The Right Kind of Fool

by Sarah Loudin Thomas

  Father looked surprised, then confused. “There might be some truth to that, but how would you know it?”

  The man’s veiled lips curled in a sly smile. “We listen real good and see almost as much as that boy of yours.” Loyal smiled at that. It was nice to be noticed.

  “Alright, what is it you want me to see?”

  The man waved at Bernie, who tucked her head close to Rebecca’s so Loyal couldn’t see what she said. When she raised up, Rebecca handed her the little notebook they’d been looking at and passed it to the bearded man. He held it with something like reverence. No, that wasn’t quite right. He held it the way he might a rotten potato he was trying to get rid of without spreading the stink. He flipped it open, found a page, and handed it over.

  Father ran his eyes down the lines written there. Loyal had glanced at it before. He remembered names and numbers, but it hadn’t meant anything to him. Mostly he’d looked at the sketches that had captured Rebecca’s attention.

  Father’s lips moved, but Loyal suspected he wasn’t actually making sound, just shaping the names and numbers he saw lined out. Finally, Father looked up. “Is this what I think it is?”

  “If you think it’s a list of folks working with them fellers to get the government to buy up their land for more than it’s worth, then yeah, it’s what you think.”

  “But, how do you know that’s what it is?” Father looked upset. Like he didn’t want what they were saying to be true.

  The man nodded toward the book. “We might not sit beside them folks in church of a Sunday, but word gets around. Who needs ready cash. Whose land don’t yield what it once did.” He waved his hand toward the window. “’Course, we own more than a few acres, and that Earl feller sent word—he knew better than to come himself—that he wanted to talk turkey.” He grinned. “And I was willin’. Thought it might give my boys a way out of this holler. I was expecting those government fellers to come around the day that one got shot.” He chuckled. “Kept my name out of that there book anyhow.”

  Father began ruffling the pages faster as though desperate to find something.

  “You won’t find Hadden Westfall in there,” the bearded man said with a nod. “I ain’t saying he’s what you’d call an upstanding citizen, but I guess he’s not the sort to deal with the likes of them.”

  “Which means just about everyone in here has a better reason for shooting Eddie Minks than Hadden does.” Father furrowed his brow. “But that still doesn’t explain why Otto would claim to do something I’m pretty sure he didn’t.”

  As Loyal watched, everyone’s head jerked in one direction—toward Michael. The young man stood beside the table, back straight, arms stiff at his sides. He looked directly at Father. “You heard me. I said I shot that man.”

  Creed wished he could just tell everyone to sit down, be quiet, and let him think. Too many pieces of information were flying at him from all directions. Clyde Hacker seemed to think he was doing them all a favor by keeping the kids here. Rebecca had a notebook that sure seemed like the one Christine said Eddie carried with him, which included the names of landowners who were apparently working with Eddie and Earl to cheat the government. Now Hadden’s boy was claiming to be the killer. Questions darted around inside his head like birds trapped inside a house. He wanted to fling the windows open and let them all out, but tried to capture just one or two instead.

  He stepped over to Michael and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Son. Are you telling me you killed that man?”

  The boy’s stoic expression slipped a notch and his eyes glistened. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “What happened?”

  Rebecca stepped forward and put an arm around her brother’s waist. “Michael had Daddy’s gun. He told me he’d show me how to shoot it, so we went way down there along the river where no one would see or hear us.” Creed noticed the girl had a lisp. He’d never paid enough attention to her to realize it before. “That man must’ve been taking a nap in the shade. As quick as we shot the gun, he jumped up and started yelling at us to get out of there.” She worried her lip and glanced at her brother, who gave a small nod. “Michael told him it was our land and he was the one that needed to go away. He laughed and said he was meeting someone.” She took a deep breath. “I tried to explain that it was alright for us to be there, and then he . . .” She ducked her chin.

  Michael picked up the thread. “He started making fun of how Rebecca talks. Started acting like he couldn’t say his words right, either. And he just laughed and laughed. I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t.” One tear escaped his control, and his hand shot up to scrub it away. “I had the gun in my hand and I just shot it before I had time to think.”

