as he gathered up some papers and stuck them in a file
folder. “That the staff had been good to his grandfather
and he didn’t think they ought to be penalized for the
old man’s death.”
Bo said, “Even when Miz Stone told him that it
was the insurance company that would pay, he said it
wouldn’t be right to take money when God had an-
swered her prayers.”
“God?” I asked.
“Evidently she was on her knees every night since
he wandered off, praying to God to let her find out
what happened to him, so that she could rest easy. If
she turned around and asked for money, too, it’d be like
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spitting in God’s eye, he told her. Not many teenage
boys think like that these days.”
“No,” I said, remembering those boys I’d just had in
my courtroom. Not bad kids, but kids. Kids with shiny
new drivers’ licenses who think they’re going to live for-
ever because they never think beyond the immediate
and—
“Oh,” I said.
“What?” said Dwight.
“The grandson.”
“Huh?”
“He took his grandfather out that day,” I said. “And
everybody assumes he brought the old guy back be-
cause he always did. But did anyone actually see him?”
Bo frowned and leaned back in his chair.
“You saying he killed his own grandfather?” Dwight
asked skeptically.
“No, I’m not saying that. But somebody did move
that hand so y’all would backtrack on the creek and find
his body, right? Somebody who wanted him found but
didn’t want to admit how he got there? Could it have
been the boy?”
Bo thought about it a minute, then gave a slow nod.
“You know something, Dwight? That makes as much
sense as anything else we’ve heard. Could be he’s feel-
ing guilty and that’s the real reason he doesn’t want
blood money.” He hoisted himself out of the chair with
a sigh. “Reckon I’d better go back and catch him while
he’s still strung out from the funeral. See if I can’t find
out what really happened.”
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