Southern Cross (9 page)

For
some reason, when Diggs had described the sheriff the night before, I’d
pictured someone... older. And smaller. Someone vaguely inept, oft around the
middle, with a poorly fitted uniform and not much going on upstairs. Barney
Fife with a sheriff’s star. Instead, Harvey Jennings was Diggs’ age, and he was
the closest thing I’d ever seen to a real-life Marlboro Man—minus the Stetson
hat. His uniform was pressed, his hat perfectly centered, his boots shined, his
jaw square. He had a full-on Burt Reynolds moustache, and stood about 6’2”. If
there was anything soft about him, I sure as hell wasn’t seeing it.

“Now,”
Jennings began, addressing the crowd. “I want y’all to try and stay calm. A
tragedy’s happened here tonight—we all know that. But y’all can rest easy
knowin’ I won’t stop ‘til I find the evildoers that targeted the reverend and
took Brother Jimmy from us.”

I
looked at Diggs. He stayed focused on Jennings, tensed and waiting.

“I
got some more deputies on their way here,” Jennings continued, “and they’re
gonna ask you what you seen. I just want everybody to think good and hard on
that. If there was a vehicle of any kind drivin’ away from the scene—a truck,
maybe?”

He
waited, leaving the question open.

“What
the hell’s he doing?” I whispered to Diggs, as one of the teenage girls we’d
seen earlier piped up.

“There
was a red truck!” she said.

“A Tacoma,” a man shouted. At a nod from Jennings, Buddy wrote it down.

I
felt Diggs tense beside me. “Why don’t you just tell us what you want to hear, Harvey?” he asked. “You give us a description, we can just smile and nod.”

Jennings
strode toward us too fast, his eyes boring through Diggs.
“You got something you wanna say to me, Diggins?” 

Diggs
didn’t move, gazing up at Jennings with a slow, cold smile. “I heard you found
Jesus, Harvey,” he said. “I’ll be sure and tell Sarah the next time I talk to
her.”

Jennings
went full-on puce. Buddy grabbed his arm. “We got
something,” he said quickly to the sheriff, lowering his voice—though not
enough that I couldn’t make out that they’d found the murder weapon, discarded
out in the field. Jennings returned to us before he and Buddy left for whatever
their next move was.

“You
seen your nephew here tonight?” Jennings asked.

“No,”
Diggs said shortly.

“I
heard tell y’all fought with the reverend today. Out to Wyatt’s funeral.”

“Danny
didn’t have anything to do with that,” Diggs said. “That was all me.”

“That
boy’s got a temper,” Jennings said. “Everybody in town knows it. More than one
person heard him threaten the reverend today. I got a mind to go on out there
myself right now and see what he’s been up to tonight.”

 Diggs
stood. He was a good two inches shorter than Jennings, but he was broader, and
based on what I’d glimpsed when he’d taken his shirt off this afternoon, he
hadn’t been idle these past six months: he had muscles on his muscles, his
chest and arms more defined than I’d ever seen. It seemed I wasn’t the only one
preparing for battle while we’d been apart. Bottom line? I wouldn’t bet against
him if it came down to a fight between him and Jennings.

“Mae
buried her husband today,” Diggs said. “Half the vehicles on the road here are
red trucks—you go out there tonight without reasonable cause and I’ll make it
my life’s work to pry that badge out of your cold dead hand.”

A
vein throbbed in Jennings’ forehead. “A great man was gunned down like a dog
tonight. I don’t care who they buried today—if Danny had somethin’ to do with
this, I’m taking that boy down. You just stay out of my way and let me do my
job.”

“I
might if you had the first clue how to do it—”

Buddy
called the sheriff again, abruptly ending the pissing contest between him and
Diggs. When Jennings was gone, Diggs sat back down. His body was humming, anger
coming off him in waves.

I
shook my head. “I know I’m hardly one to talk, but I’ve gotta tell you: your
interpersonal skills could use some work.”

