Wolfheart

by Hallie Lee

Regardless of how well Quietdove knew Miss Peony, her daughter Meadow, or her granddaughter Bella, these were his people. This was his side of the creek. And violence against one was an affront to them all.

  I resumed my interrogation. “How’d y’all know she was deceased?”

  “Well, I checked her pulse. But—” Quietdove glanced at a group of EMTs gathered around the ambulance— “Patty and her team confirmed it.”

  I nodded at the EMTs as we approached the weathered shotgun house, dodging random chickens and stray cats and dogs along the way.

  “Hey Ricky, how’s it going?” A female paramedic with a serious expression greeted me as she exited the home.

  “Good. How ya doing, Patty?”

  She tipped her head, eager to get down to business.

  “Go on, enlighten me.”

  “It appears the victim, a sixty-year-old female, died from blunt force trauma to the back of the head.” Patty pointed to her own head to demonstrate. “She was severely beaten, but I believe what killed her was the head injury. Either from a fall…or she was hit with, or pushed, into something. The coroner should be able to tell you more.”

  I sighed, already missing the sweetness of my taffy.

  Patty glanced at the small house. “The two witnesses are okay. Meadow is bruised, roughed up. She was likely involved in the altercation.

  “And Bella?” I asked.

  “A little better. Likely in shock. But they wouldn’t go to the hospital. They refuse to leave Miss Peony, the deceased.” With nothing left to add, we both turned our attention to the aimless chickens, pecking and clucking about the yard.

  “Thanks Patty,” I waved goodbye. “Say hi to Denise for me.”

  Max and Quietdove followed me toward the old, gabled front porch. While the front steps were uneven after years of wear and tear, someone had made the effort to plant fresh flowers in colorful hand painted pots.

  Before we walked inside, I asked Quietdove, “Any sign of Wolfheart?”

  “None. Which is strange. He and his sister were close.”

  Max scoffed, “And no sign of Madhawk either. Who, if you ask me, is the likely suspect—”

  “Nobody asked you.” I gave Max a stern look. Part of my deputies’ training was learning to consider all the evidence before making assumptions. That being said, Peony’s disreputable boyfriend was on the top of my list as well.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” said Max. “There’s a significant amount of blood pooled around the back exit of the house. And drag stains. Like something, or someone, was dragged into the woods.”

  My boots made a squishing sound as they plowed to a stop. “Next time, numbskull, try leading with that.”

  •

  After calling in reinforcements from my office in Belle Maison, I indulged in a little rant. “It’s bad enough we got all this rain making my crime scene soggier than buttered grits, but now, I got an extended scene that hasn’t been taped off—”

  “We roped off the back as soon as we saw the blood and—”

  “Max, that’s wonderful. You want a trophy?” A beat. “Go widen the barrier. And when backup gets here, I want y’all to start searching. There could be someone in the woods who needs help.”

  When Quietdove moved to follow Max, I held him back. “I need you with me. I know these two witnesses and I think a lot of ’em, but you speak their language. I wanna know about nuances, tells…anything you see that I don’t. Got it?”

  “Tells?” Quietdove raised an eyebrow.

  As we entered the house, I scanned the upended furniture, the broken dishes, and toppled picture frames that held ragged photos of family and friends. Jagged hints of elders, kids, dogs, cats, and even chickens peeked back at me amid the broken glass.

  Although there were splashes of blood throughout the kitchen and living area, the house didn’t smack of the metallic odor associated with violent crimes. Instead, oddly enough, the place smelled like Christmas trees.

  Meadow and Bella sat on the floor next to Peony, whose body had been carefully covered with a brightly colored quilt. The kind of quilt old ladies circled around for months, armed with only fabric, needles, and a lifetime of stories. Somehow, over time, a miraculous patchwork of art materialized, seemingly enriched with the experiences and wisdom of its makers.

  As an EMT gathered his equipment and spoke softly to the women, I scanned the home, noticing the candles displayed precisely around the body. Curious as to the symbolism, I glanced at Quietdove.

  He remained solemn, giving nothing away. Despite his lack of help, it seemed I’d at least discovered the source of the pine tree smell.

