Prairie Gothic by J.M. Hayes Page B

chorused.
    â€œThat’s Mom,” One of Two said.
    â€œShe knows,” Two of Two agreed.
    â€œDo you think we should answer?” Heather English’s question was directed at Deputy Wynn. He was the adult. He was the responsible party, or so she suddenly hoped, given the tone of their mother’s voice. Also, he had the radio. Or, rather, it was down on the floor between his feet where it had fallen when they spun around twice and ended up in the ditch, hood deep in a snowdrift.
    Their father didn’t reply to Judy’s harangue. That surprised all three occupants of the immobile sheriff’s department black and white.
    â€œMaybe you better talk to her,” the first Heather suggested to Wynn.
    Wynn wanted to do no such thing. As he picked up the radio they heard Judy English clearly, though less distinctly, threaten the person of Supervisor Bontrager.
    Wynn fumbled with the radio, passing it off, like it had suddenly turned molten, to Two behind the steering wheel. She declined, batting it back to One. By the time One worked up enough nerve to try a tentative “Uh, Mom?” Judy was no longer within hearing range.
    Since, in the process of playing walkie-talkie volleyball, Wynn and the girls had accidentally changed frequencies, the small mob watching the door swing closed on Judy English’s heels failed to hear either.
    â€œMom? Dad? Mrs. Kraus? Anybody there?”
    Nobody was.
    ***
    â€œAre you all right, Sheriff?”
    â€œYeah. Sure. I’m fine,” the sheriff lied, trying to remember where he was. He stood up and had to grab the edge of the doorway to keep from being thrown to the corner of the ceiling by the wildly spinning room. Gradually it slowed and he tried to figure out who had asked. It wasn’t easy, because his eyes were having trouble getting just one image clear enough to recognize.
    â€œMaybe you should lie down on the bed for a minute.”
    She was little, with chopped white hair and bright red tennis shoes. He should know her. Something about a baby.
    â€œNo, really. I’m fine. Uh, how about you?”
    â€œSome of us locked ourselves in a room down the hall after Simon and Levi came in and started going crazy, searching rooms and threatening folks if they didn’t give back what was stolen.”
    â€œGive what back?” His ears were ringing and his head felt like it was being used by the drummer for a heavy metal band.
    â€œThey never said what they wanted.”
    â€œNever said?”
    Geez! He sure had a knack for law enforcement. Such a snappy interrogation technique. It was working though.
    â€œNope. They just demanded to know who was with Tommie before Mad Dog came and got him, then they started telling us to give it back. Not what, just it, though I’m sure it was that ring.”
    â€œRing?”
    â€œBig heavy silver-looking thing. Ugly, but Tommie wore it all the time until the last few days. Someone asked if he’d already given it to the family, but he said no. ‘If I can’t take it with me,’ he said, ‘then I’m not going.’ Didn’t make any sense, ’cause he already wasn’t wearing it. But he was taking a lot of morphine then.” She got a distant look in her eyes and sighed.
    â€œSimon asked me what Tommie was wearing when we wrapped him up for Mad Dog and I said nothing, ’cause that’s what we’d been told to do, just clean him up and wrap him naked in a blanket. I thought that might shock Simon, only it didn’t. He just pointed at his finger and asked, ‘Not even jewelry?’ When I told him no, he didn’t seem to believe me.”
    It was coming back. Mad Dog, of course, had started this whole crazy day by taking Tommie Irons’ body out of here sometime before dawn. And then the old folks had decided to take a walk and came back with the baby and…
    â€œMrs. Burton. She was tied up in her chair.”
    â€œI undid