“Call Hollis,” the sheriff said into his intercom, and we sat in frozen silence until a man in a deputy’s uniform came in. He was in his late twenties, sturdy and blond and blue-eyed and curious as hell about what had been going on in the sheriff’s office. He gave Tolliver and me a comprehensive stare. He’d know us again. He looked pretty good in the uniform.
“Ms. Connelly,” the sheriff said. “You go out with Hollis here, show him where the body is.”
Hollis looked startled as he took in the sense of what was more an order than a request.
“Which one?” I asked, and his eyes widened.
“I’ll go,” Tolliver said. “Harper needs to rest.”
“No, Ms. Connelly is the one who found her, she needs to go.”
Tolliver glared at the sheriff and he glared right back. I was betting the sheriff wanted to make sure I earned every penny of my fee. I made myself stir. “I’ll go,” I said. I put my hand on Tolliver’s arm. “It’ll be okay.” My fingers curled around the material of his jacket, holding on to him for a long moment. Then I let go. I jerked my head at the blond deputy. “He’ll bring me right back,” I said over my shoulder, because I wanted Tolliver to stay there while I was gone. He nodded, and the door closed behind me, and I lost sight of him.
The deputy led the way out to his patrol car. “My name is Hollis Boxleitner,” he said, by way of introduction.
“Harper Connelly,” I said.
“That your husband in there?”
“My brother. Tolliver Lang.”
“Different names.”
“Yeah.”
“Where we goin’?”
“Drive out Highway 19, going northwest.”
“Out where—”
“The boy was shot,” I said.
“Killed himself,” Hollis Boxleitner corrected, but with little conviction.
“Hmmph,” I said contemptuously.
“How do you find them?” he asked.
“The sheriff tell you I was coming?”
“I overheard him on the phone. He thought Sybil was crazy for asking you to come. He was mad at Terry Vale for telling her what he’d heard about you.”
“I got struck by lightning,” I said. “When I was about fifteen.”
He seemed to be groping for questions to ask. “Were you at your house?”