Never underestimate the tenacity and determination of the very good and the very evil.
Otis crouched at the base of the tree, his face in hands, his body wracked with sobs. Fergus stood respectfully nearby with eyes closed, attempting for a final time to triangulate the source of Lizzy’s signal. No luck. He waited for the grief-stricken man to gather himself.
“We’ll get her, Otis. I promise you that.”
“Are you fucking insane?” Otis jerked himself from the ground and stomped toward Fergus, stopping inches from his face. “You think some woman did this?”
Fergus nodded. “I do. And we will find her. But you have to do the impossible right now, and that is to be calm. Hysteria will not avenge your brother. Cold, calculated methodology will. Is there anything you want more at this moment than to exterminate the person responsible for your brother’s death?”
Otis blinked, then brushed tears from his ruddy cheeks. He shook his head.
“Exactly. Now, first things first. Let’s get him down and take him home. Then we will track down the creature who did this and burn her at the fucking stake.”
***
Later that evening, a solemn crowd encircled a recently dug grave in Whitaker Holler’s ancient cemetery. The sun had set, so the mountain people held lanterns and torches, illuminating the eerily beautiful setting populated with primitive tombstones and wooden crosses; they were unaware of how their clothing — their expressions, their somber demeanors — added to the picturesque scene.
Fergus stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the proceedings with fascination that mingled with a sense of foreboding. Lizzy would have to be dealt with, and soon. After reporting in to Serena Jo and coming clean about his perimeter breach in an effort to find Everett, he knew he’d been excused if not forgiven. The woman did not suffer transgressions, but she’d seen fit to let it slide. This time.
“Bad business,” Skeeter whispered. He’d sidled up without Fergus even noticing. Sometimes he was less of an old coot and more of a hillbilly ninja.
“Extraordinarily bad,” Fergus replied.
“You think it’s that woman?”
“No doubt in my mind.”
“Seems a stretch to think she coulda done that thing with the tree.”
Fergus turned to face him, then said, “You know that talent you have that you don’t like to talk about? Well, I have a bit of it myself. You’ll just have to trust me on this. She did it. And we need to find her before she does it again.”
At the words, both pairs of blue eyes sought out the children standing next to their mother at the front of the crowd. Serena Jo was providing the eulogy.
“And so, friends, we will honor this man who gave his life for our community. Everett wouldn’t want us to mourn his passing. He wouldn’t want us to be sad. He wouldn’t want us to mope around, wishing he were still here. He would want us to revenge his death.” Serena Jo’s tone transitioned from soothing to fierce in the span of a few words. The performance, if that’s what it was, worked marvelously. The somber crowd met her final statement with howls of agreement.
“You don’t want to cross us holler folks. It may take a while, but we’ll catch up to you.”
“Duly noted,” Fergus replied.
Serena Jo strode toward him now with the twins in tow. Not for the first time, he was struck by her effortless grace as she glided through the parting crowd.
“You two. My cabin in an hour.”
She didn’t break stride as she walked past. Willadean turned and shot him a stern look steeped in subtext: Don’t break the blood oath, Mister Fergus, or it won’t end well for you.
Fergus sighed.
***
By the time they had gathered at Serena Jo’s cabin, it was midnight. The children were sleeping — supposedly — but Fergus knew better. Their mama probably did, too.
“Tell me about this woman,” she said, the golden eyes boring into him.
“It’s like I told Otis. I met this daunting female on my way here from Florida. She struck me immediately as someone to avoid at all costs. I parted ways with her as soon as I could manage it.”
“What did she look like?”
“Long black hair, slender build, probably about your height. Exuded malevolence with every breath.”
Serena Jo’s eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me a slender woman did that to Everett?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t buy it. I don’t believe a woman, especially one like you’ve described, could have gotten Everett into that tree. Besides, I have another theory. Maybe we have a traitor in our midst.”
Fergus set aside his surprise for a moment. “Let me ask you something. If you wanted to kill a man and string him up in a tree, could you do it?”
“Of course. But that’s me. Not everyone is so...determined.”
Skeeter snorted from his perch on one of the kitchen chairs. A similar but higher pitched snort came from the bedroom.
Fergus continued, “I believe this woman is also determined. And hers is the determination of a warped mind. She has the focus of a depraved soul, coupled with the tenacity of a dedicated psychopath. There are none so determined as the truly wicked.”
A skeptical blond
