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  “If they would just open the banks, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “Tell that to the feds,” he said. “They must have their reasons for keeping them closed.”

  SIXTEEN

  MARK HAD BEEN QUIET FOR MOST OF THE RIDE HOME, AND Deni knew Ellen Emory’s hysteria had shaken him. She’d tried to make comments along the way to lighten his mood, but eventually the cold numbed her lips into silence. As they rounded the corner into Oak Hollow, she saw the welcoming plume of smoke from her chimney.

  She coasted toward her driveway. “Come on, let’s go in.”

  Mark hung back. “No, I have to get home. I have things to do.”

  “Deni! Mark!”

  Deni turned to see her next-door neighbor, Amber Rowe, sliding toward them through the snow in some kind of snowshoe. “Hi, Amber.”

  As she and her children got closer, she saw that Amber had cut two-liter bottles in half and tied them to her feet. Behind her, she pulled her children on a car door that doubled as a sled. “Mark, I’m so glad I caught you. The kids and I just got back from the well, and we saw a bunch of angry men at your house.”

  He set his foot down to balance his bike. “What men?”

  “Sam Ellington, Lou Grantham, and about half a dozen others. They had guns, Mark, and they’re waiting for you. I wouldn’t go home if I were you.”

  Deni’s heart sank, and she turned back to Mark. “Mark, let’s get in the house. I don’t want them to see you.”

  “No, I have to go home. My mother’s there alone.”

  “Mark, you can’t!”

  “She’s right, Mark,” Amber said. “It’s you they’re looking for. They think you shot Zach.”

  Deni jumped off her bike and pulled the garage door up. “Come on, Mark. Please come in.”

  The sound of a car engine turned them all to the neighborhood entrance, and they saw the sheriff’s van turning in. “Thank goodness,” Deni said. “The sheriff can help us.”

  Surprisingly, the van rumbled up in front of her house, and Jeff jumped out. “Zach woke up!”

  Mark gasped. “He did? Has he told them who shot him?”

  “Not yet.” Jeff opened the back door and lifted his bike out, then reached for his shotgun. “He’s still hooked up to that breathing thing.”

  Deni went to the passenger door and leaned in. “Sheriff, Lou Grantham and his band of vigilantes are waiting for Mark at his house.”

  Sheriff Scarbrough looked exhausted. Deep circles shadowed his eyes, and she could hear the whistling of his breath. Rolling his eyes at the news, he said, “All right, y’all get into your house. Mark, I’m going to break them up, but I don’t recommend going home for a while.”

  “What about my mother? She’s there alone. My stepfather’s in Huntsville.”

  “She’ll be all right,” he said. “Maybe the good news about Zach will calm them down a little.”

  Deni pulled on his sleeve. “Come on, Mark. Hurry!”

  Mark looked as if he wasn’t certain about coming in to hide. Reluctantly, he rolled his bike into the garage as the sheriff’s van rattled away. Deni pulled the door closed and locked it. “Jeff, is your shotgun loaded?” she asked as they went into the house.

  “You bet.”

  “Then give it to Mark.” Deni looked out back and saw her mother in the chicken coop with Logan. She pulled off her gloves and went to the fire. Mark stood just inside the door, staring at the floor as if trying to think this through. Finally, he looked up at Jeff.

  “Jeff, instead of the gun, can I borrow some warm clothes?”

  “Warm clothes?” Deni asked. “What for?”

  “I need to pack a bag, and I can’t go home.”

  Deni turned from the fireplace. “Pack a bag for what?”

  “I have to leave. I obviously can’t stay here and endanger the lives of my mother and your family.”

  “Mark, you’re not endangering us. My dad and Jeff won’t let those guys — ”

  “I don’t want your dad and Jeff to have to fight for me. They didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Neither did you!”

  He turned back to Jeff. “I’ll need a sweatshirt, some socks, a sleeping bag — ”

  “What are you planning?” Jeff asked. “To sleep outside?”

  “I don’t know where I’ll sleep. I’ll be okay.”

