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He flipped the safety on his pistol and tucked it into his waistband. Then, crouching low, he ran around the side of the barn and dropped down beside the wounded arsonist.
“Help me,” he said, reaching out his hand. “I’ve been shot.”
“Where?”
“My leg,” he said. “Get me out of here before he shoots again.”
“Hold onto my hand; I’m going to drag you around and into the barn, where you’ll be safe until help arrives.”
Gerard gripped the man’s wrist and, staying low, dragged him around the side of the barn.
Before he reached the door, it was flung open.
Bernie stood just inside, moving back to allow him to get the man through the door.
“Sheriff’s on the way,” she said.
When he cleared the threshold, she shut the door and turned on the lights. She twisted the lock and turned to the man on the ground.
Her eyes widened. “Billie Joe Weems, what the ever-loving hell?”
Billie Joe closed his eyes. “I needed the money,” he said. “God, my leg hurts.”
Bernie and Gerard bent to examine the wound.
It was bleeding but not profusely.
“Seems to have missed the arteries,” Gerard said. “You’ll probably live.”
Billie Joe moaned. “It hurts.”
“You’re lucky that match blew out,” Gerard said, “or you’d have been lying in the middle of all that gasoline when it burst into flame.”
“I’ll get some towels.” Bernie spun away.
Gerard reached out and grabbed her arm. “Not if it means crossing the barnyard again.”
She shook her head. “I keep clean rags out here in case I need them.” Bernie disappeared into the little office in the corner of the barn and reappeared moments later with several old towels.
Gerard pressed a towel to the wound on the man’s leg, applying enough pressure to slow the bleeding. “So,” he said, “spill it. Who put you up to burning down Ms. Bellamy’s barn?”
“It wasn’t my idea to burn down the barn,” he said, writhing in pain.
“Whose idea was it?” Bernie asked. “You’re already in trouble. You might as well take down whoever put you up to it.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” the young man whined.
“What way was it supposed to be,” Gerard demanded, pushing a little harder.
Billie Joe grimaced. “I was just supposed to let the pigs out to eat the watermelons. That’s all. I wasn’t supposed to burn no barn or get shot.”
“Start from the beginning,” Bernie said.
“He paid me to open the gate of the pigpen. The pigs were supposed to get out and eat the watermelons so Ms. Bellamy couldn’t sell them.”
“Only Penelope was loose, and the gate was closed,” Bernie said.
“I left it open. They didn’t all come running out. I left after the one ran out, figuring the rest would follow.” He grimaced, sweat popping out on his face.
