Strange Country by Deborah Coates

Author:Deborah Coates [Coates, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781429948470
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2014-05-27T00:00:00+00:00

19

It wasn’t much past four in the afternoon, the sun was still at least two hours from setting, but the sky was so gray and the sun low enough on the horizon that long shadows made the ground under the hedges nearly impenetrable. There was a trail of broken branches that told him this was the spot, though he couldn’t tell how far the stone might have traveled. He needed a flashlight before he could do anything.

Margaret Otis was waving frantically to him from the sidewalk. Nate, her eight-year-old son, was beside her wearing rubber boots, an orange rain slicker, and blue and yellow basketball shorts that went down past his knees. Boyd frowned, but went over there. He was aware of the stone in his pocket, of the other stone still missing, like lead weights to drag him down. But he could take a minute.

“Deputy Davies!”

Nate hopped up and down, like he was on springs. He’d turned eight three weeks earlier, Boyd knew, because in the summer, Nate came through the gap in the hedge to Boyd’s house to watch him work on the Farmall in his garage and hand him tools. He’d crouch for an hour at a time, peering under the tractor, asking questions, and telling Boyd things about the Otis family that Boyd was pretty sure his mother and father would rather he, or anyone else, didn’t know.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked.

“You’ll never get him to admit it,” Margaret Otis said.

She was tall, large-boned and broad-shouldered, looked as if she could wrestle steers, though as far as Boyd knew, she’d grown up in Rapid City and had never even ridden a horse. She had long, thick light brown hair that usually hung down her back in a single braid, though tonight she had it pinned up in a messy bun at the nape of her neck. She was wearing jeans, a blue and yellow sweatshirt that said, SDSU JACKS on the front, and a fleece-and-canvas vest. “You want to come in the house?” she asked. “We’ve got coffee.”

“We called the fire department,” Nate announced. “They were fast! They had the siren and the lights and everything. It was loud!”

“The siren?”

“Your house exploded!” He made a noise and threw his hands wide to demonstrate.

“I know,” Boyd said. “Was it scary?”

“It was a little scary,” Nate admitted. “But there wasn’t very much fire. Just smoke and stuff.” Boyd thought he sounded disappointed. “Do you think someone was trying to kill you? Like in the movies?” Nate asked.

“No one’s trying to kill me,” Boyd said. “It was an accident.” He’d pulled off his gloves as he crossed the yard and he looked at his hands, which were filthy, dirt and soot etched into the creases of his knuckles like he’d been cleaning battleships with toothbrushes. He’d given his handkerchief to Hallie, which left him nothing to wipe his hands on now except his khaki pants, which were already soaked and covered with mud.

“Accidents don’t just happen,” Nate said.

“What?” Boyd asked.

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