  Jeff hesitated a moment, then said, “I’ll get some stuff together.”

  Deni stood in front of the fire, gaping at him. “Mark, what are you doing?”

  “I have no choice but to leave, Deni. I can’t stay here or I’ll get lynched. Everyone around me will get hurt in the fallout.”

  “But where will you go? You can’t just skip town and run away, especially if you’re a suspect.”

  “I’m not skipping town. I won’t go far.”

  “But Zach is getting better, Mark. What if he clears you and they can’t get in touch with you?”

  “Then I’ll find out tomorrow.” He went to the window and looked beyond the backyard toward his own street. “Why would I kill Zach Emory over a stinking deer? My family’s not starving. I’m a good hunter. How could they think I would do such a thing?”

  She came up behind him and touched his arm. “Just wait here until Zach can talk. He’ll tell them, Mark. He’ll clear your name. We just have to wait a little longer.”

  “I don’t have time to wait. The vultures are circling.”

  She stared up at him, stricken by the pain in his eyes. Those eyes always killed her. They were so blue and clear and represented him so well. Deep with layers of pain and heartache, but usually bright with hope. Right now they were framed in defeat.

  He looked down at her, a million unspoken words poised on his lips. She touched his face. He took her hand and held it against his cheek. “It’ll be okay, Deni.”

  Their eyes locked and held for a long moment, and finally, Deni rose up on her toes and kissed him.

  She felt the tension in him relaxing into the kiss. Her heart slammed with unforgettable pain, as if she stood on the brink of a cliff, trying to hold him back. But he was destined to jump.

  She pulled back and looked at him, her lips inches from his. “I’m scared, Mark.”

  “Don’t be.” He stroked her hair back and swept her face with his gaze. For a moment, she thought he might change his mind and stay.

  Then someone banged on her front door. She swung around.

  “They’re here,” Mark said. “I told you.”

  Jeff ran down the stairs. “The sleeping bag’s in the attic and there’s no time for me to get it. But there’s warm stuff in here.” He thrust his duffel bag at Mark. “Go out the back while I hold them off at the door!”

  Deni couldn’t believe this was happening. They banged again — an angry pounding, as if they were about to kick the door in. She realized fleeing was his only option. “Go,” she whispered. “Hurry!”

  Mark bolted out the back door. Deni watched as he raced through the yards and disappeared from her sight.

  SEVENTEEN

  THE SNOW WAS THICK ON THE GROUND BY THE TIME Scarbrough ran the men off Mark Green’s doorstep and calmed his mother down. He hoped the men would heed his warnings and leave Mark alone, but he feared they had only dispersed until he left the neighborhood.

  Back at the station, he found all of his deputies — on and off duty — waiting for him.

  “Did you get it, Sheriff?” Gordon Jones asked him.

  He tossed him the envelope.

  “Hot dog!” Jones shouted. “Come and get it, everybody!”

  Scarbrough wished he could disappear as they tore into the package. The cash was separated into smaller envelopes, and Jones pulled them out. “Anderson. Asher. Black.”

  Anderson tore into his envelope, and his face fell. “Hey, this is even less than last time!”

  “Be glad you got anything at all,” Scarbrough muttered.

  The others opened their envelopes and looked at him like they’d been b
etrayed. “Sheriff, what’s going on?” Asher yelled.

  “You said they were going to pay us!” Jones knocked a framed picture off his desk. “I can’t feed my family with this! You got us in here working like dogs and this is the thanks we get?”

  “Look, I fought for us, but you can’t squeeze quarters out of a banana tree. I’m in the same boat you’re in. I don’t like it, but it’s all we got.”

  The deputies looked ready to revolt when he heard the front door open. Two teenaged boys came in. The deputies kept grumbling, and Scarbrough called, “Can I help you?”

  The men grew quiet.

  “Yes, sir. We have some information about Zach Emory’s shooting.”

  He nodded toward his office, and the kids followed him in. His desk was piled high with paperwork he hadn’t had time to get to. He sank into his chair and fought the urge to cough again.

