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He looked at me. “What have you done up to this point when it came to crimes?”
Sicily hummed and tapped her fork on the rim of her bowl. “I don’t think we’ve had many crimes to report aside from petty theft or vandalism. Usually, that’s settled between the wronged parties, if it’s settled at all.” Sicily looked to me. “You’ve had to break up a few fights, haven’t you, Mama?”
“That’s an understatement.” I sighed and rubbed my head. “Before they started chasing crazies in the woods, Bud and I were as close to a town guard as we could get. Feuds didn’t last very long, but we’ve never had anything like arson before.”
“We don’t know that it’s arson,” Dean was quick to say.
“Right, but if it sounds like a duck, looks like a duck—”
“It could be a duck-man,” Sicily finished with a laugh.
I paused and watched Dean sink into his chair, stirring the leftover macaroni. I could see the tightness in his hands, a pained thought that creased along his brow. Something urgent started to aggravate my head and I leaned across the table, staring at Dean real serious like.
“Dean.” He jolted up to look at me. “You’re our only contact to people who could help us figure this mystery out. Are you sure there isn’tanyonein the precinct—anyonein Branson’s police agency—that can help us figure out what happened to Ethan Thatcher?”
There was a moment where all three of us were just staring at each other. Me at Dean, Dean’s glance flickering between us, and Sicily decidedly trying to pretend like she no longer existed. The tension was so thick, you could cut it, but I didn’t let up until I watched Dean shut his eyes, raise his hands, and rub his fingers hard against his temples.
“I guess…” His hands tightened on the edge of the table. “I can give Skye a call. She might have some insight we could use.”
Sicily grinned, looking relieved, but I didn’t share her reaction.
“Who’s Skye?” I asked, and I didn’t realize how low my voice had dropped until I opened my mouth. Dean shut his eyes again like he had a headache, but this time, he didn’t pause for as long.
“Skye,” he said, an air of finality to his voice, “is my daughter.”
Chapter Eight
That dinner table got very quiet.
Dean sat with his head in his hands, no façade hiding the regret and tension in his body. Sicily had all but disappeared, slumped so far down in her chair that she was practically under the table, but I hadn’t moved.
I was staring at the top of Dean’s head as if my eyes could crack it open and finally make his brain spill all the secrets that lurked inside. My back started to ache and, dully, I realized that every part of my body had tightened. It was like I’d gone into predator mode without knowing, and the only other time I entered that state of being was when I knew something was wrong.
“Your…daughter?” My voice wasn’t my own. I could feel it ringing in my head, crawling up from my vocal cords as if it was a separate being. I caught the subtlest of flinches from Dean’s shoulders as he nodded. “You didn’t… you didn’ttell me you had a daughter.”
“Yeah, well.” Unable to keep fiddling with his food, Dean was forced to sit back and fold his arms, meeting my gaze hesitantly. “I don’t really tell… anyone.”
“I can see that.”
My jaw began to ache with how hard my teeth were clamping together. The air had gone cold despite my above-boiling body heat, and I knew from the fact that he wouldn’t stop shifting, that Dean could feel it as well. Sicily cleared her throat and tentatively edged into the conversation, side-eying me with concern.
“Well, okay,” she said, “How—how would Skye be able to help us? Is she a criminology student, or—?”
“Graduated.” Dean swallowed and looked at her. “She’s an arson expert. Helped me out on some of those cases I was talking about back in the city. She works with the Branson police department, the forensics division. I could try and… ask her to meet with me so we could look at the evidence. See if she can find anything we couldn’t.”
As he spoke, he gave a hopeful glance to me, but at that point seeing his eyes just sent a burst of anger through my chest, so I stood up and started to clean. I swiped Sicily’s plate and Dean’s right out from under his hands and I could feel him watching me as I marched towards the sink—no doubt worried I’d smash them in the basin with how much force my feet hit the ground.
“Well, I think that’s a good idea.” I heard Sicily say, her voice twinged with false hope. “Maybe you can invite her to dinner. You and Mama could tell her what you found about the Thatcher place, see how far you two can get.”
There was a beat of silence and I took the chance to glance over my shoulder. To my surprise, the hesitance in Dean’s face wasn’t aimed at me, and he seemed to be having some kind of internal debate before he forced a straight face again. “Yeah, I can do that. I’ll give her a call tonight. I’ll get back to you two… in the morning.”
“That sounds perfect.” A chair scratched against the wood as Sicily stood, and then her voice became faster, a telltale sign of her ushering someone away. “It was really nice having you for dinner again, Sheriff. Make sure you let us know whatever happens and we’ll do the same.”
“Yeah, thank you,” Dean said as he stood and seemed a little confused by the fact that Sicily was obviously ushering him out.
“Oh, and Ol’ Ned had an update for you on the bat-man case if you’re interested,” she continued as she walked over to his jacket and hat, picking both up before handing them to him when he reached the front door. “Ol’ Ned said you can come by any time, but watch out for the bear traps in his front yard.”
“Great, I’ll head over there now, I guess,” Dean responded, still seeming surprised by Sicily’s obvious attempt to get rid of him.
