Wolfheart

by Hallie Lee

  Her opening altered the atmosphere in the church.

  Even the kid’s legs stopped twitching. Bella’s melodious voice enchanted us, reminded us where we were. She mesmerized us to such an extent that the earlier anger and strife inside these walls dissipated.

  The song was slow, the lyrics gut wrenching, and as Bella fell deeper into a melody about loneliness, despair, and salvation, she began to sway. Soon it was apparent she forgot the rest of us were there.

  I wasn’t a very deep man. I liked the purity of old country music like Waylon and Willie. None of this new-fangled cross-over mess. But this little slip of a girl with her controlled, inspired song had me thinking about things I didn’t feel comfortable with, things about my own life. About the mistakes I’d made. About growing old alone. And about how much time I’d lost.

  I found it impossible to watch Bella sing, and not consider her own, sad story. She sang from a place of deep pain and took us with her on her anguished journey. By the chorus, Desi and Robin reached for Kleenex, and Lenny cleared his throat. And dang it, but I had an uncomfortable itch building around my eyes.

  To avoid the scrutiny of the boy with purple teeth, I turned my gaze toward the foyer. And that’s when I saw Dolly. Hidden in the shadows of the foyer, she watched as Bella captivated everyone in the sanctuary. By the look on Dolly’s haunted face, Bella’s performance had impacted her as well, although probably for different reasons.

  As the song ended, the audience appeared transformed. Desi, naturally, led the standing ovation. And one by one, everyone came to their feet, including Luke, who looked a little unsteady.

  The boy, Fireman, nudged me as we rose. “She’s my girlfriend.”

  “Well, I’ll be—”

  “I’m going to marry her one day. When I’m big enough.”

  I patted his shoulder. “I like ambition, kid. Shoot for the stars.” He turned his toothy purple smile to center stage and brought his hands together.

  The only one still seated was Wolfheart. He looked straight ahead at his niece, tears streaming down his cheeks. He must have felt my gaze because he turned, met my eyes.

  I’ll see you shortly, my nod said.

  He acknowledged me with a tilt of his chin. And then he stood with the rest of the church.

  •

  My rosy glow dissipated by the time I walked back to the substation. Not because I wasn’t affected by the significance of the emotional performance, but because Jesse’s spiteful face met me at the door.

  “Sheriff.”

  “Jesse. Twice in one day. I must be living right.”

  “I can’t believe you allowed that shameful spectacle to take place.”

  I took a deep breath, forced some civility into my voice. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m here to report a crime.” He followed me to my office. Sat in the chair across from my desk. “And I brought evidence this time, so you’ll have to do your job.”

  It was wrong to think such sinful thoughts straight outta church, but danged if this numbskull didn’t yank my chain. Jesse reached into his pocket and presented me with a Ziplock bag of what appeared to be pot.

  “Are you turning yourself in?” I asked him. “Cause that’s illegal.”

  “It’s not mine.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  The station door chimed, and in walked Max and Quietdove, deep into a discussion of the day’s events. When I waved them over, their own glows dissolved upon seeing Jesse. The man was a total buzz kill.

  Jesse considered my deputies from the comfort of my chair. “Do you people ever work?”

  Quietdove didn’t answer. Just lowered the FedEx box into its spot by the office supplies. “You need one of these, Sheriff?”

  “I’m not sure. Come take a gander at this and tell me what it is.”

  Both Max and Quietdove slipped gloves on, and inspected the bag. Max opened it, took a whiff.

  “Jesse claims it’s evidence,” I said.

  “It is evidence,” Jesse argued. “I’ve been telling you for months that Wolfheart is growing marijuana, but you’ve done nothing.”

  “How’d you get this?” Quietdove squinted. “Did you actually go to Wolfheart’s place across the creek?”

  Jesse, belligerent, refused to answer.

  “And he didn’t kill you?” Max shook his head. “Dude.”

  “Jesse, let me get this straight.” I rested my elbows on my desk. “Are you telling me that you dug this out of the man’s garden? ’Cause I know you weren’t stupid enough to go into his house.”

