Unraveled by Reavis Z. Wortham

Author:Reavis Z. Wortham
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press
Published: 2016-07-10T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-one

The Wraith bided his time sharpening a long knife in the shade of a pecan tree. Distracted by the past, he hissed as the blade missed and cut deep. He studied the blood dripping onto the sand between his feet and knew it was sharp enough.

***

Ned pulled into Oak Peterson’s lot and stared down the road leading to the dam, studying on the accident when Ike Reader’s GMC pickup popped into view. Usually a slow driver, Ike had his foot in it this time and the old truck was flying. Seeing the only red Fury in the county, he braked and slid to a stop beside Ned’s window in a cloud of dust.

Knowing something was up, Ned started the engine. “What’s wrong?”

“Listen, listen Ned, I’m glad to see you! Wes Clay’s killin’ Olan Mayfield!”

“Where?”

“Reid’s store.”

Ned punched the accelerator. The big engine growled and the Plymouth rocketed toward Reid’s store only five miles from Center Springs. It was another country stop in the middle of nowhere, offering staples to the rural families living and working the land.

Three agitated men in worn overalls were standing outside of the wooden clapboard store when Ned skidded to a stop on the bottle-cap parking lot. He was out before the engine quit knocking and died.

The oldest of the trio, Cash Wick, pointed. “They’s around back, Ned!”

“Did Wes shoot him?”

Horse Nichols shook his head, eyes wide with fear. “Nope. It was a fistfight ’til a knife came out. When Wes started cuttin’ on Olan, we got out of there. You know how he is.”

Instead of going around the outside, Ned pushed on the Coca Cola screen protector and in through the store. The interior was cool from a slight breeze sucking through the open back door where Harvey Reid was watching through the screen.

He sensed someone behind them and glanced over his shoulder. Ned shushed him and stepped outside to find Olan Mayfield curled up on the sandy ground beside a stack of wooden soft drink cases full of empties. His back was to Ned, but blood was bright on his overalls and blue shirt.

Wes Clay squatted several feet away, watching Olan from the shade of a chinaberry tree. He leaned against a pile of weathered lumber and the bloody knife in his hand dripped blood. Keeping an eye on Wes, Ned closed the distance and edged around Olan to see how bad he was hurt. A thick pool of blood was already skimming in the heat.

“How you doin’, Wes?”

His eyes were shaded by the brim of his straw hat and the man didn’t look up. “Better’n him.”

Ned watched Olan for a second. Sand and grass was caught in his short, thick hair. One gallus on his overalls was down and blood bubbled through a hole in his shirt. Moving slow as molasses, Ned eased closer. He couldn’t see any evidence of a second weapon. Flies buzzed, drawn by the coppery odor of blood. “What happened?”

“Aw hell, Ned. I was inside and this son of a bitch come up to the back door.

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