Wolfheart

by Hallie Lee

  The mixed sounds of purses being zipped, and keys jangling came to a halt with the screech of my phone. A sense of foreboding flooded me when I saw Quietdove’s name flash across my screen. “Just one minute,” I muttered, stepping to the side.

  “Oh Ricky,” Desi fussed. “What could be so important?”

  “What’s up?” I asked Quietdove. “We’re just headed to church.”

  “Uh, I don’t think so, boss.” Quietdove’s ominous tone confirmed my apprehension. “There’s been an…incident.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Jesse didn’t like the idea of his brother having a monopoly on the town’s worshipers today, so he took a page out of Fireman’s book.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “It’s not burnt to the ground, but trust me, there won’t be any services today. Or anytime soon.”

  •

  Half the steeple smoldered on the ground. The other half was missing altogether.

  By the time we made it to Shady Gully Baptist Church, aka James’s church, folks from both across the creek and Shady Gully Proper pottered among the wreckage. Dressed in their Sunday finest, they wore dazed expressions. They’d hoped to be part of a fusing event, and instead faced the unlikelihood of unification.

  Max had handcuffed Jesse to a bench in front of Dolly’s Diva Dome next door, where Dolly stood next to her brother, holding her cell phone to his ear. Claire lingered close to Dolly, carefully gaging the winds of community reaction, which of course would determine where she planted her allegiance.

  Patty and my high school classmate, Denise, were in attendance, scurrying about offering assistance wherever they could, as well as monitoring the shock and anxiety levels of the would-be congregation.

  The fire itself had been contained, and with the help of Redflyer, Big Al, and Moonpipe, some of the wooden pews and a number of items from the vestry had been salvaged.

  I noticed young Fireman scanning the scene, plucking random hymnals and Bibles from the wreckage, and loading them into a red wagon. I watched as he purposefully tugged the wagon, curious as to its destination. Not surprisingly, it went straight to Father Patrick, who fanned himself under the shade of a massive oak tree.

  I’d left Robin across the road at Luke’s auto body shop, where she and Desi chatted intently with Meadow and Wolfheart. Meadow wore a white summer dress which matched the bandage on her head, and she’d even dawned a little lipstick for Bella’s performance. Now that the adrenaline had run its course, she appeared softer, undoubtedly relieved that Madhawk was no longer a threat.

  Daryl and Bubba moseyed over, their boots scuffed and filthy with rubble from the fire. “We saw the whole thing.” Bubba boasted. “If you wanna get our statement.”

  Daryl added, “If you want us in two separate rooms to make sure our stories match—”

  “No knuckleheads,” I scoffed. “Just tell me. I promise you’ll get your fifteen minutes of fame.”

  While Daryl looked offended, Bubba began, “Well, we were early on account of Bella’s big debut. We were enjoying a cup of coffee under Luke’s awning over there.” He pointed at Luke’s auto body shop. “Discussing the merits of blue or white button downs with tan slacks—”

  “Bubba, please.” I rolled my eyes.

  Daryl nodded. “I know, right? Clearly blue is better.”

  As I sighed at their shenanigans, I spotted Quietdove, leading James my way. “Quick fellows, your time is running out. One of the suspects is on his way.”

  Bubba frowned. “What? No. James didn’t do it. I ain’t crazy about him, but he was the victim. Jesse was the one that done the burning. I can describe him if you wanna get a sketch artist—”

  “Bubba,” I said harshly.

  “We watched him go inside,” said Daryl. “And he and James started right up arguing. Jesse said he wasn’t gonna stand by and allow this to happen—”

  “Stand idly by,” corrected Bubba.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Stand idly by, and he accused James of being part of the conspiracy to steal his church.”

  “Yep, he sure did,” Bubba said. “Told James right to his face he was conspiring with the Creek People. They went back and forth like that for a while and then James started shouting. Like,” he turned to Daryl. “What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘what are you doing? Are you crazy?’ Stuff like that. And then we heard a pop. And then we saw the smoke.”