  Once the EMT left, I approached Meadow and her daughter, Bella. “I’m very sorry about what happened to your mama, Meadow. She sure was a fine lady.”

  Without looking up, Meadow acknowledged my condolences with a curt nod.

  Bella however, squinted at me. “I know you.” A streak of boldness broke through her haunted, stricken face. “You’re friends with Micah’s Mom, Desi. And her Dad, Lenny.”

  While I’d seen her a few times when she was younger, and was aware of the unfortunate story of her conception, I was taken aback by Bella’s beauty.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “And you used to play football at Shady Gully High with Lenny.” It wasn’t a question.

  But I answered it anyway. “I did.” Surprised by her ability to carry on a random conversation in the middle of a traumatic event, I mumbled, “He threw the ball. I caught it. We had some success.”

  Her eyes flitted about the house, finally settling once again on her grandmother.

  Quietdove cleared his throat. “If y’all are up to it, we—I mean, the sheriff, would like to ask you a few questions.”

  I frowned, unused to my deputy steering my focus. “That’s right,” I said. “We’re gonna do everything in our power to find who did this. But we’re gonna need your help.”

  Bella and Meadow glanced at one another, offering nothing.

  “Can you tell us what happened?” Although distracted by the sound of several car doors slamming outside, I pressed. “Meadow, what about your uncle? Where’s Wolfheart?”

  “Micah is my best friend,” Bella announced randomly. “We’re the same age.” She and Meadow traded furtive looks. “Did you know that, Sheriff?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Disconcerted by the obvious attempt to distract me, I tried again. “And what about Madhawk? He has a reputation for…being unkind to Peony. Can you tell me where he is?”

  Meadow marked me with unexpected ferocity.

  She’d had a hard life, this remarkable, self-assured woman closing in on forty. As I met her cynical stare, there was no doubt in my mind she knew exactly what had happened to her mother. But for the moment, she seemed resolute, so I decided not to push.

  My attention drifted once again to the rising hullabaloo outside. “What’s all that racket?” I complained to Quietdove.

  The door opened, and in walked Luke, whose family was at the center of Bella’s diversion strategy. The kid was decked out in foot booties, goggles, and latex gloves.

  “Good grief,” I muttered.

  “Uh…hi.” Luke’s eyes flitted around the room, and crash-landed on Bella. “Uh…looks like you’ve got visitors, Sheriff.”

  “Yeah,” I snapped. “Too many. And I don’t need you traipsing on my crime scene. I got enough problems—”

  “But I’ve got these slippers on my feet, and I’m not touching anything.” Luke removed a couple of bulging water bottles from his khakis, and presented them to Meadow and Bella. When he spotted the quilt strewn over the body bag, he reminded me of a squirrel frozen in the middle of the road. Staring down the headlights of a truck, tail fluffed up, wide-eyed, and uncertain which way to flee.

  A few more car doors echoed from outside. “S
urely that’s the crime scene techs,” I said to Quietdove.

  “Yeah, they’re here.” Luke dragged his googly eyes off Bella. “But those aren’t the visitors I meant. There are a bunch of…creek…uh, citizens out there.” He glanced awkwardly at Bella and Meadow.

  “It seems the word is out,” Quietdove said. “I expected they’d come.”

  “Yeah,” Luke nodded. “And they’re pretty upset. They just slit the sheriff’s tires.”

  •

  Quietdove assured me he could deal with the crowd. “It’s better if you stay here and keep an eye on the mayor there.” He indicated Luke with a tilt of his head.

  “Mayor?” I grumbled at him.

  Sometimes I thought Quietdove and Max had the potential to make good deputies, but the other ninety-nine percent of the time, they carried on like kids on a playground, cracking themselves up pitching goofy nicknames back and forth.

  He moved for the door. “I got this. Tells. Remember?”

  Once he left, I turned to Luke, whose earnest face kicked up my blood pressure a few notches. “Don’t you have something better to do? And don’t start in on that incorporation nonsense either. I’m about on my last nerve.”