  Creed’s blood thrummed in his head. Of all the possibilities he’d considered up to now, this was the last and probably the worst. He’d felt sure Otto hadn’t pulled the trigger, but for it to have been a boy defending his sister . . .

  “I appreciate your telling me the truth,” he said. He reached out and squeezed Michael’s shoulder—a man-to-man gesture that wasn’t lost on the boy. He lifted his chin and squared his jaw.

  “We were on our way to tell you and then the sheriff when Mr. Hacker found us and brought us here. Guess we oughta go on into town now.” He cleared his throat. “Can’t let Otto take the blame for something he didn’t do.”

  Clyde stepped forward. “Whyn’t you leave these ones here with us.” He nodded at the notebook still in Creed’s hand. “You and Sam take that on to the sheriff. If that government feller figures out you know what he’s been up to, ain’t no telling what he’ll do.” A slow smile parted his beard. “But I’d be willing to bet he ain’t gonna show his face around this house.” He grunted. “Coyotes are sly, but they ain’t dumb.”

  Sam argued with his daddy about taking Creed into town, yet Clyde won out in the end. Now Sam ghosted through the trees with a scowl etched on his face. The man had an endless supply of sassafras twigs, and the sweet smell trailed along after him. Though Creed had been reluctant to leave the kids at the Hacker place, he was equally wary of exposing them to further danger by marching them back into the middle of town. And while he expected Hadden would bluster about being able to keep his own children safe, Creed wasn’t altogether certain how the businessman would handle hearing his son had killed a man with a gun he wasn’t supposed to have.

  It was a mess.

  And he still needed to fill Delphy in.

  When they arrived at the sheriff’s office, Hadden was there berating Virgil. He looked as if the words Hadden was pouring into his ears were hitting like physical blows. He kept flinching. And the smudges under his eyes looked like bruises. Creed guessed he might prefer being beaten up to the tongue-lashing that was under way.

  Then Hadden spied him and Sam standing in the open door. He whirled on them. “Where in the blue blazes have you been? And where are my children?”

  “Clyde Hacker’s looking out for ’em.” The look of utter shock on Hadden’s face was almost worth it. He sputtered and acted like he was revving up for another round of verbal warfare when Virgil stood.

  “Enough!” the sheriff roared. “I want every last one of you to plant your hindquarters on a chair and seal your lips until I give you permission to speak.”

  Hadden opened his mouth, but Virgil drew his pistol and pointed it at him. “I said sit.” He waved the pistol at Creed and Sam. “You two do the same.”

  Creed saw Bud peek into the room, then duck back out. Smart man. They all sat, Hadden glowering, Sam wearing a bemused expression, and Creed wondering in what order he should share all the information swirling around in his head.

  Virgil holstered his gun and used both hands to rub his head like he was trying to get something sticky off of it. “I’d just as soon run you all on up to Elkins and lock you up until Judge Kline and those attorneys can do whatever they want with you.” He blew out a breath and closed his eyes. “They went ahead and started picking a jury for Otto’s trial.”
Creed raised up and opened his mouth when another look from Virgil silenced him. “The judge knows as well as I do there’s more to this story than what Otto says, but there’s pressure from all sides—the Feds, locals scared about a murder, even that woman who says she was engaged to Eddie. Only one who wants to slow things down is Earl, and Judge Kline doesn’t put any more faith in him than I do.”

  He let silence fill the room until it pushed at them, yet no one dared speak. “Now. Creed. Would you care to explain why your boy and Hadden’s young’uns are at the Hacker place instead of here, in this room, with us?”

  Hadden opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, choosing to glare at Creed instead. Sam tilted his chair back on two legs and stared at the ceiling. Creed tried several explanations out in his head, but none of them seemed like they’d satisfy Virgil. So he pulled out Eddie’s notebook and handed it to the sheriff. He took the book and began going through it, page by page, absorbing every notation.

