by Isla Jones
Flora had that patient smile on her face, the one that she used only with the elderly. “Well what was he doing, Dolly?”
Mrs Walters leaned forward and sucked her teeth. Blake grimaced, eyeing the briefly revealed teeth within the wrinkled mouth—false teeth, yet still blackened by cigarettes.
“Come here,” whispered Mrs Walters. Flora drew closer, and even Blake inched toward them. Mrs Walters cupped her mouth and whispered: “There was a murder.”
Blake and Flora stiffened and fixed their widened eyes on the wrinkled woman. Walters sat back in her chair, a proud look on her face. Then, she frowned and waggled her jewelled finger. “Two murders, to be precise,” she said.
“That can’t be right,” argued Flora. Though, her blotchy skin had paled to the shade of the white tiles. “We would’ve heard about it.”
“Well, they’re investigating, aren’t they? I should think it’ll be in the paper tomorrow.”
Blake abandoned the cloth and edged closer. “Who died?”
“They didn’t just die, girl,” snapped Mrs Walters. “They were killed. You know—” She made a stabbing motion with her spoon—“Murdered.”
Blake almost smacked the spoon out of her hand. She was dreadful old woman. instead, she huffed loudly and smacked the cloth into the soapy bucket.
“I need to call my boys,” said Flora, in a state of shock.
“Don’t get your knickers all twisted, Flora. It was two Grey Wolves—found in pieces behind the club house. My guess? They were up to no good, like they always are, and finally paid the price. Karma, the kids call it these days.”
“Grey Wolves?” echoed Blake. “The gang leaders?”
The Grey Wolves were the oldest of the gang members. They were the ones who joined in their teens, went through levels of crime—some had even gone to prison—and had managed to stay alive for twenty years in the club. Some say that the Wolves consider it to be an honour. Blake, however, would say that they all need to be locked up.
Hunter’s dad was a Grey Wolf, she remembered.
“That’s what I said.” Mrs Walters lingered her disdainful gaze over Blake, as though she were a pesky blowfly. “You’re not the brightest bulb, are you?”
Blake’s jaw ticked as she ground her teeth together in frustration. How Abe could be friends with this godawful woman was beyond her comprehension.
But the diner gods looked down upon her with love—the doorbell chimed and she was saved from the old woman.
Blake looked up at the door, relief slackening her face. It was Rachel who entered. She flicked her sleek black hair over her shoulder and glided over to a booth. Blake grabbed a menu for pretence and went to the booth Rachel sat at.
“Hello,” drawled Rachel. Blake knew that pretentious tone, and what it meant; gossip. “How has your night been?”
“I’ll stop you right there,” said Blake with a smirk. She tossed the laminated menu on the dirty table and knelt beside the bench. “I already know.”
The arrogance slipped from her face. “About the murders?”
“Mrs Walters is at the counter blabbing on about it. Two Grey Wolves, she said.”
“She’s right,” said Rachel crisply. She loved to be the breaker of bad and good news. “Mother told me at dinner. It’s spreading around town like the flu.”
“The news or the murder?” asked Blake.
Rachel thought for a moment. Then, she nodded. “Both.”
“Do you think they’re connected? The murders at the club house and Bethany’s parents?”
Rachel shrugged, but the glint in her brown eyes dimmed. “The Wolves have their paws in every crime-pot in town. The Prescotts didn’t. I don’t see how they could be connected.”
As she always did when she was pensive, Blake chewed her bottom lip. It wasn’t a cute habit—she gnawed at the skin like it was a lump of toffee. Bethany had always called her ‘Bugs Bunny’ when she did it, because her teeth looked bigger.
Blake slid into the booth and leaned across the table. Rachel met her halfway.
“Last night,” whispered Blake, “I was at the reservoir. I saw Bethany and Zeke there, in a car.”
Rachel stared at her blankly. “How scandalous.”
“They were arguing,” she said. “Fighting. Bethany kept hitting him and he … Zeke just cried.”
“What were they arguing about? Do you know?”
