Founder

Chapter 5

5

“Not bad for a bunch of rednecks,” Luther said, scanning the transformed school grounds. Squealing children in cheap, plastic costumes were lined up to get their faces painted at a booth to the right. The ring toss across the way drew a decidedly older audience, with more excited fathers than daughters and sons tossing plastic circles at Coke bottles.

“I think hillbilly is the preferred term,” Grant said.

Luther smiled. “Are you sure you want to be here? You know it’s not a big deal for me —”

“Thanks, Luther, but it’ll do me good to get my mind off things.” Grant arced sideways to avoid a waist-high kid racing by, slopping a bright red beverage like a contrail. “For a little while, anyway.”

Both men wore their khaki uniforms. They wandered through the crowd, tipping their hats, nodding and smiling and making small talk. It was the kind of gig Luther looked forward to once in a while, so long as you didn’t have to bring down the law on a bunch of rowdy teenagers. Eventually they made their way to the Strongman High Striker, manned by none other than Luther’s brother, Leslie.

“It looks like Les is having way too much fun,” Grant observed.

The man had certainly gotten into character, wearing hiking boots and jeans with his flannel shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and some kind of crazy hat that Luther thought was supposed to suggest a lumberjack. Les’s voice was loud and boisterous, and his grin was wide. It was good to see his brother having fun, but he was still his brother.

“You know he just volunteered to do that because he thinks it’ll improve his chances of getting laid,” Luther said, then looked around to see if anyone overheard them. “Sorry, Sheriff.”

Grant laughed. “I don’t suppose there’s any shame in that, Luther.”

The deputy turned in a slow circle, taking in the crowd around them. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen JJ yet…”

Grant gave him stink eye, but it was hard to take a blushing man’s anger seriously.

Les waved as Luther and Grant approached. “Can I interest either of you gentlemen in a contest of manly strength?”

Grant held up his hands. “Not me, thanks. I can barely lift my head tonight, much less that big hammer.”

Luther said, “Well, I guess somebody has to uphold the Department’s good reputation. All right, I’ll take some of that.”

Les handed Luther the heavy hammer with a smirk. “Let’s see what you got, old man.”

Luther strode forward and extended the hammer toward the bell, like a baseball player calling his shot. Then he squatted a bit, shimmying his hips back and forth. When he turned toward Grant, he recognized a few other faces gathered around, including Virgil’s public defender, Faith Callaway. He gave her his biggest, best grin and said, “You know, it’s all in the hips.”

“Are you going to hit that thing, or are you trying out for one of those dance shows?” she asked.

Les cackled, and Luther grinned even wider. He felt almost giddy with anticipation as he bent his knees and swung the hammer with both arms. A resounding clang cut through the air, and Luther raised his hands over his head in triumph. Ms. Callaway clapped her hands slowly, as if she’d either seen better, or she hadn’t but didn’t want to admit it.

“Who’s next?” Luther asked, and held the hammer toward Grant with raised eyebrows. Grant shook his head, but Luther noticed Adam approaching. “You want to take a turn?”

Adam demurred, holding up a hand much as Grant had, except Adam appeared to be in pain. In fact, Adam looked like s**t, pale and sweaty and slightly hunched. Luther handed the hammer back to his brother and took a bow before joining Grant and Adam. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Adam said, unconvincingly. Then he clutched his midsection. “Actually, no. I think I got a touch of food poisoning.”

Luther took a step back involuntarily, thankful he hadn’t shaken the man’s hand. “There’s real bathrooms open over there in the schoolhouse.”

“Thanks,” Adam said. “I think I really just need to go home. Have either of you seen JJ? I came here with her and Evie.”

“We haven’t, but I’d be happy to give you a ride to Iris’s,” Grant offered.

Adam swallowed hard and turned an interesting shade that seemed more leprechaun than human in the mix of carnival and street lights. “Thanks, I might just take you up on that if I can’t find her,” he said, leaving the men behind with a little wave.

In the past few minutes, the sky had slipped from dusk to full dark. Luther watched the plaid of Adam’s shirt as he set off through the throng, traversing the long field toward the beckoning lights of the schoolhouse restrooms. He shook his head. “That guy couldn’t catch a break unless it was a compound fracture.”

“It does sometimes seem that way,” Grant agreed.

Luther’s thoughts returned to Virgil, to the crazy things the man had said on the mountain about the first son being resurrected, and then the crazy things he’d been saying today. “Do you think there’s any way to ever make Virgil right?”

He expected the Sheriff to be philosophical, say something like, how do we even know what right is? Or what right is for him? Instead his boss simply responded, “I don’t know.”

Luther looked around, wary of eavesdroppers. He leaned in until he and the Sheriff were shoulder to shoulder and pretended to watch kids race across the way. “Did you hear all that crazy s**t Virgil said today?”

Grant lowered his voice. “I heard enough.”

Luther glanced over at Faith Callaway, in a crowd of people, head tilted to laugh with another woman about her age. “I tried to get her to tell me what it was about.”

Grant shook his head. “Luther…”

Luther ignored the man’s disapproval. “She wouldn’t tell me. ‘Course, I didn’t try that hard. The thing is, all that stuff he was saying, about somebody who couldn’t be stopped —” He hesitated and almost didn’t finish, but over the last month he’d felt as if he and Grant had developed a better relationship. At least, he hoped so. Still, his voice dropped almost to a whisper. “So I asked Gerald what he said. He was talking about Adam.”

Grant pushed his hat back and rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, I was afraid of that.”

A frustrated energy rose in Luther, and he worked to keep it under control. That’s something else he’d been cultivating over the past month. “You know it’s bullshit.”

“Of course I know it’s bullshit,” Grant said, pulling his hat back down firmly and showing a little energy himself. “But Adam’s position in this town, however long he chooses to stay, is tenuous enough as it is. That’s why I didn’t say anything, and why we need to keep it between ourselves.”

One of the volunteer firemen caught Grant’s eye and waved the two men toward his booth. He probably wanted to point out some underage drinkers. Luther had seen a couple of flasks himself, but tended to let that kind of thing go so long as the kids didn’t get obnoxious or behind the wheel. Together, he and Grant made their way toward the Pin the Tail on the Goblin, smiling and genial with everyone they passed. How many could have guessed their thoughts?

Grant leaned into Luther and said, “God forbid we have another kid go missing. If these people heard what Virgil said about his son, he’d be lucky if they didn’t string him up.”