“I hate ravens,” Nate said.
Joe’s ears rang from the shot in the closed room, and he glowered at Nate.
“Uh-oh,” Nate said. “Look.”
The chair at the head of the table was knocked over. Nate approached it and picked up a red-stained steak knife from the floor next to it.
Joe began to walk around the table when he felt the soles of his boots stick to the floor. He looked down and recognized blood. There was a lot of it, and it hadn’t dried yet.
“I wonder who it was?” Nate asked.
Now Joe could smell it. The whole room smelled of blood.
But there was no body.
They quickly searched all the rooms of the house. It was empty.
As they slogged back to the boat, Joe felt a mounting sense of dread that made it hard to swallow. The river would take them to Arlen’s place next.
“Let’s go get my girls,” Joe said.
30
THE NEXT SET OF RAPIDS WAS NOT AS SEVERE AS THE big rollers they had been through, and although his arms were aching, Joe kept the boat straight and true and they shot through them without incident. The rain receded to a steady drizzle, although there was no break in the clouds. Because the sky was so dark, Joe couldn’t tell the time. He glanced quickly at his wristwatch as he rowed but it was filled with water and stuck at 8:34 A.M., the exact time the river had sucked him in.
Joe and Nate didn’t talk, each surrounded by his own thoughts. Joe contemplated what they would find at the lower ranch. If he let his mind wander off the oars to the fate of his girls he found it difficult to remain calm. Inside, his heart was racing and something black and cold lodged in his chest. As hard as he tried, though, the faces of Sheridan and Lucy at breakfast kept coming back to him.
He thought: No matter what, there will be hell to pay. THE RIVER NARROWED through two tall bluffs. Although there were no rapids, it was as if the current doubled in speed. Joe could feel wind in his face as they shot forward. The tiniest dip of an oar would swing the boat about in water this fast, so he steered as if tinkling the keys of a piano, lowering an oar blade an inch into the water to correct course.
As the river swept them along and the bluffs receded behind them, Joe started to recognize the country. To the left, a mile away, was a hill that looked like an elephant’s head. Joe had noted it when he brought Sheridan out to Julie’s. They were getting close.
The river widened. The tops of willows broke the surface of the water a third of the way to the edge where the river normally flowed. The thick river cottonwoods began to open up a little, allowing more muted light to fall on the surface of the water.
Because his feet and legs were numb, Joe didn’t notice at first that the boat was sinking. But when he looked down, he saw the water at his ankles. Somewhere, they had knocked more cracks or holes in the hull and the water was seeping in. He hoped they could get to the ranch before the boat filled again. He didn’t want to waste another minute dumping the boat.
Nate started to bail with a gallon bucket. It helped a little, but he was losing the battle.
They rounded a bend and the river calmed for the first time since they’d gotten in the boat. The roar of the water hushed to a whisper. Calves bleated just ahead. The ranch was near.
That’s when Joe saw her. She stood on a brushy hillside on the left side of the bank, hands on hips, thrusting her face out at them with an unfamiliar smile on her face. His mouth dropped open and he let the oars loose in an involuntary reaction.
“Joe, who is that?” Nate asked, pausing with the bucket in midbail.
“Opal,” Joe said, his voice cracking. “Opal Scarlett.”
This was the exact spot described by Tommy Wayman, Joe thought. She was there after all, had been there all along, just as he surmised.
Nate said, “Why in the hell is she standing out in the rain like that?”
“She’s watching the end play out,” Joe said.
“Jesus,” Nate said, screwing up his mouth in distaste.
“Opal!” Joe called out, raising his hand. “Opal!”
She didn’t react. As they passed her, she didn’t turn her head and follow them, but stared stonily at the river.
“She couldn’t hear you,” Nate said.
“How could she not?”
“She’s old and probably deaf. And definitely crazy,” Nate said in awe.
“She’s been here all along,” Joe said, his mind numb.
THEY BEACHED THE boat on the bank with the water level inside just a foot below the sides of the boat. Another ten minutes in the water and the boat would have gone under.
Joe and Nate leaped out, leaving the boat to settle into the mud.
“Should we go talk to Opal? Find out what she knows?” Nate asked, looking from Joe to the ranch compound ahead and back. He was deferring to Joe, a new thing.
“Later,” Joe said. “I don’t want to waste time chasing her down. We can find her after we’ve checked out the buildings. Sheridan and Lucy have to be here.”
Nate gave him a look. How could he be so sure?
Joe didn’t acknowledge it. He just felt they were near.
The side of a fresh embankment had collapsed into the river from the rain. Something stuck out of the dirt of the wall, something long, horizontal, and metal. Nate approached it and rubbed mud away. It was the bumper of a car. Someone had used a front-end loader to bury it.
“Cadillac,” Nate said, rubbing the mud away from the logo.
“Opal’s car,” Joe said. “She buried it so everyone would think she drove away.”
“Why would she do that?”
Joe thought for a moment. “So she could see who won.”
AS THEY APPROACHED Arlen’s house, Joe’s insides were churning and he tried to swallow but couldn’t. He glanced down at the gun in his hand and saw it shaking.
“I’ll take the front,” Nate said. “You come in the back.”
“If you see Keeley,” Joe said, “shoot first.”
“Not a problem,” Nate said.
As they parted, Nate reached out and grabbed Joe’s arm.
“Are you okay to do this?”
Joe said, “Sure.”
“Stay cool.”
JOE KEPT A row of blooming lilac bushes between him and the side of the house as he jogged around toward the back. As at Hank’s house, he could see no lights on inside or any sign of life. A calf bawled in the distance from a holding pen. Drizzle flowed softly through the leaves of the trees and running water sang through the downspouts of the house.
He stepped over a low fence and into the backyard. There was a porch and a screen door. The door was unlocked and he opened it as quietly as he could and stepped inside a dank mudroom. Heavy coats lined the walls and a dozen pairs of boots were lined up neatly on the floor.
The mudroom led to the huge kitchen where Sheridan had described seeing Arlen and Bill Monroe together. Joe skirted the island counter and stood on the side of the opening that went into the family room.
There was an acrid mix of smells in the home—chemicals Joe couldn’t identify, years of cooking residue on the walls, and a sharp metallic smell that took him back to Hank’s dining room: blood.
Holding his weapon out in front of him, he wheeled around the opening into the dining room and saw the Legacy Wall facing him. All the pictures were smashed and some had falled to the floor.
Furniture was overturned. A china cabinet was on its side, spilling coffee cups and plates across the floor. A wild spray of blood climbed the Legacy Wall and onto the ceiling. A pool of blood stained the carpet on the floor. It was a scene of horrendous violence.