“It could’ve been about anything.” Blake shrugged. “But then, later … when I was walking back to my car, I met someone. Someone who isn’t from around these parts.”
Rachel perked up. The shine of her honeyed eyes brightened and leaned even closer to Blake—so close that her stomach pressed into the edge of the table. “Tell me all the juicy details,” said Rachel.
Blake shook her head. “It wasn’t like that. I mean, he was handsome, but mostly he was scary. He didn’t tell me his name, but we talked for a bit.”
“Fascinating.” Rachel relaxed, slipping back into her seat. “Do you have a point?”
“Don’t you see?” said Blake. “There was a man from out of town hanging around the reservoir. And he was there after Bethany and Zeke were. What if he’s the one who killed their parents? Or the Grey Wolves? Or all of them?”
Rachel hummed and glanced around the quiet diner. Mrs Walters got her things and left. Other than Rachel, there were only two other customers in the diner.
“Well,” said Rachel. “I should go. I only dropped by to tell you about the club-house drama. Thought you’d want to know. Perhaps you should get one of your dads to drive you home after work,” she added. “It’s not safe to be out at night on your own, you know.”
“I’ll be fine.” Blake smiled. It wasn’t often that Rachel let her caring side show. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Ciao.” Rachel slid out of the booth. Before she left, she spun around to look down at Blake. “I’ll ask Bethany about this stranger if you like? I’ll see what she knows, if anything.”
“Be my guest.” Blake snorted. “You might want to work on getting her to talk you, first. Just a suggestion.”
Rachel smirked, a devious gleam sweeping over her toffee eyes. “That won’t be a problem. I’m meeting her at the drive-in in a few minutes.”
Blake’s jaw fell open. She gaped at Rachel, baffled.
“She texted me an hour ago,” explained Rachel “She said she wanted to hang out. We would invite you, but you’re–” Her hand waved around the diner. “—Well, you’re here.”
A tight smile pulled at Blake’s lips. She shimmied out of the booth and picked up the menu. “That’s all right. Have fun.”
Rachel winked, then left.
But before the door could swing shut behind her, four men in leather jackets and black jeans entered. A girl was with them, dressed in the same grungy clothes and a leather jacket tied around her waist. The girl was in Blake’s gym class. Her name was Cheyanne, and she was like the others—a Wolf.
Hunter led them to the booth Blake stood at. As he neared, his black eyes scanned over her hardened face. He would probably think her solemn look was funny, she thought.
“Five coffees,” he ordered before sitting at the booth. “Sugars on the side.”
Cheyanne tugged on her brown ponytail. “I’ll have mine without sugar, thanks.”
Blake huffed. “We’re closing in ten minutes.”
Hunter looked up at her from beneath his long lashes, but said nothing. After she realised he wasn’t about to go, she groaned and stomped away to make their drinks. Hopefully, she thought, they would take the obvious hint and leave.
“You all right, Blake?” asked Flora at the bar. “You’re looking a little put-out.”
“Am I?” she gritted out through clenched teeth.
“Was it Rachel? What did she say?”
Blake poured the steamy brew into the ceramic mugs. “Nothing that surprises me.”
Flora observed her with concern and twisted her apron strings. Side-glancing a
t Flora, Blake suspected what was on her mind. “You can go,” she said. “I know you want to check on your kids after what happened in the bayous. I’ll close up.”
“I can’t leave you here alone.”
“You’d do it for me,” she said. “Frank’s out back. He’ll lock up after me. Go.”
Flora beamed at her. “You’re a gem.”
Flora disappeared into the kitchen to her locker before she hurried out of the diner to rush home.
Blake placed the coffees on a tray and took them over to the Wolves. She hadn’t asked if they wanted milk, and they hadn’t said; so, she served out the mugs without milk and tossed a few paper packets of sugar on the table.
It was too bad for them that their waitress was in a foul mood that night.
“Will there be anything else?” she asked, staring at the clock above the door. Hunter followed her line of sight, but didn’t make any mention of the late hour. He ignored her impatient foot-tapping on the cheap flooring and reclined in the booth.
“We’re fine,” he said, a smirk on his lips.
