Page 17 of The Devil Knows Her Name

“There must be someplace in town that already has a volunteer program,” Zeke said.

“Sure,” I agreed awkwardly. “No shortage of people or places around here that need help.”

There was a long, brittle moment of silence. Finally, David said, “Didn’t you need to ask Tess about the squirrels in the attic, Dad?”

The boy’s tone was mild, but there was a belligerent glint in his eye as he said it. Zeke chuckled harshly, shaking his head. “My son seems to think we should call a ‘professional’ just because we have some rodents in the attic. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I think it’s overkill to go calling someone when I can just buy some traps at the hardware store. I’m sure you have bigger fish to fry than some squirrels, right?”

I’d heard some variation of this spiel dozens, maybe hundreds of times, but it never failed to rankle me. People—men, really—only seemed to think it was a matter of skill or self-sufficiency rather than the life or death of an animal.

“Pest removal is actually a huge part of what I do,” I said evenly. “Squirrels, rats, possums, bats, you name it. I can take in whole families and make sure they relocate successfully.”

Zeke frowned. “Isn’t that a waste? The town is paying you a salary to relocate squirrels? Why not have them call an exterminator, bring in a business?”

Even with as long as I’d been in Burrsville, I got this question a lot. In fact, it wasn’t uncommon for people to confess I was their second call, and they’d only looked up animal control once they realized the nearest exterminator wouldn’t make the drive out in the time frame they were hoping for.

“Exterminators love to tell people they’re relocating animals because they know it makes them feel better, but it’s bullshit,” I said. “Animals can’t magically find food, water, or shelter in a place they’ve never been before, so when the Orkin guy comes and traps a couple raccoons, drives them ten miles out of town, and dumps them, they’re as good as dead. In fact, it would be kinder if he put them down. Half the time, they’re already injured and dehydrated because those guys don’t check the traps often enough, and the animals don’t know where to find food or water. If they’re lucky, a coyote will grab them before they have to starve to death. People say, ‘Oh, at least they have a chance,’ but they don’t have a chance. Successful rehabilitation and relocation takes time and effort.”

“Well, then it sounds like we agree—the better option is to put them down. They’re not pets, they’re not even endangered. It’s a waste.”

“Why would it be a waste to relocate squirrels but not, for instance, a bear? It’s a hell of a lot cheaper to rehabilitate and relocate squirrels.”

“Maybe it’s a waste for a bear too.”

“Not sure you’d feel that way if you found one in your backyard.”

“In that case, I think I’d just shoot it.”

The nervous shake in my hands disappeared. My trembling muscles stilled and cooled, and the shifting, unsettled pieces of my mind slid back into place. This man wasn’t Norman, but I knew him anyway; I’d met him a hundred times, a thousand times, and he was always the same. His was always the same brand of cruelty, as commonplace as a dandelion, and yet he always expected I would reel back in shock at his hard-boiled masculinity.

I smiled nastily, meeting his gaze with my own flinty stare. “I’m sure Chief Broder would have something to say about you discharging a firearm in the village.”

There was another beat of brittle silence; David was breathing quick, anxious breaths. Finally, Zeke forced a laugh.

“Well, all hypothetical anyway.”

“Of course,” I said, “but in a very real sense, a big part of my job is animal cruelty and poaching. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d love to see this quilt your wife was talking about—it must really be something.”

I walked out of the room without waiting for Zeke’s answer, catching a glimpse of David as I did. He looked almost frightened, but his eyes were shining.

I found my friends and Sharon a few rooms away, in a space dominated by a massive old sewing machine and littered with fabric scraps and snips of thread. Rachel was hovering over a pattern book with Sharon and Evelyn, but I entered to find her already staring at me, as if she’d been tuned in to my conversation with Zeke. I took Christine’s elbow and murmured my apologies, saying I needed to get back to the sanctuary.

“Oh, well, thanks for coming, Tess! Always great to see you.”

Everyone else looked up and chorused their goodbyes, and I met Rachel’s eyes. “Welcome to Burrsville,” I said. “If you need any help with the squirrels in the attic, you give me a call, okay?”

“Well, that’s up to my husband, of course,” she said, and the disapproval dripped thicker than unset concrete. “I imagine he’ll take care of it himself.”

I left the house before I lost my temper, only to be met with the sight of Broder’s black-and-white in the driveway. He was stepping out as I came down the porch stairs, and his face immediately hardened. I recognized the look, the expression of a man who knew he was angry but didn’t exactly know why.

“Hey, Tess, didn’t expect to see you here,” he said casually, almost hiding the stiffness in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m part of the welcome wagon, but you know how it is—duty calls.”

“Sure, yeah. So what ended up happening with that fawn from the other day?”

I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant, but I didn’t want him thinking too hard about it, so I said, “Oh, nothing at all. She came home with me and she’s been settling in.”

“You haven’t had any problems with her?”