  Max closed the bag, setting it on my desk. “He didn’t go into his house. He wouldn’t be alive if he broke into Wolfheart’s house.”

  “And breaking into Wolfheart’s house wouldn’t be legal.” I eyeballed Jesse. “Are you confessing to breaking and entering?”

  “Of course not. The bias around here is unbelievable. I bring you evidence of criminal activity, and you turn it around on me. Do you want them out here, Sheriff? Living among us?”

  I sat back in my chair. Let his comment sit for a moment.

  “I got it from his garden,” Jesse said eventually. “He’s sells it out there on the creek. And at the high school.”

  “I don’t think Wolfheart’s selling pot to kids anymore. He stays to himself mostly. He’s religious now—”

  “Come on. You don’t really believe that act, do you? It’s all part of their plan. Like with his niece, the bastard child. They want to infiltrate our society and—”

  I placed—maybe slammed—my hands onto my desk.

  “Get mad if you want, but you know what I’m saying is true,” Jesse scoffed. “Look at my brother. He’s buying it. I won’t let it happen. I won’t—” Jesse finally closed his mouth.

  “Fine. Leave your evidence then. I’ll look into it.”

  Quietdove looked at me funny, until his gaze shifted as mine had, to the parking lot, where Wolfheart’s ancient, black jalopy had just pulled in with a rumble.

  “That’s what you always say.” Jesse complained. “But I think you should—no, as a citizen, I demand—you search that place. Till up that garden and find out the truth for yourself.”

  “All right. I’ll look into it,” I repeated. “But Jesse, and you need to hear me loud and clear on this, stay away from Wolfheart’s place. Do you understand me?”

  When Jesse shrugged, Quietdove added, “Probably a good idea to stay away from the creek altogether. For your own safety.”

  Jesse radiated pettiness. “Is that a threat, Deputy?”

  “All right.” I stood. “Time for you to go, Jesse. I’m sure Thaddeus and Big Al are waiting for you.” Max caught my eye, urging Jesse out of his seat.

  As I feared, he and Wolfheart intersected in the lobby. Jesse sneered over his shoulder, “Time is running out, heathen.”

  Wolfheart stopped dead in his tracks, skewering Jesse with a potent glare.

  Quietdove caught ahold of Wolheart’s arm, while Max herded Jesse out the door, keeping me from having to record my second brawl of the day. First a church, then a substation, good times indeed.

  “Brad,” I said.

  The man looked drained. There were shadows under his eyes, and his manner oozed lethargy. Resignation. “Can I offer you a coffee? Some taffy?”

  “No thanks.” He followed me to my office. Sat where Jesse had less than a minute ago. “But some hot tea would be nice. Maybe a little Chai, if you have it.”

  “Chai?”

  •

  Once Max scrounged up some fancy tea for Wolfheart, and a hot cup of java for me, we faced one another across my desk. “Bella did a great job today.”

  “I’m proud of her. She’s a good kid. Woman, I mean.”

  “Yeah, I met her future husband. Good lookin’ kid, about fifty inches tall.”r />
  “Purple teeth?” Wolfheart nearly smiled. “Yeah. He rode back to the creek with Bella.”

  Encouraged by the easy-going banter between us, I started to relax. And then Wolfheart sighed. “Let’s get down to it, Ricky. I’m tired.”

  “Fair enough,” I swigged my coffee, and considered my strategy. “When you said I was one of those kids that dabbled in some of your…offerings, I admit that straight up. But that was a long time ago, and we’ve both changed. For the better, I think.” I watched as he sipped his tea. “I think you’re a good man, Wolfheart. And that Bella is a wonder. And,” I frowned. “Where was Meadow today?”

  “She has problems with Bella’s desire to assimilate. She thinks she’s naïve. I suspect I’ll get a great big I told you so when I get home.”

  “But overall, things went well. Don’t you think?” Once he nodded in the affirmative, I added, “Truth is, tangling with people who think like Jesse is never gonna be easy, but in the long run, it’ll be worth it.”