  “Just wanted to help, Ricky. But you must admit, if you had the funds for more deputies in situations like this—”

  Whether it was the glare on my face, or the steel in my eyes, he stopped talking. “It’s Sheriff,” I scowled. “Sheriff Rick to you. And that’s only ’cause of Desi and Lenny. Speaking of which, if you wanna help, why don’t you call your mama and find out if she knows where her buddy Wolfheart is, huh? Can you handle that?”

  Luke reached for his phone, holding it high to get a better signal. “You got it. Sheriff Rick.” He glanced at Bella as he pushed a button. Unfortunately, the distraction caused the poor mutt to hit the wrong icon, and he ended up calling some distant relative on his daddy’s side. It was painful to watch him apologize to Aunt Edna, and then awkwardly try again.

  I leaned close to his ear, lowering my voice. “I reckon this is the first time you’ve seen her, huh?”

  “Who?” His face turned redder than boiled crawfish.

  “Pretty little Bella there. She’s been rattling on like she’s part of your family. Trying to throw me off.”

  Luke jabbed at his phone. “I’ve seen Meadow at the post office. And I think Micah is a friend of—what was her name again?”

  If the mounting noise was any indication, the ruckus outside was escalating. “Stay with them,” I barked at Luke.

  When I stormed onto the porch, I encountered a large, angry mob who prevented my forensic team from entering the house. Quietdove was nervous. And Max was useless. Even worse, I didn’t fancy the way his hand rested on his gun.

  “All right. That’s enough,” I gestured broadly. “Everybody just calm your britches.”

  “Where’s my boy?” A woman who looked about a hundred years old besieged me. “What’d y’all do to him? He in there?”

  “Who’s your boy, ma’am?”

  “Madhawk is my boy. And he ain’t showed up this morning to check on me. He comes by every morning at sunrise. Is he the one the ambulance came to fetch?”

  “No, ma’am. He’s not. But—”

  The throng erupted again, this time rattling off questions and accusations.

  “Who’s dead?”

  “Why are the cops here?”

  “What are you trying to hide?”

  After a few minutes, I gave up trying to answer questions and simply stood there and let them holler at me. I eyed my deputies, imploring them to keep their hands away from their guns.

  I hated to admit it, but there was only one person who could calm these folks down. He was the one they trusted. He was their unspoken leader. And if anybody knew where he was, Desi and Lenny would.

  “Luke!” I hollered. “Get out here. Get your mama on the phone.”

  Hesitant, Luke walked out, followed by a teary-eyed Meadow and Bella.

  When the gathering got a glimpse of Meadow and Bella’s troubled expressions, they exploded again.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Where’s Wolfheart?

  A particularly rugged, angry young man, flanked on either side by two equally rugged men, pulled out a knife. He flicked it open with a twist of his wrist. As he strode toward the forensic van, marking the tires, the mob spurred him on. “Cut ’em! Redflyer, cut ’em!”

  Just as full-fledged pandemonium set in, a sudden hush fell over the crowd. The tough guy with the knife paused, and the hundred-year-old woman quieted. Even Meadow and Bella’s demeanor changed.

  A familiar figure stumbled from the woods, his shirt covered in blood, and his face etched in misery. He held his hands out to the crowd. To the authorities. And to his people.

  Tall and wiry, his once blue-black hair now dusted with white, Wolfheart’s green eyes locked onto mine.

  “Wolfheart,” I breathed.

  Chapter Three

  People Rising From The Dead And Such

  Wolfheart

  “W

  olfheart,” the sheriff repeated.

  I nodded respectfully, and then moved with purpose toward Meadow and Bella. I focused on breathing and standing up straight, even as dried blood speckled my shirt like a beacon of guilt. Everything had changed. In just a few hours, the whole scene had changed. I saw his blood at the back door, only he had disappeared.

  Meadow reached for me, her face bruised, and the life gone out of her eyes. “Did you?”

  “Yes,” I whispered as I heard the shuffle of Sheriff Rick’s cowboy boots closing in on me. “What happened? Where did he go?”

  Before she could answer, Bella crashed into me. “Uncle Wolf.” She wrapped her arms around my waist. When she released me the blood from my shirt had tainted her skin. I felt ashamed.