  “Take a seat and give me your names,” he said as he searched for something to write on.

  “Randy Kraft.”

  “Blake Mahaffey.”

  He found a fresh page on his notepad and wrote the names down. “So what have you got?”

  Randy sat straighter, and looked at the legal pad that held his name. “We were hunting yesterday out around the Jenkins place.”

  Scarbrough’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you witness the shooting?”

  “No, not that. But we did see someone who claims he wasn’t there.”

  “Yeah? Who?”

  “Mark Green.”

  Scarbrough’s heart plunged, and he set his pen down. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Sheriff. We saw him about an hour before the shooting. He was there with that bike trailer of his with the big car tires.”

  Scarbrough couldn’t hold back the cough any longer. He gave in to it, trying to get a clear breath again. Finally, he said, “Did you talk to him?”

  “No, sir. We were in a deer stand, and we saw him hiding his trailer in the trees. I don’t think he saw us.”

  “And you’re absolutely positive it was him?”

  “Yes, sir,” Blake said. “We’ve known Mark for years. He used to play baseball with my brother.”

  “We didn’t think it was important until we heard that he claimed he wasn’t there,” Randy said.

  Blake nodded. “We aren’t saying he shot Zach. Just that he lied about where he was.”

  “And if he lied about that, then he may have lied about other things.”

  Scarbrough leaned forward. “Tell me something. Did you happen to tell anybody this before me?”

  The boys exchanged looks. “Yes, sir. We told our dads.”

  He clasped his hands in front of him. “And they didn’t by any chance go tell some of the men in Oak Hollow, did they?”

  Blake shrugged. “They were pretty hot about it. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  So that was what had prompted Lou Grantham and his buddies to decide to take matters into their own hands. He leaned on his desk and rubbed his tired face. “All right,” he said. “I appreciate you coming by. If you don’t mind giving a statement to Deputy Jones, I’ll need this in writing.”

  The boys exchanged looks again. “Do we have to? We don’t really want Mark to know we told you this. He might come after us.”

  Scarbrough was losing patience. “Yes, you have to. The DA is going to need your testimony if this goes to trial.”

  Randy swallowed hard. “Okay, I guess we will if there’s no other choice.”

  Scarbrough told Jones to get the statement. The deputy was still brooding, but at least he hadn’t walked out yet.

  The boys signed their statements, then started to leave. Before they opened the door, they looked back. “Sheriff, are you going to arrest Mark Green?”

  “I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation,” he said. “But thank you for coming forward.” He watched the boys go out, then stood for a moment, staring through the window.

  Why would Mark have lied if he wasn’t guilty? And if he was guilty, what motivation would he have had for shooting Zach?

  His gut told him this was all a mistake. Mark Green was no killer. But he had to act quickly, because Mark wasn’t safe now. At the very least, locking him up would keep anyone from attacking him.

  He turned back to the deputies. “You men get back to work now. I need someone to go with me to bring Mark Green in.” He’d expected them to balk and walk off the job, but surprisingly, no one did. Not yet. Thankful that disaster seemed averted, at least for now, he headed back out into the cold.

  EIGHTEEN

  “TELL ME, WHERE IS HE?” LOU GRANTHAM’S VOICE bellowed through the Brannings’ open doorway.

  Deni tried to look innocent. “Where is who?”

  “Mark Green! He was seen coming here with you.” They started to push into the house, and Deni couldn’t hold them back.

  But her mother tried. “Hold on, here! You will not come busting into my house — ”

  The sound of Jeff chambering a round on his shotgun stopped them. Keeping his gun aimed at the ceiling, Jeff walked in front of them. “Mark is not here, so back off!”

  “Put that gun down, son. We don’t have a quarrel with you. But harboring a criminal is against the law.”

  “Mark is not a criminal!” Deni cried. “Why are you doing this?”

  “We have witnesses who saw Mark at the scene of the crime yesterday.”

  “What?”

  “His alibi was a lie. He’s the one who shot Zach Emory, and we’re going to make sure he doesn’t kill anyone else.”

