She shut the door
He slid the rear cab window open, reached through, and tugged his old canvas gym bag out from beneath the tackle box. He wiped the snow off and sat it between them, then pulled the cardboard box up off the floorboard, opened it up.
Isabel peered in at the cash. “What you gonna do with all that?”
“Gonna see to it you ain’t destitute.”
He emptied the work clothes from the gym bag and put half of the cash into it, zipped it up and pushed it over to her.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said.
“Yes, I do have to do that.”
She took the bag and gave him a grateful smile.
“Listen up, now. Don’t let anyone know about them bills. You hear?”
She rolled her eyes. “For Pete’s sake, Jesse. I might look like a kid, but I’m over fifty. Believe it or not, I got some sense.”
He tapped the bag. “There’s around twenty thousand dollars cash there. Won’t go far these days, but should help you get on your feet. Oh . . . and here.” He handed her a wadded-up piece of paper. “This here’s Linda’s mother’s phone number. Her phone might not be working just yet, but if you get in a fix, run out of money, if anything, I mean anything, comes up you don’t hesitate to give—”
She put her fingers up to his mouth. “Jesse. It’s okay. I’m gonna be all right.”
Jesse let out a long sigh.
“Jesse . . .”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. Thank you for looking out for me.”
He grinned. “Of course.”
Isabel leaned forward, surprised Jesse with a kiss on his cheek. Before he could respond, she opened the door and hopped out.
“Wait,” he called. “Jeez, you forgot your bag.” He held it up.
She came back, trying not to meet his eyes, but he could see her tears.
“Hey,” he said. “Don’t be forgetting that snipe hunt I promised you.”
She shook her head and grinned, took the bag, and headed away toward the church. Jesse watched her mount the short flight of steps, pausing on each step. She sat her hand on the door, stood that way for a long moment before finally pushing the door inward and walking inside.
Jesse caught a glimpse of soft, warm light, of people holding hymn books, the organ and the sound of their song drifted across the parking lot. The church door swung slowly shut and he was left alone with the falling snow.
Jesse waited close to an hour. When she didn’t come back out, he figured she just might be okay.
VERNON FOLLOWED THE railroad tracks north along the Coal River, doing his best to avoid the icy patches as he trudged through the hard-packed snow. He’d forgotten the true bite of winter, but now, returned to human flesh, he clutched himself, trying to stifle his shivering. Dusk approached, and with it falling temperatures. Vernon wondered bitterly if, after all his trials, his final fate would be to freeze here alone, along this desolate river.
He’d been trapped up in those hills for close to a hundred years and realized anyone he’d ever known would now be dead, the world he once knew gone. He had no money, no real idea of where he was headed, other than as far away from Krampus and those terrible angels as he could get. Yet, he couldn’t help but smile. I am free! He inhaled deeply, filling himself up with the feeling. I can go anywhere. Do whatever I like. He laughed. At least until I starve or freeze to death.
A freight train headed down the tracks toward him. Vernon climbed the embankment and watched it clang past. He smelled grease in the air, his stomach rumbled. He glanced up the highway, spotted a familiar structure, and started toward it.
Horton’s didn’t appear to be open yet, but a light shone from inside and a vehicle sat out front. Vernon hoped it belonged to Horton, because the two of them had hit it off pretty good the night before, well enough that he felt sure the man would let him come inside and warm up, perhaps even give him a bite to eat.
Vernon noticed that the fresh buds, new grass, and flowers about the place had all withered, as though in mourning for the Yule Lord. Vernon hated to admit it, but a part of him actually felt bad that the old goat had come to such an ill demise. He sighed, stepped up onto the porch, and noticed a COOK WANTED sign propped in the window. He plucked the sign off the sill and carried it inside with him.
“THEY’RE NOT REAL happy with you, Jesse,” Elly said.
Jesse leaned back in the steel office chair, peered through the glass partition into the lobby of the sheriff’s office. He could see Sheriff Wright talking with the state investigators; the conversation didn’t appear to be going very well.
“Can’t please everyone, I guess.”
She smirked at him. Elly had gone to school with Jesse, he liked the way she played guitar, and at one point they’d even collaborated on a song or two. These days she worked for the sheriff. “Every news agency in the country is covering it,” she said. “They got the governor breathing down their necks to come up with some answers. Why, you should’ve heard ’em on CNN this morning, going on and on about all them mutilated bodies and speculating on rampant gang warfare in rural West Virginia.” She snorted. “Talking about Boone County like we’re some kinda Third World country.”
Jesse just shook his head.
“Oh, here, one last thing.” She pulled a blue form out from the stack in front of her and handed it to him with a pen. “Need your John Hancock right there if you want your stuff back.”
Jesse signed the form and she handed him a manila envelope.
“So that’s it?” he asked. “I’m free to go?”
“Looks like it.” She smiled. “Sheriff ain’t none too happy about it though. He’s just sure you know more than you’re telling.”
“Hey,” Jesse asked in a casual tone. “Thought I overheard someone say Chet Boggs might’ve had something to do with all this mess?”
“All I know is they had me issue a statewide APB on him. But no one seems to have found him yet.”
Jesse thought they were wasting time looking for Chet in West Virginia; thought they’d do better to look down Mexico way, or even Peru. Jesse opened the envelope, pulled out his wallet and keys.
“Chet’s not the one I’ve been wondering about,” Elly said. “I wanna know what happened to Chief Dillard Deaton. Last I heard they still hadn’t found a clue of his whereabouts.”
Jesse shrugged. “My bet’s he’s sitting in Hell right this minute wishing he’d been a nicer person.”
She shook her head. “Still don’t surprise me none that he was wound up in this mess. There was something offputting about that man.” Elly leaned forward and whispered, “Don’t tell no one I told you, but turns out they got some hard evidence linking him to his wife’s death.”
“You don’t say.”
“They found this photo of her . . . dead . . . I seen it.” She wrinkled up her nose. “Gruesome. I sure hope you’re right, I sure hope he is rotting in Hell right now.”
“We’re done then?” Jesse asked.
“Yeah, we are.”
Jesse stood and she escorted him to the door and let him out into the lobby. The sheriff and investigators stopped talking when he came out. The sheriff gave him a hard look. “You remember what I said, Jesse. Things will go a whole lot easier on you if you just come clean with what you know.”
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, sheriff,” Jesse said as he pushed out the door. “Now you have yourself a real fine day, you hear.”
Jesse pulled into Linda’s mother’s driveway. He drove a Ford Ranger with the extended cab, not new, but newer, paid for in full. He parked, walked up onto the porch, and knocked on the door; a minute later, footsteps shuffled his way. “Just a sec,” someone shouted. Polly Collins opened the door. “You got a haircut.”