He waits until she’s upstairs, the bedroom door crashing shut, before turning back to me. “Go on now. What calf, Clay?”
“This morning I ran over a calf with the combine. And then the Wiggins kid said something about it this afternoon.”
“The Wiggins kid?” He glances around the room, his eyes locking on the gun belt hanging by the back door, and I know exactly what he’s thinking.
“Look, I’m not crazy and I’m not doing meth, the calf was there. It was real. I don’t know how … or why, but when I came back from school to dig it out of the cutting blades, it was gone.”
He gives me an exasperated look.
“I know what it sounds like, but tonight, I woke up from a nightmare—”
“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. So, you had a nightmare.”
“No, I woke up from the nightmare and when I went to shut my window, I saw a glow coming from the Neely ranch.”
“A glow?” he repeats, one eyebrow raised.
“Yeah, they lit a bunch of candles in the breeding barn.”
He clasps his hands tight in front of him, resting them on the table. “I know you and Ali were close at one time, and I know you and Tyler have your issues, but his daddy owns the ranch. Not against the law to entertain on your own property.”
“Entertain?” I struggle to find my next words. “Ali crawled out of a dead cow’s stomach … naked … covered in blood.”
He leans back in his chair, which creaks so loudly I think it might snap in two. His mouth stretches into a thin grim line. “Tell you what, I’ll give Ali’s folks a call first.”
I take in a deep breath. “That’s a start.”
He gets out the directory; it’s painful watching him find the M’s and then scan each name.
“631-0347.” I call out her number, my knee bouncing up and down like a jackhammer. “And I want it on speakerphone.”
Sheriff gives me a weary look, but complies. The volume’s low, but I can hear each agonizing ring until someone finally picks up.
“Hello?” Mr. Miller answers, groggily.
“Charlie, it’s Ely. Sorry to bother you like this, but I’ve got Clay Tate over here, and he claims he saw your daughter out at the Neely ranch tonight. That she might be in some kind of trouble.”
“Not this again.” Mr. Miller yawns. “We went to the football dinner at the Preservation Society and then she went straight to bed.”
“Tell him to check her room,” I whisper.
Ely shushes me. “Would you mind just checking her room for me? Put the boy’s mind at ease.”
“What’s going on?” I hear Mrs. Miller ask in the background.
“Fine.” Mr. Miller sighs as he puts the phone down. I can hear the springs creak as he gets out of bed.
I stare at the Elvis clock mounted on the wall above Sheriff Ely’s head. Each sway of his hips equals a second. Each one slower than the last.
“We’re wasting time,” I whisper as I edge forward on my seat. “God only knows what’s going on out there now. Their eyes were black and the—”
“Snug as a bug,” Mr. Miller says as he comes back on the line. “Like I said, sleeping like a baby since ten.”
I bolt out of my chair so fast it topples. “That’s impossible. I just saw her.”
“Little advice,” Mr. Miller says. “Unless he’s ready to join the council, you better keep him away from the Preservation Society. Kid’s a loose cannon, just like his dad and you—”
“Thanks for checking,” Sheriff interrupts as he fumbles to take it off speakerphone. “You have a good night now.”
He hangs up and looks at me. I know that look. Pity.
“He’s in on it. Don’t you see that?” I start pacing again. “My dad found something. Something they don’t want me to see. My dad must’ve said something to you. You were best friends. You have to help me.”
“Clay.” Sheriff stands, planting his hand firmly on my shoulder. “I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but your dad came over here ranting and raving about the same types of things on the night he died. Said he had to stop the evil before it was born. After he hacked up every pregnant cow on that ranch, he ripped off his own fingernails trying to pry open that stainless steel door to get at Neely’s prize bull. Whether it was drugs, schizophrenia, or whatever, he was seeing things … violent things that weren’t real. He kept talking about the seed, the sixth generation, a golden calf, a prophecy, and sacrifices. He kept going on about some secret room at the Preservation Society. All kinds of crazy things.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this? I came to you before—”
“My point is”—he tightens his grip—“unless you want to end up just like him or at Oakmoor, I suggest you get your ducks back in a row. You’ve got your mom and sisters to look after now. Don’t you think they’ve suffered enough?”
Feeling completely gutted, I think of Noodle in that white eyelet dress she insisted on wearing to Dad’s funeral, because it was his favorite. She held my face in her hands and said, “We pick what we want to remember and I pick good.”