  Fearless, Sam Ellington pushed past Jeff and started up the stairs.

  “Careful, Sam, he might be armed,” Grantham called.

  “He’s not here!” Kay yelled. “What don’t you understand about that?”

  Sam marched around upstairs, slamming doors and pounding across the floor.

  Paul Burlin brushed past Jeff and began to search the rooms on the first floor. Jeff looked confused, as if he didn’t know whether to use his shotgun or not.

  “Stop it!” Deni shouted. “You’re trespassing on private property!”

  Kay grabbed her arm and held her back. “Just let them look, Deni. When they see he’s not here, they’ll leave.”

  Deni swallowed her rage as they completed the search of the house. If her father came home while this was going on, he would go ballistic.

  Finally, the men came back and reported to the crowd. “They’re right. He ain’t here. He musta got away.”

  “Where’d he go?” Grantham demanded. “Deni, tell us where he is.”

  “I don’t know!”

  “If you’re helping him, Deni, then you’re an accomplice. Is that what you want to be? An accomplice to murder?”

  “Zach is not dead. He’s improving!”

  “Get out of my house,” Kay said, ushering the men to the door.

  “If you see him, Kay, you let us know,” Lou Grantham said. “It’s in your daughter’s best interest to tell us where he is.”

  Deni gasped. “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a warning,” Grantham said. “We’re trying to help you.”

  “I said to leave!” Kay shoved them out and slammed the door. Then she turned to Deni. “Where did he go, Deni?” she asked quietly.

  “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me.”

  She sighed. “Honey, I know he wouldn’t shoot Zach. But a lot of people think he did. I don’t want you getting caught in the middle of this.”

  “I am in the middle, Mom. This is Mark we’re talking about.”

  NINETEEN

  NOT CERTAIN WHAT DIRECTION TO GO, MARK HEADED into the woods surrounding Oak Hollow. He wouldn’t be surprised if they got the dogs out after him, so he couldn’t stay here long. Just long enough to make a withdrawal . . .

  The forest changed daily as people cut down trees, and without their leaves the trees remaining provided little cover. Some of his markers were hidden under the snow, but he still managed to find his way. He’d se
t a trap for small animals near the stump that held his treasure. He counted off the trees from the dry creek bed next to a fat spruce, then found the trap.

  And right behind it was the stump.

  The hole he’d chiseled out was stuffed with dead leaves. No one had bothered it, thankfully. If they’d known what was in it, it would have been long gone.

  He pulled the dead leaves out. They crunched with frost and crumbled in his hands. He let them drop to the snow. Reaching inside, he pulled out the metal lockbox he’d hidden there. It was heavy with the weight of his fortune.

  He opened it. The box was filled with gold coins — the ones he’d found in a chest in his father’s house. He had thought of taking it home and sharing it with his mother and stepfather, but he knew that if they started spending them, someone would paint a great big bulls-eye at the center of his forehead, and his family would be in danger of being killed and robbed.

  Instead, he’d kept it to himself, hidden in this tree. He hadn’t used any of them yet — and he had never intended to spend any on himself. His father had been involved in the pornography industry and had been guilty of a long list of criminal activities, including murder. Mark wanted nothing to do with any of his illegal gains. But he’d found a receipt for the gold coins — meaning they’d been bought, not stolen. The U.S. Eagle gold bullion coins weighed an ounce each, and the receipt said they had cost 660 dollars apiece. There were a hundred of them — 66,000 dollars worth before the outage. What they were worth now was considerably less, but it was still a fortune by anyone’s standards.

  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to keep a few of them with him now. He might have to pay for a place to stay. He took three coins out and dropped them into his pocket. Then he closed the box, put it back into its hiding place in the stump, and stuffed the opening with more crunchy dead leaves.

  He went back to the creek bed and followed it to the other side of the woods, to the alley behind Kroger. Sitting on an old crate, he waited for daylight to play itself out so he could get away from Crockett without being seen. The cold and snow made him feel more bereft. He’d gotten up yesterday morning with a sense of confidence and purpose that all was as it should be.