  Good grief.

  “When Jesse went inside, did he have anything in his arms?” When they looked at me blankly, I clarified. “Ya know, like a gas can or dynamite or something?”

  The knuckleheads laughed. Then took a moment to talk among themselves.

  “Good gracious,” I muttered, before turning to Quietdove and James.

  “We’ll be happy to provide written statements,” Bubba said solemnly, arching his brow at James.

  I cleared my throat. “Thank you. Gentlemen.” Once they filed off with a great sense of importance, I turned my attention to James. “You okay? Have you been looked at?” He was covered in soot and had a minor scratch on his head.

  “I’m okay.” He glared at his brother and sister in front of the salon. “Just angry. And I don’t want to be, but I guess they’re not going to rest until I’m bitter and resentful like them.”

  “I understand y’all argued. Can you tell me how it escalated,”—I pointed at the ruined church—“into that?”

  “He came in madder than a hornet. I honestly think he needs to be on medication. His eyes were bloodshot, like he’d been smoking, and he had a whiskey bottle in his hand. At first, I thought he’d fallen off the wagon again.”

  Quietdove and I traded looks. Again?

  “But then I realized it was gasoline I smelled. And the bottle had a piece of cloth or something coming out of the nozzle. He kept waving it around. Had a lighter in the other hand.”

  “Sounds a lot like a Molotov cocktail,” Quietdove narrowed his eyes. “Where did he learn how to do that?”

  “He didn’t,” James answered. “Trust me, it didn’t go well. He’s lucky he didn’t set himself on fire.”

  I stepped back, surveilled the area. Charlie Wayne and Sprite had backed up a truck to the four way stop sign. They lowered the tail gate to reveal soft drinks and the makings for burgers. As the crowd converged, Petey hopped up to help pass out refreshments. Soon he had the congregation laughing, and the horrors of the last few weeks seemed almost unthinkable.

  I swiveled back to James. “I need to ask you one question, and I want you to be honest with me.”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you think your brother meant to do more than destroy the church?” I could see the confusion in James’s face, so I elaborated. “Or were you the target?”

  James considered his brother, who argued heatedly with Dolly at the Diva Dome. “I just don’t know, Sheriff. I guess you’d have to ask him.”

  •

  But Jesse had nary a word to say to me. He’d already sought legal advice, and by the time I formerly arrested him, his lawyer had made a call and arranged for a psychological evaluation. He’d likely end up with mental health treatment, an ankle bracelet, and community service.

  Whether he meant to kill his brother, or burn down the church to keep Bella from singing, or keep the Creeks from assimilating, I had no clue. I was convinced he didn’t know either. He’d always been mean and vindictive, but now, he was mean, vindictive, and dangerous. Not only to himself, but to others.

  Once James left to be with his family, the rest of the community, including those that had supported Jesse in the past, like Thaddeus and Big Al, were left to deal with the destruction of their town and its churches. There was a sense we’d hit rock bottom, and hopelessness was as heavy as the humidity.

  As the sheriff of Shady Gully, I felt a profound sen
se of failure. A noble, honorable woman had died violently, and after blowing time and resources trying to hunt down her killer, I’d failed. I’d allowed myself to be manipulated by said killer, and ended up foolishly chasing my tail. I’d also made things worse by turning up land that was sacred to the people across the creek.

  Robin’s home was ransacked on my watch. Wolfheart’s property was destroyed on my watch. A bridge failed and Meadow was almost killed on my watch. Bella as well. And the cherry on top was the destruction of two of the town’s three churches.

  I ought to resign. I’d failed my hometown.

  “Sheriff,” Luke ambled over with his brother, Petey. “How ya doing?”

  I took in the magnitude of the destruction, and struggled for a reply. “Just dandy.”

  “We’ll rebuild. Shady Gully will be better than ever.”

  I regarded him, this earnest kid with ambition and integrity. “You were right, Luke. I need help. I need reinforcements. I’m not enough to protect this town. Certainly not enough to unify it.”