“Bite
me.”

“I
rest my case.”

<><><> 

When
we got to the car, Diggs blasted the heat and pointed us back toward the Durham homestead. He hadn’t spoken since we’d left Jennings at the tent.

“You
don’t think Danny had anything to do with this, do you?” I finally asked,
breaking the silence.

He
shook his head. “Of course not. Jennings was just trying to piss me off—he knew
that would do the trick. Every idiot and their brother has a red truck around
here. Trust me, that’s the last thing I’m worried about right now.”

I let
it go. There was still a long line of cars parked along the side of the road,
barely visible in the darkness. In the rearview, I saw one of them pull out
just seconds after we had. It U-turned after us and was soon no more than a car
length behind.

As we
passed by the flashing lights, I checked behind us again. My heart sank like a
stone. The same dark blue sedan I’d spotted on the way to the funeral was back.

Diggs
caught my reaction, glancing behind us at the same time.

I
thought once more of the scenes I’d flashed back to when we were in the tent:
baptisms and prayer meetings, my father on his knees, women crying, a child
screaming… All of it part of the Payson Church and the mystery of my own past.
My theory had been that the Paysons were innocent victims, murdered for reasons
I still didn’t understand by a nameless man in a hooded cloak who visited my
darkest dreams on a nightly basis—a man I’d hoped to see the last of when I
told him I’d stop asking questions if he would just let Diggs live.

I’d
known then that it was too easy. He’d be back.

“Do
you think it’s him?” I asked quietly.

Diggs
didn’t answer, but I had no doubt he knew exactly who I was talking about. I
waited for him to hit the accelerator—to keep moving, as fast and as far as we
could go.

“I
don’t know,” he said.

“I
think you’re a liar,” I said. “He’s the one who’s been following us since we
got here, and you know it. With you and me here together, he thinks I’m digging
into my father’s past again…”

I
hated the weakness in my voice—that little shred of panic I couldn’t shake. My
entire life, I’d been fearless, willing to take on anyone, anything, for the
truth. For the sake of the almighty story. That had changed last summer, with
Diggs by my side while we ran for our lives. I felt the same cold dread that
had all but paralyzed me for the first two months out of the hospital after our
escape.

“It
might not be him,” Diggs said. He’d never sounded less convincing.

He
drove for another two minutes before he glanced at me, muttered “Screw it”
under his breath, and slowed down. The car behind us got closer.

“What
the hell are you doing?”

His
eyes were steady on the road. “If it’s him, I’m not running. And neither are
you. I’m done.” He hit the brake, hard, and jerked the wheel to the left.

Whoever
was following barely avoided hitting us. 

Diggs
got out and slammed the door, striding toward our pursuer. If I hadn’t been so
pissed, I would have been terrified. As it was, though, Diggs seemed to have
annoyed the fear right out of me. I bolted from the car and ran after him.

The
hooded man stood outside the driver’s side when we got there, waiting for us—as
though he’d known this was exactly how the night would turn out. He wore blue
jeans and a yellow rain slicker. His hood was up, but rain still tracked down
his thin face. It didn’t seem to bother him.

He
smiled when he saw me. We stood close enough that I could see details I’d never
noticed before: blue eyes; laugh lines; a scar above his left eyebrow. He
didn’t look like a man who’d killed men, women, and children in droves over the
years.

“We
meet again, Ms. Solomon,” he said pleasantly.

“What
are you doing here?” I asked. “This thing with Barnel—”

“Is
quite a spectacle, isn’t it?” he said. “But I’m more interested in the reunion
between you and Mr. Diggins at the moment. Heartwarming, you two together
again. I also wanted to remind you of our terms, lest you’ve forgotten.”

“You
didn’t need to do that,” I said. My mouth had gone dry. “I haven’t told anyone
what happened last summer. I gave up looking for my father. Trust me, I
remember the terms.”

