Rocky hesitated and looked at Devin. She felt as if her blood had suddenly turned to ice.
“I’m staying here—and I’ve made sure word of that’s gotten out around town. I’m going to ask a couple of the others to sleep here tonight, too, though I don’t want word of that to get out. I just don’t like the fact that it was one of Devin’s ancestors who was the first to die—and that someone tried to break in and burned a pentacle into her lawn.”
He’d just spoken when his phone rang. He answered, then frowned intensely as he listened.
He said goodbye and stood up. “I’m going to run out and meet Sam and Jenna at the bar. Judah says someone there is acting strangely, and he’s seen the guy several times before. Angela and Jane should be here any minute. Jack?”
“I wouldn’t dream of leaving,” Jack told him. He patted his holster. “I’ll shoot anyone who goes after Devin, I promise.”
“I’ll be quick,” Rocky said. “And just in case Jack isn’t as good an aim as he thinks, you’ve got that pepper spray, right, Devin?”
“In my room.”
“Go get it. Keep it on you.”
“Hell, Rocky, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Jack said.
“Rocky, go,” Devin said. “Jack and I are fine.”
“All right, but I’ll be back as soon as I can. Who the hell knows? Maybe I’ve been wrong all along and Judah Baker has just found our killer.”
20
Sam and Jenna were at the bar when Rocky arrived. It was quiet—the time of day after most stores closed and before the history tours started.
He couldn’t miss the man sitting at a back table talking to himself. There were stains on his unwashed plaid shirt that looked as if they could be blood—not fresh blood, but blood that had been there for a while.
“Where’s Devin?” Sam asked.
“With Jack Grail—waiting on Angela and Jane.”
Judah walked up to him. “You see him, right? He was in here both nights— At least, I’m pretty sure he was. I’m not that good with dates, but I think he was here the night Carly Henderson was killed and again when Hermione Robicheaux was here.”
“Thanks, Judah,” Rocky said. “You haven’t approached him yet, have you?” he asked Sam and Jenna.
“No, we were waiting for you,” Jenna said. “We just kept our eyes on him—made sure he stayed around.”
“Thanks,” Rocky said. “Judah, can you give me a club soda with lime?”
Judah quickly filled a glass, and Rocky took his drink and joined the unkempt man at his table. “Hello,” Rocky said.
Up close, the guy looked even more like a down-and-outer. He was at least seventy and had a stained white beard and haggard features. He was skinny, and wearing worn jeans along with the stained shirt. He was holding on to the beer he was slowly sipping as if it were liquid gold.
“Yeah, uh, hello,” the man said without meeting Rocky’s eyes.
“You look like you’re having a rough time of things,” Rocky said. “What’s your name?”
“Chris—Chris. Yeah, I’m Chris.”
“Craig Rockwell. My friends call me Rocky.”
The man nodded. “Rocky. Hey, Rocky.”
“Do you want something to eat? Looks like you could use a meal.”
Chris looked at him. “You’d do that for me?”
“Sure.”
Chris nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind a meal.”
Rocky turned and flagged down Brenda, who was just passing by. “Hey, Brenda—can we get this gentleman something? A hamburger? How about a hamburger, Chris?”
Chris nodded fervently.
“Sure thing,” Brenda said.
“Chris, I gotta tell ya, that looks like blood on your shirt. Are you hurt?”
“Hurt?” Puzzled, he looked at his shirt. “No...no. It must be from the knives.”
“The knives?”
Chris nodded. “I didn’t steal them—I swear it. I don’t steal. I found the knives, and then I sold one. That’s how I paid for this beer.”
“Might be better to buy food than beer, Chris,” Rocky said. “But tell me about the knives. How many knives? Where did you find them?”
“I still got two of them. Found them. Buried. Buried deep.”
“Buried where?”
“In the woods.”
“Which woods, Chris?”
“By that cottage—the fairy-tale one down the road a bit.”
Rocky felt his stomach churn. “You mean out off Derby?”
“Yeah, out off Derby.”
Rocky got his phone out of his pocket and pulled up the internet. He brought up a picture of an athame. “Chris, do the knives look like this?”
Chris nodded. “Yeah, almost. A little different.”
“Who did you sell the one knife to? It’s really important, Chris.”
Chris shook his head. “Some guy. Some guy on the street.”
“Thank you, Chris. How did you find the knives?”
“Not all nights. I try a lot of nights. But not all nights.”
“But on those nights, how do you know when to look?”