Crow had loved Val off and on since third grade, even though she was more or less a “rich kid” and Crow was anybody’s definition of “wrong side of the tracks.” They’d met when Crow and his big brother, Billy, had gone to work for the summer at the Guthrie farm, earning comic book money by picking corn and pumpkins, filling wheelbarrows full of apples, gathering basketsful of strawberries. At nine, Val Guthrie was as tough as a hickory stick and smart as a whip, and her father put in charge of all the kids hired from around the town. Her best friend at the time was another rich kid, Terry Wolfe, and it was pretty clear that Terry was sweet on Val. Crow and Billy had become friends with them and throughout that summer and into the grim Black Autumn that followed they ran as a pack, often with little Mandy Wolfe running along behind to catch up. When that season started it was always Val who called the shots even though Billy was older. Then things turned bad and by the end of that season Billy was dead, Mandy was dead, and Terry was in a coma, all victims of the Pine Deep Reaper. That left Val and Crow together during those last days before the Reaper was himself cut down. Now, thirty years later, Val and Crow were going to be married—just as another Black Autumn was burning its way through their lives.
In his mind he could have sworn he heard the cold whisper of Ruger’s laughter. He realized that he was still squeezing Val’s hand too tightly and as he relaxed the pressure he nearly jumped as her fingers curled around his as if refusing to let go. He froze, not wanting to wake her and yet willing her to wake. Her one visible eyelid trembled for a moment and her brow furrowed as if she were puzzling out the nature of being awake. Then that eyelid opened and she looked right at him with one single dark blue eye.
All afternoon he’d been rehearsing something witty and clever to say when she finally woke up, but his throat went as dry as sand and he couldn’t say a thing.
Instead, Val said, “You look horrible.”
He swallowed, smiled, and said, “Whereas you are the most beautiful woman in the world.” He kissed her hand.
“Oh, please.” She pulled her hand gently out of his and reached up to touch her face, probing the thick bandage over her eye. “Ow. How’s this look?”
He peeked under the gauze. “Like an eggplant on a hot summer day, but hey, a few pounds of makeup and nobody’ll ever notice.” He took a cup of water from the bedside table and handed it to her. She sipped once through the straw, took a breath, and took a longer sip before handing the cup back, her face thoughtful. Crow could imagine the tape machines in her head replaying everything that had happened. He said softly, “Ruger’s dead.”
“For sure this time?” Equal parts edge and uncertainty in her voice, echoing what he had asked Jerry Head.
“For double damn sure.”
“Good,” she said and it was very nearly a snarl. She touched her chest, feeling for her little silver cross, but it wasn’t there; the nurses had taken it off. Crow opened the drawer of the bedside table and fished it out. He clumsily managed to place it around her neck and attach the clasp. She seemed to relax a bit more once it was on.
“How are Mark and Connie?
Crow gave it to her straight, repeating verbatim what Saul Weinstock had said. Val listened and then gave a single curt nod, but he knew she was processing it. “There’s more,” he said, taking her hand again. He took a deep breath and then told her about the new killings out at the farm. He could see the hurt register on her face, but she didn’t break.
“Those poor men,” she said, her voice hollowed out by shock. “Did they have families?” When he nodded, she shook her head. “My God!”
“They’ll catch Boyd soon, though. I saw the news earlier and they have state troopers, forest rangers, every kind of cop…even dogs and planes out there.”
Her mouth was as hard as a knife blade. “They ought to gun him down and bury him in an unmarked grave. Right next to Ruger.” Crow nodded, staring down at her hand, feeling the harshness of her words, but not finding any fault with her sentiments.
A few moments later she squeezed his hand and when he looked at her there were tears in her eyes. “I just want it to end, Crow!” she said, and her chest hitched with the first sob. “I just want it to be over.” She started to cry then—deep sobs that made her body spasm and jerk. Crow reached for her and tried to comfort her with his nearness, whispering meaningless words as he held her. When he heard her say, “Daddy!” between the sobs, Crow lost it, too, and they clung together in grief.
(8)