  “We’ll get there,” Luke said with more confidence than I’d ever seen. “It’s a chance to start over, and this time, we’ll include everybody in the renovation. Trust me, that in itself will help unify us.”

  “He’s right.” Petey agreed. “It’s hard to see now, amid all the ashes and ruins, but adversity can help renew our faith. I promise you, this town’s spirit will be restored, and when it is, we’ll have us a good old-fashioned revival. You’ll see, hope will bloom again. Real soon.”

  I almost believed him, this one with the light inside him.

  “There they are, three of the best minds in Shady Gully.” Father Patrick’s Irish accent was immediately recognizable as he approached. “No doubt strategizing our recourse, and pondering our bright and brilliant future.”

  “Father.” I shook the priest’s hand. “Looks like you’re gonna have a full house for a while.”

  “Perhaps,” he scratched his red beard thoughtfully. “And that would be lovely. But for now, I was thinking a short prayer might do the trick.”

  I realized he was right as I scanned the crowd. Now that the burgers and sodas were gone, and the temporary respite from the destruction had passed, the folks had grown despondent. “Sure, Father. But I gotta be honest, it’s hard to find God in all of this.”

  “Oh, God’s here,” Petey insisted. “And I believe He weeps with us.”

  Father Patrick regarded Petey. “My, my, son. Well done.” He patted his shoulder, “Perhaps I should pass the baton on to you? Will you offer a few words of prayer?”

  Petey didn’t hesitate. As he made his way to the center of the four way stop, I felt a slight hand brush against my back.

  Robin. Such a beautiful sight for my wretched, failure of a self.

  “Sheriff.” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “It appears there’s going to be a little music.”

  I followed her line of vision.

  Bella whispered to Sterling as he tuned his guitar, and the two nodded decisively as they made their way to center stage with Petey.

  “Maybe afterwards,” Robin said, “we should introduce Buford and Gerty. See how they get on.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Final Farewell

  Wolfheart

  D

  esi and I pondered the day’s events as we drank sweet tea under the awning at Luke’s auto body shop. “What a day,” she said. “But at least we got to hear Bella sing.”

  “And Petey pray.” I eyed her. “You think there’s something there? He reminds me a little of Timothy.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something?” She chuckled, “Shady Gully could do worse. Come to think of it, we have. Jesse is in jail and James is, well…” she trailed off.

  “James is okay,” I said. “But he’s no Father Patrick. And no Petey.”

  We sat comfortably together, as neither of us had ever felt the need to waste energy with frivolous conversation. Desi, whose history would forever be tangled with mine, had become more than just a friend to me over the years.

  In the beginning, she’d been nothing more than one of the many high schoolers I’d manipulated into lining my pockets, but over time, her combination of nonchalance and naivety wore on me. Even as I shamefully influenced her for my own practical reasons, her vulnerability aroused a fierce protectiveness in me.

  While I hadn’t been responsible for the ongoing flirtation between her and Adam, Shady Gully’s smooth-singing homeboy, my negative influence had put her in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  One nearly disastrous night, after we’d parted ways at Cicada Stadium, she’d been susceptible. Already weakened by the loss of her mother and a five-year split from Robin, she’d come close to stepping off a precipice with Adam that would not only have destroyed her marriage—but crushed what remained of her spirit.

  To this day, she insists that I saved her that night, and perhaps I did arrive just in time to provide courage and moral support, but I knew for sure it had been the other way around.

  Shamed by my part in Desi’s near ruin, I began to consider the countless others before her—and how I’d robbed them of living their best lives. Megan included. And that realization haunted me. Changed me.

  Quite simply, Desi’s brush with regret had been the catalyst to my redemption.

  “I worry about Lenny,” she said finally. “Look at him out there, trying to do the things he used to.” We both watched as Lenny helped Sterling, Redflyer, and Moonpipe drag a ruined pew to the burn pile. “I try to tell him. He won’t listen.”

  “Looks to me like he’s holding his own.”