They stared at Blake. Cheyenne, however, emptied sugar packets into her coffee as if she was an addict.
Blake spun on her heels and walked to the bar. There, she restocked the supplies and started to balance the till. Then, she cleaned all the tables minus the occupied one by the door. Jimmy, the cook, had left an hour ago, and Frank had locked himself away in his office, playing games on his computer. Blake switched off almost all the lights, leaving only the neon bulbs above the bar on.
The Wolves didn’t budge.
Blake returned to the booth and handed them the cheque.
“We’re closing,” she said.
Hunter lounged in the booth, one arm draped over the back of the bench, and his other hand wrapped around the empty coffee mug. He looked up at the huffy waitress. “We have something we need to talk to Frank about. You should go. We’ll be here a while.”
Blake rolled her eyes. Frank wouldn’t approve of her leaving the diner with customers still inside. He’d either dock her pay, or take her off the roster for a week. “He’s out back,” she said. “I’ll go get him.”
“Don’t bother,” said Hunter. He glided out of the booth, followed by the other Wolves. He then checked his watch—stolen, she guessed—before he threw a twenty-dollar note onto the cheque dish. “It’s late. We’ll go to Frank, and you can go home.”
They didn’t wait for her response. They parted around her and went out back to find Frank. Blake watched them dip under the counter and disappear through the kitchen doorway. The Wolves had never shown an interest in Frank before. Maybe he was somehow connected to the murders down in the bayous. Or, even, he might’ve borrowed money from them. Either way, it wasn’t her business, and she wanted nothing to do with it. She knew better than to get involved with the Wolves. Abe always said they lived close to the river and swamps as it made it easier to dispose of bodies—alligators would eat anything thrown in there.
Blake cleaned up after them, balanced the till, then got her things from the locker. The door to Frank’s office was closed, but she could hear muffled voices. Blake traded her dirty apron for her pink cardigan and slung her black satchel over her shoulder. The keys to the diner twirled around her finger—Frank had to lock up behind her. She wasn’t allowed to take keys home, unlike Flora.
Blake marched to the office and swung the door open.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I need Frank to lock—” Blake froze. Her lips remained parted, but the words died in her throat. Her eyes almost bulged out of her head.
Frank slumped back against the desk in his grimy office. Purple bruises shone beneath his hooded eyes, and a few droplets of blood gathered at the corner of his swollen mouth. Hunter’s dad stood beside him, his fists coated in crimson liquid and his hair dishevelled. He’d been hitting Frank, she realised.
Cheyanne was perched on the edge of the desk, reading through the books. Before she could look at any of the other Wolves, a blur of black moved in front of her—Hunter.
Hands gripped onto her shoulders before she was shoved out of the office. The slam of the door snapped her out of her shock. Blake made to speak, but Hunter shoved her against the lockers and glared at her.
“I told you to leave,” he said. “You’ll keep your mouth shut about this, Harper.”
“You can’t do this,” she whispered. “I’m calling the cops.”
A yelp escaped her as he smacked his palm against the locker, a hair’s touch from her cheek. His face lowered to hers as he hissed, “You didn’t see anything. You’ll call no one, you’ll tell no one.”
“I’m not afraid of you—”
“If you talk,” he growled, “we’ll pay your dad’s garage a little visit.”
Hunter took a step back. She slumped against the locker, her horrified gaze glued to his coffee-brown eyes.
Blake swallowed, loudly, before she said, “I’m not going to let you kill someone.”
Hunter threw his head back and laughed. He shook his head, a smile still on his lips. “Kill?” he said. “Don’t be so dramatic, Harper. Your boss just needs a lesson on paying debts on time.” With a shrug, he stepped to the side. “See? You can leave. You can go home and never think about this again. It’s up to you.”
Blake’s face scrunched up. A blush of shame swept across her face—she knew right away what her decision would be.
Blake threw the keys at him. Her upper lip curled before she stormed out of the diner and slammed the door behind her. She went home.
