He turns to one of the filing crates he brought with him. They’re both indexed and sorted by color, each folder clearly labeled.
Say what you want about the Loveless Boys — and plenty of people have — but we can keep our shit in order.
“Here,” Caleb says, handing her a green folder.
They both bend over the folder. I’m on one of the couches, reading, half-listening to them plan our backpacking trip for later this summer. When they first started this, the plan was for three days and two nights, but Caleb keeps suggesting longer and longer treks into the wilderness, and Charlie keeps agreeing.
At this rate, I’m going to be gone for a week. When I get back, Rusty will be half-feral and my mom, who’s agreed to look after her during the trip, will be completely out of bourbon.
“There,” Caleb says, pointing at a spot on the map.
Charlie head moves slightly toward him. They’re both sitting cross-legged, both wearing jeans and t-shirts with no shoes. They’ve even both got top knots, though Charlie’s is all wild curls and Caleb’s is wavy and messy.
“Does that really say two thousand feet elevation gain in a mile?” Charlie asks.
“Yeah,” Caleb drawls. “Plus, when I did this hike two years ago with a buddy of mine there was nowhere flat enough to sleep for a good six miles, so by the time we found somewhere we could even lie down it was dark and we were hiking by flashlight. I don’t really recommend it, even though the views are amazing.”
“All right, we’re not doing the Twins,” Charlie says, pushing the map to one side and reaching for another one. “What else?”
Caleb sighs, takes the map, and puts it neatly back in the folder, and I smile to myself because I know exactly how he feels right now.
“If you don’t mind starting the trip with a long day, we could head to the Crystal Grotto,” he says, just as the front door opens and Eli steps through carrying two big canvas bags, one of which has a froth of greenery sticking out the top.
“Hiking?” he says, looking down at the people and maps spread across the floor.
“Caleb’s taking us backpacking for secret reasons,” Charlie says.
“The same secret reason I owe you meatballs?” Eli says, hoisting one of the bags over his shoulder. “Do I even owe you those, now that you’re actually f—”
I clear my throat and glare at my older brother.
“— dating?” he asks, throwing me a look.
“A deal’s a deal,” Levi’s voice says from beyond the still-open door.
“There’s always negotiation,” Eli says.
Boots cross the wooden front porch, and then the door pushes open further, revealing Levi, wearing work pants and a t-shirt, standing there with a bundle of long sticks over one shoulder, a cast-iron dutch oven hanging from his other hand.
“Just make the meatballs,” Levi says.
“That’s easy for you to say, you didn’t get a task.”
“Seems I’ve got the task of listening to you bellyache about—”
“Out!” my mom calls from the doorway to the kitchen. Five heads turn as she comes into the room. “Levi Beauford, you know better than to bring a mess of kindling into my house,” she goes on. “Take it around the side.”
“It’s not kindling, it’s a spit roast,” he says.
“Around. The. Side,” she repeats, then looks at Eli. “You too.”
“It’s groceries,” he protests. “The ducks need to go in the fridge.”
“Ducks?” I ask as Levi sighs and turns back through the door.
“Have feathers, go quack,” Caleb supplies.
“Thank you,” I deadpan, and Charlie snorts.
“Please tell me they’re already butchered,” Mom says.
“They’re already butchered,” Eli says dutifully.
“All right, you can stay, I guess,” she says, and steps back out of the room.
“You’re spit roasting ducks?” Charlie asks.
“Wait, that’s today?” I add.
“You two have gotta pay attention,” Eli drawls, a slow smile coming onto his face. “Yes, today is Rusty’s Little House on the Prairie feast extravaganza. Levi’s been crafting the roasting mechanism for days.”
“Where is Rusty?” Caleb suddenly asks, stretching his legs in front of himself and leaning back on his hands.
We all look around. It’s been quiet for at least half an hour.
Too quiet.
“I think she’s in her room,” I say, suddenly suspicious. “I’ll go tell her you guys are here.”
I heave myself off the couch and head for the stairs. I know she’s probably just reading a book in her room, but one of the very first things I learned as a parent was that noise is suspicious, but quiet is extremely suspicious.
“Hey, munchkin,” I call out. “Your uncles are he—”
I stop short when I reach the top step. There’s something on the floor between Rusty’s room and the bathroom, four or five drops of dark liquid.
It takes me a second to realize what it is, and then my stomach leaps into my throat.
“Rusty!” I shout. I reach her bedroom door in one step, slam it open. It’s empty and in the second it takes me to scan the room, I also see her desk chair pushed back, a sharp stick on her desk next to a bright red smear, the drops of blood on the floor closer together here.