  “Rebecca found that the day Eddie got shot. His fiancée—Christine—can most likely identify it as his. I think it might shed some light on why Earl is so fired up about figuring out who wanted to shoot his partner.”

  Virgil’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. Creed let him continue his perusal in silence. The sheriff finally looked up. “Even if this doesn’t tell us who committed murder, it’ll tie a few knots in some important tails around here.”

  “Including Earl’s,” Creed said.

  “What is that?” Hadden asked. “I demand to see it.”

  Virgil laughed. “Demand all you want. This is evidence and it’s got nothing to do with you.” He shook his head. “Which you can be almighty grateful about.” He shifted his gaze back to Creed. “’Course, it doesn’t appear to have anything to do with Otto, either. Gives a passel of folks a mighty fine motive, but not the one who claims to be the killer.”

  “About that,” Creed said, suddenly finding his chair particularly hard. “Turns out Otto might’ve been covering for somebody.”

  Hadden threw his hands in the air. “Not this again! I told you I didn’t do it.”

  Virgil moved like a cat, standing inches from Hadden in a flash. He jammed a finger in his face. “Well, once we get that ballistics report back, I’m betting we’ll know it was your gun that did it. Now the only question is, who pulled the trigger—you or your man?”

  Clearly taken aback, Hadden shrank back into his chair. “I explained how it wasn’t me.”

  “I think he’s telling the truth,” Creed said.

  Virgil looked at him with surprise. “You’re taking up for Hadden? You really think Otto did it?”

  “No. I . . .” He darted a look at Hadden. “Maybe we should talk in private.”

  “You’re not leaving me out of this,” Hadden said. “I want to know who you think could’ve taken my gun and used it to kill that man.”

  Creed paused, noting a cruel smile tugging at Sam’s lips. “Michael confessed to the shooting, and Rebecca backed him up.”

  Hadden stood, took two steps toward Creed, and slugged him in the chin.

  twenty-three

  Delphy hadn’t been able to stand the waiting another minute. She finally repinned her hair, smoothed her skirt, and marched down to Virgil’s office. Not many women went in there other than Virgil’s wife, Julia, but Delphy didn’t care. She heard voices as she approached and felt certain one of them was Creed’s. She raised a hand to knock on the doorframe just as she saw Hadden leap to his feet and strike . . . her husband.

  Delphy flew to Creed’s side, barking at Virgil to bring her a wet cloth. Astonishingly enough, the sheriff obeyed and without saying a word. Delphy knelt on the floor to bathe Creed’s face with the cool rag. She was about to ask Virgil to help her roll Creed onto his side when he flinched and blinked up at her. She bit her lip and watched a look dawn in his eyes that she knew well. She felt her cheeks flush in response, and her breath hitched. He lifted his hand, grazing her cheek with his knuckles. She froze and it was as if the room fell away around them and she was only aware of his look of love washing over all the dry places in her soul.

  “Might be worth getting knocked on my hind end if I can wake up to you,” he whispered. She flushed and pulled back, reminding herself that they were not alone. He grabbed her wrist, tugged her back toward him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything.”

  She fought tears. “Might be worth your getting knocked on your hind end if you wake up with good sense,” she said.

  “Is he awake?” Virgil asked. Delphy snapped back to attention and moved away, eyes still locked on Creed’s. He sat up, rubbing his jaw as Virgil stepped closer and held a hand out for Creed to grasp. “I’ve got Hadden settled—now tell us what you meant when you said Michael shot Eddie Minks.”

  Delphy stared up at the sheriff. Michael? Hadden’s son? Creed stood and staggered once before dropping into one of the hard folding chairs. Delphy moved close and laid a hand on his shoulder. He glanced up at her. “How long have you been here?” he asked.

  “I stopped by to see if Virgil had heard from you—or Loyal. I arrived just in time to see you laid out on the floor.” She managed a smile in spite of the dozen or so questions buzzing through her mind. “I guess seeing you like that made me realize I’m not quite ready to be shut of you yet.” He reached up and grasped her hand where it rested on his shoulder. And she let him.

