Page 49 of Trouble Comes in Threes

I tried to hide my surprise. “Austin,” I said quietly. “What did you see?”

He glanced up at Neely Kate.

“You can trust her too,” I said. “She’s a master at secret keeping.”

He drew in more breaths, and I could see he was trying to decide if he was going to tell us or bolt.

“How old are you, Austin?” I asked again, keeping my voice soft.

He dropped his chin to his chest. “Seventeen.”

“Do your mother and father know you’re okay?”

He didn’t lift his gaze, but defiance rang through his voice. “They don’t give a shit about me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He reached down and plucked grass blades. “I ain’t seen my dad since I was eight, and my mom kicked me out a few months ago when I got into a fight with her new boyfriend.”

“Where are you living?”

“Here and there. Mostly friend’s couches. Sometimes in my car.”

“So what did you see that scared you?”

He looked up. “I saw two men kill a guy.”

I tried to hide any reaction to his announcement. “Did this happen down in Pickle Junction?”

He shook his head. “No, it was here in Henryetta.”

My gaze darted to Neely Kate, who looked as concerned as I was. Did that mean there’d been two murders?

“When did you see this happen?” I asked.

“Last night. Around midnight.” He lifted his hand into his lap and began to pick dry skin off the back of it. “There’s a party spot on the north edge of town.”

“The abandoned Adkins plant,” I said.

He looked up at me in surprise. “You know about that place?”

“Please,” Neely Kate muttered. “We were getting into trouble out there before you even considered it a party place.”

He looked us over, and the expression on his face suggested he found us lacking. “No offense, but you two don’t look much like partiers.”

“That’s because we’re not,” Neely Kate said in disgust. “We were out there for far more nefarious reasons.”

She was right, but I didn’t see any reason to confirm it. Then again, his respect seemed to grow a notch or two.

He tipped his head. “Back when Hardshaw was here?”

“You know about Hardshaw?” I asked. If he were seventeen, he would have been thirteen or fourteen when that was going on. Too young to know about such things.

“My daddy was part of Malcolm’s crew. Then he defected to Dermot.”

At least he hadn’t aligned himself with Denny Carmichael, the psychotic drug lord.

“So why didn’t you go to Dermot for help?” I asked.

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