comes from inside. A moment later, the door swivels open to reveal a woman with a face like a bird’s. I recognize her from the photo I saw of Evelyn’s funeral. Paula Nash has a nose like a hawk and eyes that are sharp and clear. Her brown hair is pulled into a tight bun on top of her head, and she has high-waisted cotton trousers on that run down to a pair of calfskin leather boots. She looks immaculate, like she’s just stepped off the pages ofElle.But the dark circles under her eyes don’t match her outfit.
She blinks at us in confusion. “Can I help you?”
“Hello, Mrs. Nash,” Ben says, offering his hand. “I’m Ben Allison from Vertex. We’re here to discuss your kitchen remodel.”
“Oh … right. I forgot that was today. I’m afraid now isn’t a good time.”
“I can assure you it will only take a few minutes,” Ben says, pressing closer.
I eye him warily.