*
Blake hunched over her cold cup of chocolate milk. Abe’s protective embrace stopped her from being able to drink her coco. Jack sat in silence across from her. It hadn’t taken her long to tell her parents what had happened at the diner. Abe concerned himself with Blake’s comfort, while Jack mulled over the best course of action.
As she rubbed the damp pads of her thumbs over the mug, she asked, “What should we do? Do we report it to the Sheriff? I wanted to, but Hunter said he’d—”
“I know.” Jack’s tone was gentle. “Ms Walters says that Frank’s been borrowing money from the Wolves. He stacked up a gambling debt at the club house.”
Abe nodded and rubbed soothing circles on her back. “That’s likely the reason he’s been pinching money from the wait staff’s tips,” he said.
“But what if they really hurt him?” she said. “And I just … I didn’t do anything about it. Doesn’t that make me an accomplice?”
Jack smiled warmly at her. “They won’t do anything, Blake. Not after you walked in on them. They’re a bad bunch, but they’re not stupid. I think that for the time being you should give your shifts at the diner to Flora and Kyle. Tell Frank you don’t want to work there anymore.”
Incredulity struck her eyes. No shifts at the diner meant no money to add to her escape-fund. “What?” she said, wide-eyed. “I can’t quit. I need the money, and—and…”
There was no ‘and’. She wanted money, and that’s all.
“You father’s right, Blakie Bear,” said Abe. “We’d feel much better knowing that you’re away from whatever business Frank has with that gang. He’s obviously gotten himself into trouble, and you don’t need to be caught in the crossfire.”
“But, the Sheriff can—”
“Sheriff Cotton won’t do anything,” said Abe. “They pay him to keep out of their business. How often do you see a Wolf under arrest?”
Blake licked her lips before she shook her head. “Never.”
“Because they have an arrangement. Telling Sheriff Cotton what you saw won’t help anyone. Not Frank, and not you.”
“Is this because of the garage?” she asked, face scrunching up into a deadly scowl. “If we go to the cops, the Wolves might burn the garage down. Is that why you don’t want me to tell them?”
“I couldn’t give a gator’s tail about the garage,” said Jack. “It’s insured. The house is insured, the cars, everything. It’s you, I ca
re about. That boy, Hunter, gave you an out. He didn’t have to do that. Not many of the Wolves would’ve chanced letting you go with only a warning. That’s how I know Frank isn’t in any real danger. They wouldn’t have let you leave if they were planning on killing him. Besides,” he added, his tone softened, “I’ll swing by the diner on my way to the garage in the morning. I’ll check on Frank, all right?”
Abe smiled. “See, Blakie Bear? It’ll all work out. But you aren’t to go back to the diner for a while. At least, not until things settle down. Belle-Vue just isn’t safe anymore.”
“I’ll give you work at the garage,” offered Jack. Blake grimaced at the thought. “I know you like to make your own money to save. I’ll cut some shifts to make room for you.”
Blake shook her head. She couldn’t do that his only staff member, Louise.
Louise lived two trailers down from Flora. They were close friends, and Louise was a single mother. She needed the shifts more than Blake did.
“It’s fine,” said Blake. “I’ll go without the work until it smooths over.”
“That’s my Blakie,” said Abe. “In the meantime,” he added, “I want you stay away from everyone connected to these crimes ravaging our town. That means this Hunter boy, and Frank too. And—” he hesitated, looking at Jack for help.
Jack leaned forward, his gaze moving between his husband and his daughter. “And,” he said, finishing Abe’s sentence, “the Prescotts.”
Blake almost recoiled. “Bethany and Zeke?”
Jack nodded. “Especially Bethany and Zeke.”
4
The Witch Hunt
Blake unpacked her satchel beside Bethany. They prepared their textbooks, pencils, and jotters in silence before they took their seats.
In the few days following the threats at Frank’s Diner, Blake Harper had listened to her parents. She had never been the rebellious type, and she trusted her dads’ instincts above her own. They knew what was best for her. Even if it meant giving her shifts to Flora, and ignoring the Prescott twins.
That last part was easy. Bethany didn’t have any time or effort to spend on Blake either.
