Hi all! Thanks for reading ❤️ Please forgive any typos as this still needs a final edit. Things have been crazy lately lol

Chapter 7

We loaded into John's pickup, and I gave directions as he drove. The engine missed every thirty seconds, as if the piece of shit junker had the hiccups. "Is this part of your cover? Believe or not, some of us do have nice vehicles," I said.

"Oh yeah?" John's eyes stayed fixed to the road. "What do you drive?"

I chewed the inside of my cheek. "I said some. Not all."

He grunted.

Dirt road gave way to paved, then returned to dirt again. Each time we topped a hill, a larger one took its place. John seemed tense. He always seemed tense, but I sensed it worsen the further we got from civilization. Not that Crab Orchard was all that civilized.

"You seem nervous," I said.

"Should I be nervous?" he asked.

"You're safer out here than an exploded meth trailer."

His silence killed the conversation.

Reto's driveway was nothing more than a set of tire tracks so hidden amidst the trees even I had a hard time finding it. I had John slow to a crawl and scanned until I caught sight of it. "There." I pointed.

The truck jostled as he turned, kept rocking with the rhythm of the uneven Earth. Then the winding path inclined, and Reto's blue and white 1950's camper trailer came into view. It seemed more rusted than the last time I'd seen it. A little more unkempt. Scrap metal and debris littered the ground. A pile of garbage was formed atop the charred dirt, ready to be burned.

It had been a while since I'd seen it. Reto would check on me on the rare occasions he ventured into town. I'd had no reason to come to him. Until now.

John had just put the gear in park when the front door swung open, and Reto stepped out. He held a shotgun in both hands, a lit cigarette between his lips. Jazzy, his pit bull, exited behind him and began to bark.

"Who the fuck are you?" Reto boomed in his thick Swiss-German accent.

I smiled despite the obvious threat. It had been too long since I'd heard his voice, and I adored listening to him speak. Growing up, I'd loved the way his words seemed to follow a different beat than everyone else's, and it helped that he always had nice things to say. Well, usually.

I stepped out before he started to shoot, and Jazzy immediately shut up, her tail wagging. Reto's brows lifted, then he lowered the gun and smiled. "Look who came to see me for once!"

He propped the gun against the house and met me halfway, pulling me into a strong hug. The familiar scent of menthols and hooch was nostalgic, and I clung to him tighter than I'd intended. He was the closest thing to family I had, and I hadn't realized just how much I'd needed him.

John got out, and Reto stiffened. "I'm happy to see you, but who the fuck is that?"

I grinned against his t shirt. "He's with me."

"No shit?" He pulled back and rolled his eyes then they centered on John and narrowed as he approached.

I sighed. "Reto, this is John. John, this is Reto. John is helping me with something important."

"Nice to meet you," John said.

Reto grunted.

"I have to tell you something." The last thing I wanted to do was show up with news like mine. It would crush him, I knew. He never did believe she'd left me. We'd argued more than once over what could have happened. "Can we go inside?"

Reto scanned my face, and whatever he saw there centered his focus away from John. He nodded, then circled an arm around my shoulders and led the way in. John followed at a distance, then hesitated at the door.

"Come in," Reto said. He pulled a chair out from his small dining table, motioned for me to sit then took the one beside it.

John stepped in and sat down on my opposite side.

I looked at Reto, the only person who was ever there for Mama and me. Granted, he had his own issues. He wasn't perfect, not even close, but he loved her. He loved us. And not in the way others did.

He took my hand and squeezed. "What is it?"

"You were right about Mama." My voice was low, raspy, barely there at all.

His brow furrowed, and he leaned closer. "What?"

"She was murdered," I said a bit louder. "Someone killed her." I didn't bring up the how, the missing eyes, or the image I'd never be able to stop seeing. Details wouldn't make it any better, and I would spare him whatever I could.

Reto leaned back in his chair, then stared at me as more silence stretched. Heavy. Weighted. Like the echo of a bomb that'd just destroyed the world.

After minutes that felt like hours, Reto finally asked, "Who?" The question was dark, measured, and his eyes immediately went to John and cut like barbed wire. "How did you find out?"

"We don't know who," I said. "John is helping—"

"Who the fuck is John?" Reto wasn't talking to me. His jaw tightened, hands fisted. "I have never seen you before. Now, you're in my house, and suddenly Lil is dead."

I opened my mouth to interject, but John beat me to it. "Whoever did it killed my little sister too."

I blinked, then froze, staring at him as if only just realizing he existed. Was it true? I couldn't tell. I could never tell when it came to him, but something told me he wouldn't lie. Not about that.

"Who?" Reto asked again, sounding as if he planned to handle things for himself. Not that I could blame him. After all, wasn't I in the process of doing the same?

"We don't know, but we were wondering if her mother had any enemies. Anyone who might want to harm her?"

Reto laughed without humor. "Plenty of people."

"Like?" John pressed.

"Every married woman in town."

"Anyone specific?" I leaned forward in my seat, imploring him as if he could somehow know the answer. Fix it all. Undo what had been done. But Reto couldn't fix anything. No one could.

His eyes softened, and he took my hand again. "If you want to find who hated your mama the most, start at that joke of a church." His lips pursed. "I don't know if you remember, but they harassed Lil like she was the devil."

I nodded. I did remember. The way they'd stared. The things they'd said.

"Can you give us any names? Did she ever mention someone specific?" John asked.

"Meredith. That woman was at the head of the mob against Lil. If anyone wanted her gone, it was her."

John nodded, and Reto focused back on me. "I'm so sorry, Joy." He lifted my hand, kissed my knuckles, held my gaze with watery eyes.

I didn't respond. My throat was too tight. My emotions too thick. If I opened my mouth, they would all pour out again, and I couldn't afford to do that. Not yet. Not until I found him.

Reto stood and stepped over to the fridge, pulling out a jar of clear liquid. His homemade moonshine. He poured three glasses, then lifted his high. "To Lil."

We lifted ours, and I watched John out of the corner of my eye.

He didn't react at all.

So, he was a drunk. No way could someone down a shot of Reto's brew and not choke unless they were already running on gasoline. What kind of detective drinks on the job? Perhaps all of them, or maybe it was all part of the act. Couldn't get much deeper undercover than John. Meth lab, shit truck, and looking like he'd been rolling in dirt all his life.

We had a few more drinks, reminiscing over Mama and what she'd been before some asshole stole her away. It helped to ease the pain. It was therapeutic to hear Reto's voice tell stories about their time together. How he'd rescued her from some creep at the bar; how she'd helped him get established here, with his little place and modest "business."

How he owed her his life.

Mama had been an angel, and no church, preacher, or woman could ever say otherwise without being a bold-faced liar. Mama had been a saint, and this world hadn't deserved her.

When we finally left, it was getting close to dark. I imagined Kyle freaking out when he came home from work and found me missing.

John had the memory of an elephant and didn't need directions to get back. I was itching to ask more about his sister, but the silence felt too solid to be broken.

So I didn't break it. I sank in it. Reto's hooch made my body warm, made the trees double and sway as they zipped past my window. But it didn't make me forget like most people said it did. It didn't ease the pain, or the rage, or the constant flash of that image each time I closed my eyes.

John pulled onto our street and stopped on the road between our trailers.

I looked at him. "I'm sorry about your sister."

He nodded once, gripped the wheel, staring through the windshield as if he were still driving. "What time is church service on Sundays?"

"Fuck if I know."

He nodded again. "We'll leave early then. Be ready by seven."

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