  Something tender passed between them then, and Delphy had the notion—for the first time since Creed came home with a fevered boy on that fateful spring day—that they were on the same side of whatever battle was being waged. She looked up and saw Virgil waiting none too patiently for Creed to speak. Hadden stood in the corner, arms crossed, and . . . well, there wasn’t actual steam coming from his ears, but there might as well have been.

  Creed cleared his throat and gave her hand another squeeze. “Michael was on his way into town with his sister and Loyal to turn himself in when Sam and his brother waylaid ’em and took ’em to their place.” He glanced at Sam, whom Delphy hadn’t noticed until now. The taciturn fellow showed no indication that he wanted to add any details. “Clyde seems to think they’re safer with him, and I tend to agree.” He nodded at a notebook on Virgil’s desk. “If Earl had known they were carrying that around, I think he might’ve tried real hard to get it from them.”

  Hadden strode forward and, even though Virgil gave him a warning look, loomed over Creed. “What do you mean Michael was on his way to turn himself in? If he’s claiming he shot that man, then he’s simply trying to prove something to me. Foolishness. Pure foolishness!”

  Creed ran his tongue over his lip, and Delphy noticed a cut there. “Says he took that fancy pistol of yours and planned to teach his sister to shoot it. They happened upon Eddie, and he gave your girl a hard time about the way she talks.” Hadden flushed. “Michael said he didn’t really mean to do it—just fired without thinking it through.”

  Again Hadden slumped into a chair. “Why would he do that?” He seemed to be talking to himself.

  Virgil tapped the notebook on his desk. “I’m gonna have to tell Wendell all this, and quick.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Late as it is, I’ll phone the judge and see what he wants to do. I need everyone to clear this room, but I don’t want anyone to go any farther than the end of the street.” He went and opened the door and hollered toward the back room. “Bud, I know you’re hiding back there. I need you to keep an eye on this rabble while I make a telephone call.”

  Bud shuffled out with a sheepish look on his face. Virgil waved a hand at the ragtag group. “Don’t let ’em outta your sight.” He narrowed his eyes. “And don’t let ’em eavesdrop, either.”

  Bud waved everyone together, marched them outside and toward the park on the corner. They all stood, looking first at each other, then the ground. Bud positioned himself on the sidewalk, resting a hand on the butt of his pistol. Hadden paced back and forth while Sam lounged on a bench, watching them like a vulture watch
ing a dying squirrel. Creed reached out and took Delphy’s hand. Her breath caught and she hesitated, then laced her fingers through his. He tugged her closer until they stood hip to hip.

  “Loyal’s alright?” she asked.

  “He is.” Creed gave a soft laugh. “As a matter of fact, I’d say he’s having a fine time. He’s been teaching everyone he sees how to do sign language. And even Clyde Hacker noticed how smart he is.”

  She let a smile lift her lips. “He did?”

  “Said he’s a wonder.”

  The smile grew and she bumped him with her hip. “He surely is that.”

  Creed gripped her hand tighter and lowered his voice. “Hey, remember that day I first talked to you at Rohrbaugh’s Store? You were digging through bolts of fabric like there was gold buried in there somewhere.”

  She laughed and angled toward him. “You were determined not to pay me any mind just because your daddy thought we’d be a good match. Stubborn, that’s what you were.”

  “Still am,” he said. “Sorry to say.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “But that day—I don’t know what it was. Maybe the way the sun hit your hair. Or the way you didn’t give up looking until you found just what you wanted—”

  “Blue roses,” she said, the memory dawning. “That fabric had the prettiest blue rose print.”

  “Right, focused is what you were. And I couldn’t resist.”

  She laughed and looked at him from under her eyelashes. “Well, I could.”

  “Not for long,” he said in a low husky voice. A shiver of pleasure ran through her, and she barely had time to remind herself that she should be thinking about Loyal and Michael and what was going to happen next when Virgil stepped out onto the street and waved them all back into his office. Creed kept a firm hold on her hand as they walked back. And she let him.