Page 65 of The Devil Knows Her Name

“Mm,” I said, thinking of the shape and size of the bones the fawn had coughed into my hand. “Coyote?”

“Well, that is the likely suspect. I don’t have to tell you how many cats get snatched up by coyotes every year.”

“But?”

“But I’ve never known one to leave a carcass behind. This cat was…” He grimaced, made a scattering motion. “All over the lawn.”

“So you think it was a person?”

“I think it was your damn fawn.”

I stopped and stared at him, incredulous that he would voice the thought. Even knowing it was the truth, it sounded insane to my ears. He came straight up to the bars, jammed an accusing finger through the gap.

“Don’t you look at me like that. They saw it. They saw it.”

“How do you expect me to believe you? Especially when she was locked in my house the entire fucking night? Not out in the barn, not out in some pen—in my house.”

“I am not the one who has to prove himself!” he shouted. “I am the chief of police! You prove yourself to me!”

The wrench felt so warm in my grasp, so eager. Is one not enough? I thought, but I knew the answer.

“Where is your warrant?” I asked simply, the words a cool counterpoint to the hot metal in my hand, the taste of hot metal in my mouth. “That’s all you need.”

“You and your goddamn warrants.”

“I didn’t write the law.”

“No, but you sure know your way around it.”

It would’ve been so easy. If I’d agreed to open the gate, he would’ve walked straight in, charged up the driveway, given me a clean shot at the back of his fat head. It would’ve been for the best.

But I did not open it.

He chuckled mirthlessly, turning as if he would walk away. When he reached the cruiser’s door, he turned back.

“I’m not sure why I’m bothering to ask, because you’ll just lie, but you haven’t seen Pastor Zeke in the past day or two, have you?”

“I have.”

“Oh? When?”

“He came by yesterday afternoon. We had a conversation just like you and I were having now.” I rattled the gate to make my point. “He wanted to talk about the sanctuary.”

“What about, in particular?”

“Told me I should be prepared to sell my land for the good of the town.”

“Sounds like you disagree.”

“Sounds like you agree.”

“Well, my opinion doesn’t factor in here.”

“You sure about that?”

His eyes narrowed. “Pretty sure. So he said you ought to sell. Then what?”

“I told him I have no intention of selling. I’ve lived here my entire life, and I’m not going anywhere.” I watched him carefully as I said it, waiting for a glimmer in his pig eyes, wondering if he knew about the deed now stuffed under my mattress. “He got pretty pissy, and I told him to leave.”