I HEAD straight for the combine. I can’t bear to go inside the house and face Mom, Noodle, and Jess—not after everything that’s happened.
I try to call Miss Granger again, but it goes straight to voice mail. “Damn it,” I yell, as I shake my phone. I feel like I’m going crazy. Of course Dale’s called like a million times. I guess he hasn’t heard about Jimmy’s death yet, because all he wants are details on Ali. Heard we got caught making out in the Hell House. I swear, this town … nothing stays buried for long.
As I crank up the combine, I try to erase the image of Jess on that cot, staring back at me like she knew what was coming and she didn’t care, like she’d already given up on herself … and me. Jimmy kneeling at the altar … Noodle giving me the “gift” in my dream … the doll … the calf.… the clouds … the sound of the combine grinding through the wheat … the feel of the wheel in my hands pulsing like the tendon in Jimmy’s neck—everything seems to be a reminder.
The wheat has always been an escape for me, a sanctuary, but now it feels like a prison, like it’s closing in around me.
As I near the fence line of the Neely ranch, I make a wide turn. I’m working my way back toward the house when I spot a cloud of dust moving down our drive. Hopefully it’s Miss Granger, because we really have to talk. I’m nearly back to the equipment shed when I spot a tan cowboy hat bobbing up and down through the wheat. My heart withers in my chest. I know that hat. Belongs to Sheriff Ely. And it’s not some fake nod at being country—he is country.
I turn off the combine and wait. I try Miss Granger one last time, but she doesn’t pick up.
Pushing my hair back from my face, I readjust my cap, trying to remember what she told me at the church. Act normal. Don’t say anything.
“Looking good,” Sheriff says as he scans the crops. “You’re not using the same pattern as your dad.”
“Nope.” I try to act casual, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to have the sheriff standing on my land, shooting the shit after I just fled a murder scene. “Just using the force, I guess.”
“Is that right?” He puts his boot up on the tread of the combine, and all I can think about is the calf. I wonder if there’s any blood spatter underneath that tread. “I just wanted to come over here … chat a bit.” He looks up at me, eyes like a coyote, luring me into some kind of trap.
“It’s terrible what happened to Jimmy,” I say, as I reluctantly climb down out of the safety of the combine.
“Yep. Never seen anything like it.” He breaks off a shaft of wheat, sticks it in his mouth, and walks around the combine until he’s facing the Neely ranch. “Not the worst thing I’ve seen. You either.” He glances back at me, trying to size me up. “But this was strange. We had that case a few years back when Mrs. Timmons tried to give her husband that botched vasectomy after he’d passed out from another night of tomcattery. But never seen anyone do it to themselves before.”
“What?” My throat goes bone dry.
I can feel him studying me, which makes me even more self-conscious. “Coroner came, said Jimmy did it himself. And his prints were all over the keys. Must’ve swiped them from the reverend at the Harvest Festival. Damndest thing.” His steely blue eyes dig into me. “Do you know what might make Jimmy Doogan do something like that?”
I swallow hard, thinking about him standing over my sister, my hands around his throat last night squeezing the life out of him. “No.” I look down at the decimated wheat under my feet. “Can’t imagine.”
“Hmm…” There’s a long pause, but I don’t dare look at him. “See, I heard there was a little scuffle at the Preservation Society last night.”
I press my lips together so I won’t blurt out anything stupid.
“Heard he was getting fresh with your sister—”
“Who told you that?” A flash of anger rises up inside of me. I don’t want to bring Jess into this. Don’t want anybody talking about her even more than they already did.
“Doesn’t matter.” Ely shrugs, but he’s still watching my every move. “You’re not in any trouble, Clay. Neither’s Jess. I’m just trying to get the full picture.”
“A lot of people were pissed at Jimmy last night,” I say as I pretend to check the tires.
“Including Tyler Neely. Am I right?”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I look out over the wheat shivering in the wind. My eyes veer toward the breeding barn … the blood … the flies. I clear my throat. “I’d love to sit and chat, but if you don’t mind, I have a harvest to finish.”
Sheriff lets out a deep sigh. “All right, Clay.” He pats me awkwardly on the shoulder. “If anything comes to mind, anything at all, I want you to call me.”
I give him a curt nod and climb back into the combine.