Miah was holding his mother. Her face was buried against his neck, her shoulders hitching uncontrollably. Miah was crying as well, his voice breaking as he spoke to her. Vince was standing by the sink with his arms crossed, and he motioned for Casey to follow him and strode for the door.
“They need space,” he said, heading for the den.
“They found the body?” Casey whispered, sitting on the coffee table when Vince took the couch.
He nodded. “Beside the tractor he’d been working on. One of the investigators said it started from diesel, and maybe Don had got caught up in it, if he’d spilled some on his clothes, or had grease on him or something. Nothing conclusive. That’s all they said about it.”
Spilled? Doused, more like. “Autopsy?”
“Still going on. They only came to say he’d passed.”
“Does anybody need to go downtown to ID him?”
“Thank fuck, no. I guess they had enough to go on.”
Casey nodded, and in a breath, the heft of the news came down on him. “Fucking shit. This can’t actually be happening, can it?”
Vince didn’t say anything, just stared ahead and exhaled slowly. A deep and cutting pang of guilt sank between Casey’s ribs, as he tried to imagine having been here when the news about Alex had broken. Fortuity had always been quiet. If somebody died, it was of old age or maybe cancer, or drunk driving, or some freak hunting accident. This place was no stranger to fights and domestic violence, but murder? Alex had been the first—or rather, technically the second, though the undocumented worker whose bones had caused so much trouble last year hadn’t been uncovered until a few months later. Sheriff Tremblay had been killed in his cell after his involvement in Alex’s death had come to light—number three. Now Don made four. Though Casey supposed this latest one couldn’t be blamed on the casino.
He was poised to ruminate on the thought, but Vince spoke. “The fire crews have all cleared out. Once it’s dark, we get to work. I’ll keep watch; you do your thing.”
Casey shook his head. Above them, he caught the far-off chime of Abilene’s phone. “I’ll go alone. It’s less conspicuous that way.”
Vince looked dubious, but nodded. “What will you need?”
“Not much.” Maybe a tarp to cut up and tape around his feet, to keep his treads covered. There wasn’t much he could do about clothing fibers on short notice, plus at least a dozen people had been tromping through the debris already. He’d draw his hood and don some gloves and call it good enough. His primary concern just now wasn’t covering his own ass, but finding out how this had happened, and more importantly, by whose hand.
“I have to get home soon,” Vince said, glancing at his phone. “I’ll check on Miah one more time; then I’m off. But if you change your mind and decide you want a lookout, call me. I could come out after midnight.”
“I won’t, but thanks.”
Vince frowned and pocketed his cell. “Lemme know if you find anything.”
“I will. And you better stop at the gas station and buy yourself some mints or something. You smell like an ashtray.”
“Call me,” Vince reiterated as he got up and headed for the kitchen. Casey listened as the voices there rose and mellowed, then to the footsteps, then the click and hush of the front doors as Vince saw himself out.
He glanced at the ceiling, wondering what Abilene was up to. Who had called her. But just then the guest room door popped open, and she emerged. She peered down into the den, eyebrows rising as their gazes met. He watched her make her way down the steps silently in her socks, the baby apparently left in her crib.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey. I have a favor to ask.”
“Okay.” Yes, please—any goddamn thing to keep him busy until late tonight.
“Raina called. She tried you first, but you didn’t answer.”
“I think my phone’s in my car. What’s going on?”
“She wanted to see if one of us could bartend with Duncan, so she could come see Miah.”
Of course. They might be exes, but they’d been friends far longer. “I can go in,” he offered. “I couldn’t stay until close, but until midnight or so.”
“She was just hoping for a couple hours. I could go, too. I’d like to, actually, if you could watch Mercy. Until ten, maybe?”
He nodded. “Sure.” The bar might be good for her, just now.
“She ate a half hour ago, and I just changed her, so she should be fine, apart from maybe wanting some attention.”
“I’m on it.”
“Thanks. And I’m sure Raina would say the same.”
He tailed her upstairs, hefting the baby from the crib while Abilene got her shoes on, then followed her back down to the den.
“Thanks again,” she said, finding her keys in her purse.
“Anytime. Have fun,” he added, though the sentiment sounded awful stupid the moment it left his lips.
She offered a weak smile and left him alone with Mercy. He struggled to imagine how on earth so many things could have happened in the past thirty hours. Two confessions—one of feelings, one of past crimes—then a breakup, an awkward breakfast, the eclipse, the fire. Soon, a night spent prowling around a dark murder scene.
He took a seat on the couch and got the baby comfortable, then switched on the TV and turned the volume down.
“You’re awful lucky you won’t remember any of this,” he told Mercy, passing over the news stations until he found a channel playing an old western.
She also won’t remember Don, he thought. He’d held her only once or twice, and somewhat reluctantly, but he’d also given her a home for a time, and the protection of his family.
“You missed out on knowing a real good man,” Casey told her. “As good as they come.” He felt tears welling then, and blinked them away.
Chapter 26
Casey passed a quiet evening. Raina arrived about an hour after Abilene had departed, accompanied by the smell of pizza. That drew him off the couch, and he carried Mercy to the kitchen to join the world’s most miserable dinner party.
“I didn’t think any of you would feel like cooking,” Raina was saying, setting three large white boxes on the counter as Casey entered. She cast him a lame smile. There were a lot of those going around today.
The meal was somber, and after perhaps forty minutes, Miah asked to be left alone with his mom. Casey and Raina excused themselves, finished their beers in the den, then bid each other a heavy good night. Abilene returned not long after and retired upstairs with the baby.
Casey waited until midnight, until he couldn’t sit still any longer. He had a Maglite in his trunk, and he fetched it, stowed it in his pocket. With an idle thought about criminals returning to the scene, he got his pistol as well. He couldn’t think where to find a tarp without looking suspicious himself, creeping around in the dark, but he did nab some extra-thick trash bags from under the sink and took two of those and a roll of duct tape with him, plus a pair of rubber dish gloves.
It was a dark night, the moon out of sight. Darker than it had been during the eclipse. A million times quieter, with a million stars now glittering above. He gave the bunks and stables a wide berth, hugging the fence that bordered the road. If anybody asked what he was doing . . . Shit, he had no fucking plan. Pretend he was drunk, maybe. He’d spent years caring about nothing more than covering his own ass, but just now, it was way too hard to give a shit.
The barn was in near darkness, with just the weakest trickle of light making it over from the bunkhouse windows. There was yellow tape up, but nothing more. To most people this looked like the scene of a tragic accident.
Lucky them, Casey thought, weary to the marrow with all the death that had begun skulking around his hometown.
He sat on the dirt, taped two layers of heavy plastic around each foot, and donned the gloves. Switched the flashlight on but kept it trained low, mere centimeters from the ground.