His arms come up around my shoulders, and he pulls me close. He smells familiar and safe, like fresh woodchips and loamy soil, and finally I cry—great gulping cries that dampen his shirt.

“All right, Lee,” he says at last. “Slow down. Start over and tell me everything. Every single thing.”

So I do. His face is grave as I talk. Even though my dinner is turning round and round in my belly, and my words come spilling out all over themselves, Jefferson just stands calm and ponders like a man twice his years.

“Maybe it was bandits,” he says, though I can tell he doesn’t put much stock in the idea.

“They didn’t take anything. Only thing missing was one of Daddy’s boots.”

“How long ago were they shot, do you think?”

“I heard the shots when I was on the way home. Mama was still alive when I found her. And Daddy’s . . . The blood hadn’t froze. Jeff, he rushed out the door with his boots still in hand. Why would he do that?”

Jeff’s hand finds the small of my back and guides me toward the cabin. I stumble keeping up with his long legs. “Where—”

“I’m getting my gun,” he says. “Maybe your daddy heard a shot and ran outside.”

Nugget trots along beside us. “Wouldn’t he have grabbed his own gun first? He just ran outside. Like . . . like . . .”

Jefferson stops cold, and I almost bang into his shoulder. “Like he knew the person. Someone he was powerful glad to see.”

I nod up at him. “Who would Daddy . . .” A sick worry wriggles around in my chest. “Mama said . . . before she . . . She told me to run.”

“She thought the murderer was still nearby.”

We stare at each other.

“This is bad, isn’t it?” I say.

“We’ll figure it, I promise. Did you bring a gun?”

“The cap and ball. Loaded it on the way here. All five shots.”

“Good. Nugget, stay here with Lee. I’ll be right back.” He flings the door open and disappears into the murky cabin.

Jefferson never lets me in. He doesn’t want me to know how bad it is between him and his da, and he doesn’t realize I’ve already guessed about the moonshine still that’s hidden inside. There are things even best friends don’t tell each other.

Nugget leans against my leg, and I bend down to scritch her neck. We’ve always gotten along, Nugget and me.

A thump echoes inside the cabin, then Mr. McCauley yells something loud and angry. Jefferson strides out a moment later, rifle in hand. He won’t meet my eye, just heads over to the goat pen, Nugget and me at his heels.