All of this had been a pretense, hadn’t it, the latest round of some old argument between the two men? Boone’s proud sales pitch, Parter’s angry offer, they could have done it all back at the hardware store if they’d really wanted to. No: these Old Boys had brought him (and Kimbra, sweet Jesus) out here to kill them. There was no better place to commit a murder in Pettis County. If they’d been smart and buried Dylan then the boy would have never been found. Joel knew they wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

He did the only thing he could think of. He let his head fall, burped up a little bile, tried to look more dazed than he felt, if that was even possible.

It worked. He felt the cuff on one wrist come free, then the other. Parter murmured something and a moment later Joel’s arms prickled with heat as Browder lowered them from the spread-eagle bar. Joel’s hands were cuffed back together above his crotch. He wished they would give him a chair to sit in, but he supposed this was better than standing like he’d been crucified. His hands tingled as blood slipped back into his fingers.

Joel opened his eyes. He saw where Kimbra lay, motionless, on the kitchen floor. What had she learned? What had he done?

“But what about her?” Joel said, his voice slurring. Delaying these guys seemed as smart as any other strategy.

Boone cocked his head like a stuffed bison. “What about her?”

“I’m not leaving this place without her.”

Browder made a disgusted noise. “He’s wasting time. Clark might be on her way already.”

“Then we take care of her,” Parter said.

The ground shook again, so violently Joel nearly lost his balance. Mr. Boone studied the shaking tools on the wall, shook his head. “And what would that accomplish? For God’s sake, ain’t we dug this hole deep enough? Why let it grow?”

Parter rounded on him. “The fuck did you just say?”

“You can feel that damn thing moving down there.” Boone pointed to the floor. “If we stop feeding it now it’s bound to calm down again like it did the first time. If we don’t—”

Parter strode back into the kitchen and struck Boone with the back of his hand. “Don’t you dare tell me what I can do on my property. In my town.”

Boone held a hand to his cheek. He looked pathetic, deflated, though whether out of sadness or fear Joel couldn’t say. The man shook his head at Parter, at Browder. “You’re dealing with a beast from the absolute depths of hell and you want to ride it like a bull.”

Parter shrugged, straightened his jacket. “How else do you expect to keep tradition alive?”

The big coach nodded to Browder. The deputy turned his attention from Boone back to Joel, swiveling the knife in his hand like he was using it to twist open a lock in the air. In the stark light of the trailer’s single red bulb, Joel caught a glimpse of something much more dangerous than excitement in Browder’s eye. A brief, black shimmer. A momentary appraisal from something not entirely human.