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Charlie turned to me, eyes unblinking. “Hank was murdered, wasn’t he?”
There was no use lying to him. My gut was telling me all I really needed to know.
“Yes, I think Hank was murdered.”
18
Charlie Marsh
“Yes, I think Hank was murdered,” Austin said. His words were loud and clear, even over the general chaos of the surprisingly crowded police station.
Except all I could hear was, “You’re next. You’re next. You’re next.”
I filled my lungs with air. I couldn’t even really call it a breath. A breath implies relaxation and calm and life. This was a panic-breath, like all the oxygen molecules had been replaced by tiny buzzing particles of pure and unfiltered dread.
Austin must have read it on my face. He reached for my hands and grabbed them in his. A long-buried piece of me bristled at the public display, but I pushed that part away, focusing instead on the comfort that Austin’s touch brought me. He looked into my eyes, and the scummy police station instantly disappeared, creating a world with only the two of us in it.
“Don’t freak out, Char. You’ve got me, and I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
“I’m not freaked out,” I lied, making it obvious with the weak laugh I offered up.
The heavy door across the room buzzed and flew open, much faster than the last few times. Keys jangled together with heavy boot steps that sounded like gunshots.
“Austin Romero?”
It was Sheriff Giles Pope, pulling us right out of the peaceful little world we had spontaneously created for ourselves in the corner of this chaotic environment. He had his arms crossed against his barrel chest and had his beady black eyes pinned on Austin, his face bloated and leathery from too much beer and sun. A silver Rolex glinted on his wrist, catching my attention as he dropped his hand to casually relax it on his holster.
I never had any good memories of the guy, and I was positive of that even though I had a seven-year gap. He walked around Blue Creek as if he owned the place and loved flaunting his wealth, which had caused years of endless speculation and gossip. No one really knew how he made so much money, although the dominant rumor was that he had been smart at playing the stock market.
“Sheriff Pope,” Austin said. I watched as the two lions squared up, standing with stiff backs and strong shoulders, chests aimed directly at the other. Austin, in a sign of peace, offered a hand to shake. The sheriff let it hang in the air for an uncomfortable length of time, but right before Austin pulled back, the sheriff reached for his hand and shook.
“Welcome back to Blue Creek, Austin.” He spoke with a tone that held zero welcome in it. “What do you want?”
“I want to work together so we can close cases, specifically Hank’s recent death, but I already got word you were against that. Why?”
“Because I don’t need any help here. Outsiders only make things more complicated, eh? And you, my friend, are an outsider. It doesn’t matter that I helped your mom when she was in that car accident or that your stepdad and I would golf on some weekends. You left, and you should have stayed gone.”
My eyes narrowed at that. “We’re just trying to help.”
“No one here is helping,” Sheriff Pope hissed, eyes still on Austin. I noticed he would look to me, but he was definitely talking to me now. “Hank’s case is closed, and this conversation is over. So if you two had any common sense left, you’d both get the fuck out of my station.”
Okay, it wasn’t a surprise the sheriff was a walking douche-canoe, but the anger underneath his words was surprising. His knuckles were pale from how tight he was gripping onto his gun belt. Something was really getting to him. Was it having a competing investigator in town that made the sheriff’s ears whistle with steam? Was he just jealous of how attractive and smart and funny and talented Austin was? Maybe he thought Austin was coming for his gig.
Whatever the situation was, it definitely wasn’t getting resolved now, and Austin seemed to think the same thing. He matched the intensity that radiated off Sheriff Pope, not breaking eye contact for even a second.
“I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Sheriff, with or without your help.”
“You’ll get to the bottom of something all right.”
That made my eyebrows snap up. “Is that a threat?” I asked, the shock making me speak when it was probably smarter for me to do the opposite.
He didn’t answer me, just chewed on his cheek and stared at Austin, who stared back before finally breaking his gaze and turning it toward me. “Let’s go, Char.” We walked out of that police station with our heads high but our questions multiplied. I could feel the sheriff’s stare on my back as if he were walking us out himself with a pair of knives held against our spines.
