“Murder?” Flannery walked up to the men. “Wh . . . what do you mean?” she asked, confused, throwing an arm up to the treetops as if the cliffs would right what she’d just heard. “It was a crash.”
“Ma’am, you shouldn’t be down here, and you should give me that.” The coroner placed a hand on Flannery’s shoulder, and she flinched and hugged the dirty pump closer to her shirt.
“It’s not yours,” she said. “And I’m taking it home. Taking part of Patsy home. Home to Mama.”
“Miss,” the old gentleman said softly and spoke slowly, “I’m Roy Flagg, the county coroner from the coroner’s office. I remember your daddy, Honey Bee. Sure miss him. Now don’t you look just like him, sweetheart.”
Flannery’s shoulders slumped some, and she let down her guard a bit, feeding a tear into his soft words.
“Yessir, just like Honey Bee. What ya got there, sweetheart? A shoe?” Mr. Flagg asked.
“It’s Patsy’s. But, what’s this about murd—”
“May I examine it?”
Flannery shook her head and tucked it behind her back. “Wh-whose limb is that, Mr. Flagg?”
“Right now, all I can tell you is that it looks like a male’s. Now please, miss. I can’t speak about anything else right now. I need to pack everything here and take it to the state medical examiner to be tested. You’ll need to step back, sweetheart, so I can help you here, help put the deceased to rest.”
“So you don’t think it was an accident? Is that what you mean—”
“We’ll know in time. Now I need to do my job and collect everything.” He cocked his head to one of the troopers waiting nearby. “The law says for me to collect everything here.” He talked to her like one would a young child. “Won’t you help me?”
Flannery eyed the two troopers standing around, realizing they and the others could easily take the shoe from her. Behind them, Hollis made his way over, an anger set in his brows, his walk.
She held the shoe up to Mr. Flagg and he took it, but not before she’d sneaked and snatched off the little flower Mama had made for it.
I have to keep it. She needed to hold on to something, to some piece of Patsy, no matter how small. Hold something that said this was all real. Take a part of Patsy back home, a missing part of herself. Flannery closed a fist over the muddy clump of tattered threads, moving her hand behind her back.
Mr. Flagg handed the shoe over to his assistant and dismissed him.
“I’m sorry for your loss, young lady. And your mother’s, of course,” the coroner told her. “We’ll take good care of this, and get everything back to you as soon as we can.” Turning to Hollis, he added, “Mighty sorry, son. I’m glad Martha isn’t alive to see this.”
Hollis hung his head at the mention of his mama who had died a decade ago.
“I’ll be in touch,” Mr. Flagg said to him. “Please give my condolences to your father.” The coroner lightly patted Hollis’s shoulder before heading back into the small crowd of officials.
When the coroner was far enough away, Hollis took Flannery’s arm. “Why don’t you go home and let these boys do their job.”
“They said something about murder, Hollis. Murder.”
“What? What are you talking about?” Hollis peered over his shoulder to the Mercury.
“How could that be?” she asked.
“I don’t know. But it sure as shit wasn’t no murder, peaches. Now you need to go home to Jean. I can have my deputy drive you.”
“I can make it okay,” Flannery said, suddenly thinking about her mama. Mama. How would she tell her; what would she say? It would be rough telling her Patsy would never have another birthday, take all Mama’s hope like that. Flannery felt the horror rise up.
Hollis saw it too. “Maybe I should see you home. I can talk to Jean with you—”
Flannery stiffened, remembering the last talk that had taken place, the night of the prom. “I’ll be okay. When do you think they’ll hand over the remains?”
Hollis grimaced. “Soon as they sift through the bones. They’ll need to photograph, identify, and sort them.”
A trooper came up behind them and tapped Hollis on the shoulder. “Can I talk with you a sec, Sheriff?”
Hollis moved away, and Flannery sneaked closer to the assistants who were working their way around the car. She watched quietly, listening to them describe items they’d sealed into plastic.
Minutes later, one of the coroner’s assistants piped up. “Found something, Roy.”
Flannery turned to the voice and stepped up even closer, cat-like, toward the man, stretching sideways to steal a peek, listen in.
The assistant held up Patsy’s other prom heel in one hand and a bullet in the other. “Bingo,” he said, placing the muddy shoe to the side. “Damn. Would you look at that, Roy,” he marveled, unaware of Flannery. “The river sure keeps a strange grave. Found it crammed inside this mud-caked shoe.” He wagged the bullet and then dropped it into a plastic bag with bits of other small debris, jiggling the sack before passing it to the coroner. “Those two had trouble on their tails, sure enough.”
Flannery heard the bullet’s tiny clatter in the sudden quieting; the sound pulsed loudly in her memory. Hollis’s voice on old Ebenezer Road back then, her fevered lucky wishes, and the clapping of pearls against the shiny bit of hard luck she’d pocketed it with that night.
CHAPTER 21
Feeling faint, Flannery dropped her head and reached out an arm. Hollis rushed over and grabbed it. Carefully, she straightened with his help, unsure of her footing.
“I better see you home right now,” Hollis said, his face rinsing of color.
“No,” she said, struggling to pull herself out of the haze. “I can see myself home—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have my deputy drive your car out to Jean’s tonight. I’ll follow him and make sure he gets it back safe to you.”
Reluctantly, Flannery handed him her keys.
They drove in silence back through the Palisades. Flannery stared out at a whir of passing mountain rock and scraggly trees.
After a bit, Hollis said, “That bullet could’ve come from anywhere, you know? We don’t want to alarm folks. We have to stick to what we told back then. For our families’ sake.”
Flannery shook her head. “We need to tell them what you know. Should’ve told them everything back then on prom night. Everything.”
Hollis tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Flannery, think how it would crush our families, your mama hearing about your sister’s . . . well, your sister’s indecency like that.”
“It’s indecent not to tell,” she huffed.
“Not to tell everyone what? That we’re burying the town tramp?”
“How dare you.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, Flannery. To drag up old hard feelings like that. I’d have to tell everything. I’ve got a wife and kids to think about. A good, decent job here.”
“This isn’t about your decency. You have to tell now. Someone was shot, and someone else did the shooting.”
“It’s likely Danny did it playing around.”
“We can’t be sure someone didn’t aim to hurt them. You don’t get shot in the arm playing around. I think someone did this.”
“Can’t think of a soul who would wanna hurt those two.”
“I didn’t see him toting a gun that night. Only you. Where did he get the gun to play around with, Hollis? Huh?”
“Dammit, Flannery! He had himself an old .22. Shit, you know my family.” He cut a worried eye to her. “Us Henry boys have always had guns. We grew up carrying guns around with our teddy bears before most babes can suck a month off their pacifiers.” Hollis shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glanced out the car window.
“You’re the sheriff. You need to go right back there and tell about prom night. About the fight. About the drinking. You—”
“Quit harping on me, dammit!” Hollis stuck up a hot hand and banged it on the steering wheel, making Flannery sink back into the seat.
“You need to listen to me on this one, peaches,” he snapped, slamming his fist down on the dash twice, “and shut your big flap. Shut it.”