Beautiful Villain

Could she have?

Could it have been her?

I think back to that night. Everything was so crazy and chaotic and wild. Things are sometimes so clear and sometimes so blurry. That’s the problem with memories like this. Things aren’t always exactly like we seem to remember them.

“Yeah. Did she…did she dislike Sammy?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t know she even knew him.”

“Oh shit,” Finley says, and I realize what she’s thinking almost instantly.

“You think she had her eye on Ted all along.”

“They got married really fast, Neil. I know you were away, but…well, it was fast. I mean, everyone thought it was a shotgun wedding, you know? No one could have known that it was anything else. I mean, who would have thought that? Literally no one would have thought that she’d killed Sammy to get him out of her way.”

Only, it kind of makes sense, and I wonder how nobody ever saw this before.

“You think she was hiding behind the mine carts.”

“Maybe she was near them, or even in the trees. If it was chaotic enough, Sammy’s dad wouldn’t have seen her. He could have hauled everything inside and made it look like you ambushed them. If everyone knew he was shot from outside, there would have been a better investigation.”

“I know,” I say slowly. “Because people could have argued that someone was out shooting squirrels or goofing off with their dad’s gun. Nobody would have simply bought the fact that he’d been killed in cold blood.”

Even though that was what had happened.

“What do we do?” Finley asks quietly. She’s still holding the earring, and I take it from her and shove it in my pocket.

“Right now, we go.”

We head back to the car in total silence. We get inside and Finley drives us back to her place. I can’t be totally sure, but I think there’s a car following us.

“Don’t stop,” I say as we approach her house. Finley doesn’t even argue with me or backtalk or try to change my mind. She just keeps driving, and sure enough, the car keeps following us.

She turns down a main road and drives past the post office, the library, and one of the medical clinics.

Still, the car stays with us.

I don’t know who it is or what they want, but it can’t be anything good.

“There’s someone following us,” I finally say.

“I know,” she tells me. “It’s the sheriff.”

“Does he follow you often?”

“No, but he always drives that beat-up Saturn,” she shrugs.

“What’s wrong with Saturns?”

“Nothing, but his is a POS.”

“POS?”

“Piece of shit,” she says, and I hate the way a chuckle breaks from my lips. She shoots me a wry smile and looks at me sideways. “I guess you have a sense of humor after all.”

“Well, if it’s the sheriff, I suppose it doesn’t matter if he knows where you live,” I tell her.

“He obviously wants to know if you’re staying with me.”