  “You almost sound like Desi’s son, Luke.”

  I wasn’t sure that was a compliment seeing as how the kid drove everybody crazy with his progressive vision. As Wolfheart grew increasingly pensive, I said, “I need to know what happened the night Peony died. I need to know if a threat is still out there. I want to protect the community, both here and on the creek.”

  “The threat is still out there.” Wolfheart’s shocking candor disrupted our rhythm, so we each took a moment, respectively, to sip and swig our beverages.

  “Tell me about it,” I said.

  “It was Madhawk, as you suspected,” he finally said. “He was into meth lately, which only exacerbated his many other bad habits. And the night Peony died, his nastiness was on full display. When he started in on Peony and Meadow, Bella ran as fast as she could to get us. We were in my garden.”

  “We?”

  “I mean, me.” Wolfheart wouldn’t look at me. Rubbed his thighs in agitation. “By the time we made it back to Peony’s, it was too late. He’d cracked my sister’s head on the mantel of the fireplace.”

  “I’m sorry.” The thought of the last moments of that sweet lady’s life filled me with rage.

  “Meadow had done her best to fend off Madhawk, but she needed…she needed…” He dropped his head into his hands, clearly consumed with guilt for not getting there in time to save Peony.

  “Any clue who else’s blood, besides Madhawk’s, ‘coulda been at the back door?”

  Wolfheart shrugged, vague again.

  “What happened when you got there?” I continued to push. “I imagine you confronted Madhawk, and probably, justifiably, exercised some of your anger.”

  “No, I didn’t. Madhawk ran out the back. And he collapsed.”

  “Collapsed? Did he have help collapsing? Brad, if you or Meadow—accidentally killed or injured him—”

  “No.” His green eyes sliced into me. “It’s as I said. He died on the back steps.”

  I shook my head in frustration, as the excessive caffeine pulsed through my veins. “So, you’re telling me he died, but then he got up and walked away? Come on, Brad. You need to be straight with me.”

  “I would never have left my niece and her daughter in danger.”

  I believed this to be true. But I scoffed. “Okay then. Let’s talk about that. Where’d you go? Your loved ones are traumatized, devastated, and you run off to the swamp? To do what?”

  “I needed…to collect myself. So that I could come back and be strong for them.”

  “I get that, I do. But it still doesn’t add up. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Wolfheart calmly sipped his tea, which irked me. Partly because my cup was dry. “You said the threat is still out there. Are you telling me Madhawk was resurrected, like Jesus? And he’s—”

  “No. Madhawk is the opposite of Jesus.” Wolfheart fiddled with the tea bag in his mug. Cagey, suddenly. “There’s an old Indian saying. I don’t remember how it goes exactly, but the gist of it is that a brave man dies but once, and a coward dies many times.”

  Second time today I’d been reminded how simple I am. “Okay. That’s lovely. But can you help an old country boy out and explain—”

  “You have to find him, Ricky. Because Madhawk is a dangerous, evil coward, and he deserves to die. Again, and again, and again.” Wolfheart set his mug down with finality. “He’s still out there, and he means us harm.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Because he paid me a visit during Peony’s memorial service.”

  A jolt ran through me. Now we were getting somewhere.

  Chapter Twelve

  Big Scary Wide Eyes

  Wolfheart

  “B

  ecause he paid me a visit during Peony’s memorial service.”

  Sheriff Rick’s eyes widened as he rested his jittery elbows on his desk. I let the moment pass, waiting until his expectation was palpable, and then I gently led him where I wanted him.

  “You saw Madhawk?”

  “No. But he left me a message.” I drank the last dregs of my Chai. “He slaughtered a chicken and left the carnage hanging from my front porch.”

  “What?” He frowned. “What makes you think it was him?”

  “Who else would it be?”

  “Well, excuse my honesty, Wolfheart, but you’ve got a lot of enemies.”