  “Are you okay, Bella?” My voice was hoarse, raspy. I didn’t recognize it. Behind Bella stood Desi’s oldest son, Luke.

  “Wolfheart,” the sheriff repeated, this time more insistent.

  I offered him nothing more than an empty stare. What did he expect? In the middle of so much grief. And so much evil. “Ricky, just give me a second. Please.”

  I glanced at the crowd. Saw them waiting for me. They were on edge. Confused. Riled. They were waiting for reassurance and direction. “Let me talk to them.”

  The sheriff’s bushy mustache twitched. I took that as a yes.

  As I gingerly made my way to my people, I refused to look at the steps at the back of Peony’s house. Like I didn’t know what was there less than six hours ago. Like I didn’t know who was there six hours ago.

  I reached my blood-stained hands out to Madhawk’s mother first.

  “Wolfheart,” the ancient woman frowned at me. I saw her confusion as she grasped for the appropriate reaction. Accusation? Mercy? I murmured soothingly into her ear, making it easy for her.

  “Redflyer.” I moved to the young man with the hidden rage, his knife open at his side. “Shush, give me your anger,” I told him. “Be peaceful now.” I placed my hands gently on his shoulders, and the tension in his body eased. As he relaxed, so did Moonpipe and Youngblood, his buddies, who held vigil on either side of him.

  I considered all of their faces. Somber, tearful, but better now.

  “Wolfheart, if it’s not too much trouble,” the sheriff said sarcastically. “I’d like a moment of your time.”

  I lingered a second longer, taking the time to nod at BlueJay, a wise and level-headed elder, and pat the head of a small boy, who as I recalled, went by the name of Littlefire.

  “Brad, let’s go.” The sheriff was annoyed now. I’d pushed too far. The Brad was payback for my calling him Ricky.

  Some sneered at the sheriff’s use of my first name, but I nodded, and held up my bloody hand
s. “Lead the way, Sheriff.”

  I caught Meadow’s eye as I followed the sheriff, but she lifted her shoulders, as bewildered as me. My mind raced. I needed to think. I needed to stall. I glanced at Bella, who was composed. On the outside at least. She held a bottled water while Desi’s son, Luke, hovered. For the first time I noticed his goggles, foot booties, and khakis.

  “You can stop cutting your eyes at them,” the sheriff snapped. “They told me everything. Now I want to hear your side.”

  He stopped at the back door of Peony’s house. Stared down at the blood pooled around the steps. And then back up at me. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

  His unexpected sincerity disarmed me, which was likely his plan.

  “She was a good woman. Everybody liked her.”

  “She was.” My voice still sounded unrecognizable. I tried again. “She’d want me to go to her daughter. And her granddaughter. So, if we could—”

  “What happened? Whose blood is this, Brad?” Again, with the Brad.

  When I didn’t answer, his exasperation increased.

  “See, you might be some kinda king with your tribe here, but we go way back, and I remember you in a different way. You were the predator that circled the high school looking for prey. Gullible, pimply-faced kids who just wanted to make all the bad things go away. Remember that? Selling dope to them? Introducing them to chemically induced happiness?”

  “I remember. And I remember your being one of those pimply-faced kids.”

  His mustache twitched. Bullseye. “That’s true. But now I’m on the right side of the law.”

  “Me too. Even I’m redeemable, Ricky.”

  He said nothing. Gazed into the woods. His ears perked to the echoes of deputies scouring in the muck. They would find nothing.

  “Madhawk didn’t go see his mama this morning.” He bent down, leaned closer to get a better look at the blood-soaked dirt. “Is this his blood I’m looking at?” He stood up, and pointed at my soiled clothes. My hands. “Is that his blood I’m looking at?”

  I closed my eyes. Tried to think.

  “Everybody’s redeemable.” Sheriff Rick cocked his head. “You. Me. But I’m not so sure about Madhawk. He used to beat on your sister all the time. You know how many calls we got in the middle of the night after he set in on her? And by the time we’d get out here she’d swear she fell. Or she burnt herself cooking. Or she tripped over her dog.”