  When Lenny caught us watching, he paused to flash us a dramatic muscle man pose. Desi batted her eyelashes.

  Just past the burn pile, we witnessed Dolly hastily exit her salon, shut herself in her car, and sneak away from the day’s action at a hurried pace. Her expression was blank, and she kept her eyes squarely on the road as she slipped past us.

  “There are good people out here,” I mused.

  She squinted at me. “What an oddly timed remark, seeing as how the wicked witch of the south just rode off on her broom.”

  It felt good to throw my head back and laugh. “I’m serious. The truth is, there are good and bad people everywhere. On the creek. In Shady Gully. I think at some point in our lives we have a choice. Either we give the bad the power to root resentment and bitterness inside us, or we celebrate the good, plant it with exaltation, and pray it grows.”

  Desi studied me intently. “Now you sound like Timothy and Petey.”

  I shrugged. “Just look at everyone working together, helping clean up the mess that somebody else made.”

  Micah, Bella, and Violet tried to scrub some dishware they’d salvaged from the church hall, while Petey and Max chatted up Denise and Patty, seemingly interested in Patty’s CPR technique.

  “True. Working together being the key word. I hope the Bellas’ and Lukes’ of the town have their way and inspire assimilation and unity.

  “Speaking of that,” I wondered aloud. “If they get married, are we officially family?”

  “We’ve always been family.”

  I nodded, my gaze naturally drifting to Meadow, who rested on the bench of a picnic table with Mrs. Shanna May, Granny Lacey, Bubba, and Daryl. “You worry about Lenny. I worry about her.”

  Desi knew who I meant. “She’s been through a lot. And now the revelation about her father’s murder.” Desi looked pointedly at me. “You’ll all have to process that.”

  I sighed deeply, still reeling at the extent of Madhawk’s iniquities.

  Desi remarked, “She looks good today. And did you see her when Bella sang? Brad, I’m serious. I think she was genuinely moved. Her daughter has the voice of an angel. How could she not be?”

  I conceded the point, as a wave of
grief for my sister swept over me. How Peony would have loved seeing Bella’s shining moment. Aware of Desi’s scrutiny, I focused on keeping my expression blank.

  As Lenny sauntered over to take a break, the sheriff and Robin joined us as well. When the sheriff pulled out a lawn chair for Robin, she laughed. And then he laughed.

  Amused, Desi, Lenny, and I exchanged glances. “Well, aren’t y’all cute.” Desi quipped, unable to restrain herself.

  The sheriff attempted a frown, but failed miserably.

  I tossed Lenny a towel and he mopped up the sweat on his face before kissing his wife.

  We sat, relaxing into the afternoon, and I’d almost shaken some of the distress of the last several days when the sound of a clank and a clunk rolled our way. Father Patrick pulled a little red wagon with an ice chest. Fireman trailed behind him with another wagon, hauling a garbage bag.

  Father Patrick stopped, teasing us with a wink. “I’ve got bottled water, cokes, and something a little more…spirited, if you’re so inclined.”

  “But he has to see your ID first.” Fireman stabbed a stray can on the ground, chucking it into his garbage wagon. A heavy breeze carried a few scorched papers by, and Fireman dashed after them, adding them to his trash collection. When he was done, he cocked an eye toward the Sheriff. “Father Patrick says I’m a good helper.”

  “Humph,” Sheriff Rick guffawed. “Is that right, Father?”

  “Most certainly,” Father Patrick assured. “He’ll be off probation in no time.”

  As Fireman beamed under the positive attention, he and Father Patrick clanked away as suddenly as they’d arrived. Off to recharge their flock physically or spiritually, as needed.

  “That’s a very constructive punishment for the boy,” Robin said. “And Father Patrick will be a good mentor.”

  “I think so,” Sheriff Rick said. “But he’s not totally off the hook. He’s gonna wash the deputies’ trucks as well, and clean toilets at the station, and—”

  “Don’t be too hard,” Desi remarked. “He’s just a boy.”