  “Not on the creek. And the chicken was Peony’s. It was him. I’m sure of it.” I wasn’t going to tell him about the decapitated Blue Wolf at my doorstep. That would only distract him, and I needed to keep him focused on one thing and one thing only. I pulled a plastic bag from my pocket.

  “What’s that?”

  “Desi said you had people coming in with dogs. That’s Madhawk’s sock and a cotton shirt. It’s dirty, full of his scent.”

  “Good, thanks.” Sheriff Rick seemed disturbed. “Since we’re playing show and tell, I’ve got something for you.” He pulled a Ziplock bag out of his drawer, and tossed it next to the sock. “You ever see this before?”

  “Are you being facetious, Sheriff?” I didn’t pick it up. “You know I have. That’s weed. And it looks top shelf to me.”

  “Okay, there you go talking in tongues again.” He stood abruptly, snatching a paper cup from the dispenser on the water cooler. “Is that from your garden? Are you up to your old ways, Brad?” He gulped the water down, and immediately refilled the cup.

  “No, of course not. I wouldn’t have that around my family. I think you know that.” I met his eye. “Where’d you get that?”

  He shook his head in irritation. “Never mind.”

  We seemed to be at an impasse. I stood, “If that’s all, I’m going to head across the creek.”

  Obviously, something nagged him, making him salty because he wanted to detain me—and couldn’t.

  “Let me know how the search goes, Sheriff,” I told him. “I believe the dogs will help you find Madhawk.”

  The sheriff studied me curiously.

  I explained. “Madhawk hates dogs.”

  After a beat, he nodded. “Will do, Wolfheart.”

  But the friendly banter upon my arrival had been replaced with something I was much more familiar with…

  Distrust.

  •

  I couldn’t get the palmate leaf with serrated leaflets out of my head. The plant was, in fact, quite beautiful, and when well cared for, the green so vivid it looked as if it sprung from a flush rain forest.

  The sight of the weed in the sheriff’s office brought me back to another time. A time I struggled to find my identity, my place. Fourteen, a freshman in high school, I’d counted down the days until I could drift unnoticed out of the parish school system.

  Megan’s hair had grown longer and blonder since junior high, and she’d started wearing makeup. A
black dusting around the eyes, a red frost on her lips. Since her last name began with a W, in most classes I had the opportunity to scowl at her from a mere foot away. While I doubted I frightened her anymore, I relished the shocked expression and husky gasp that followed my scathing reconnaissance.

  So, I scowled at her often.

  The girls still hated her. But the boys didn’t. When she tried out for cheerleader, and made it, there’d been quite a scandal. The popular girls demanded a recount because they couldn’t understand how she’d received so many votes.

  But the boys knew why, of course.

  Megan didn’t care that she had no girlfriends. Controlling all the boys was entertainment enough. She tried to pull my strings the way she did with the other boys, but I refused to play along. Occasionally, I’d respond when she spoke to me. But only occasionally.

  “My parents aren’t home this afternoon,” she said one day after school. “You wanna get drunk with me?”

  “Drunk?” I scoffed, openly mocking her. “That’s adorable.”

  At first, she regarded me with confusion, and then embarrassment. Excellent, I thought, pleased with the way I’d manipulated her emotions. I figured it was better to keep her guessing. And anyway, I usually helped Peony tend to her herbs after school.

  Axe and I had tilled a garden, and helped my sister plant a variety of vegetables and herbs. Over the years, Peony had become well-studied on the subject of growing and harvesting herbs, and her aim was to create medicinal tonics for those on the creek. She was enthusiastic about becoming a creek healer, and now that Axe was by her side, she was excited about the future. Hopeful even.

  Axe made a decent living as a plumber, and had managed to save enough money to build us an upscale shanty house. He cut down trees in the swamp on weekends, and finagled one of his clients into using his planer to flatten and smooth the surfaces into wood for building. Always resourceful, he’d collected discarded tin from job sites to use for a roof. And because he was such a friendly man, Axe had easily rounded up free labor at every opportunity.

  Peony was aglow with love for the noble Axe, and for a long spell our lives were rife with optimism.