“Do
you?” he asked, looking directly at Diggs. “Because I feel as though I was very
fair. Very clear. There won’t be another pass like the one I gave you in Black Falls. We can’t allow that.”

I
looked from him to Diggs, my head spinning. The central figure in my nightmares
was here, talking to us like we were a couple of teenagers caught tagging the
local playground.

“We
haven’t done anything,” I insisted. “I haven’t even seen him in six months—and
when the funeral’s over, we’ll go our separate ways again. He’s not a threat.
Neither of us is.”

The
hooded man looked at me, and for a second it seemed there was genuine sadness
in his eyes. “I do hope that’s true.”

We
were still in the road, in the rain, in the middle of the night. The hooded man
surveyed the scene before he turned his attention back to me.

“I
should be going. But if you don’t mind a friendly word of advice: This isn’t a
good place to be right now. Jesup Barnel had some odd ideas about the world.
He’s set some things in motion that won’t be good for this town. Or anyone in
it.”

We
were being dismissed—like he was the one who’d arranged this meeting, rather
than nearly crashing into us because Diggs had gone nuts and decided to turn
the tables. I was willing to go along with it, though, if it meant we got to live
a little longer.

Diggs
wasn’t so amenable. He caught hold of the hooded man’s arm before he could
leave.

“I
know you think you hold all the cards right now,” Diggs said. The man said
nothing, his eyes never leaving Diggs’. “But that won’t always be true. This
isn’t over.”

What
came next happened in one of those fast-forward blurs usually reserved for
movies about superheroes or sparkly vampires. Barely a split second passed and
Diggs was on his knees, his arm twisted behind his back.

“I
hope you’re wrong about that,” the hooded man said. He stood above Diggs, his
eyes suddenly dark. “I truly do.”

He
let Diggs go without another word, got into his car, backed up, and drove away.

I was
too pissed to speak when we got back in the car. Diggs glanced at me.

“You
should call Juarez and see if he can use his resources to get some info on that
blue sedan. I’ve got the plate number.”

“Isn’t
that the exact opposite of what we’re supposed to be doing?” I asked. My voice
was tight, but it was nothing compared with the way my body felt. “Maybe you
didn’t get what he was telling us.”

“No,”
Diggs said, his own voice just as tight. “I was the one on my knees, remember?
Trust me, I got it. How much have you told Juarez about what went down last
summer?”

I
stared out the window into the pure black night. I was caught back in the woods
of Maine again—standing above the earth while Diggs lay down below, bleeding, a
lunatic standing over him with a very big knife.

“I
never told him anything,” I said quietly. “They’ll go after him if I do. You
already know everything… the best I could do for you was walk away. The best I
can do for anyone else is keep my mouth shut.”

“Sounds
like you’ve got it all worked out, then,” Diggs said. There was no mistaking
the bitterness in his tone. I chose to ignore it.

He
glanced at me periodically during the rest of the drive, his forehead furrowed
with concern or frustration or outright anger. I paid very little attention,
too busy checking behind us for some sign that my worst nightmare was about to
come true.

It
was two a.m. by the time we got back to the Durhams’ that night. Contrary to
Sheriff Jennings’ threat, there was no sign that the cops had been there.
According to Barnel’s prophecy, Armageddon should be in full swing by this
time, but so far things looked pretty peaceful. The porch light was on, the
rest of the house dark. Einstein and his pack of hounds greeted us with a few
half-hearted woofs, but thankfully no lights came on inside. Diggs followed me
into the house. It was eerily quiet. Hard to believe upwards of thirty people
had been crammed in the place just a few hours before.

I
went upstairs to my attic hideaway with Einstein by my side, anxious for some
space and a little time to think. Diggs retired to his room—I assumed for the
night. When I got to my door, however, he was back. This time, he had his
duffel bag with him. 

“What
are you doing?” I whispered.

“I
don’t want to wake the boys up,” Diggs said. “And I need to talk to you.”