Page 101 of The Killing Plains

Brenda lowered her voice. “I thought he could use it. He’s... struggling.”

Colly’s throat tightened. “Is he okay? He scared me last night, the way he acted.”

“Let’s talk later. Need me to bring him home?”

“I’m not sure what to do.” Quickly, Colly told her about the break-in, though she omitted most of the details.

“Oh God, that’s awful.”

“Can Satchel stay at your place tonight? I’ll bring his things later.”

“Absolutely. You’ll stay too, I hope?”

“I’m not sure yet. Let me talk to Satch.”

After what Brenda had said, Colly expected Satchel to sound upset. But he seemed happy when he took the phone, and he was thrilled at the prospect of spending the night with his cousins.

“Bring my ant farm when you come—I wanna show Logan and Minnie.”

Colly replied evasively and hung up, feeling both guilty and reassured.

The sun was sinking towards the horizon when Earla emerged from the house. She looked tired, her silvery braids frazzled.

“Almost done,” she said.

Russ stood up. “What did you find?”

“No suspicious fingerprints. But our pal Mr. Size Ten Boot’s been here. Break-in’s staged, too. Window’s smashed from the inside.”

“I locked up when I left this morning,” Colly said.

“A baby could pick that lock with a teething biscuit. Or maybe the perp had a key. Who’s got access?”

Russ scratched his head. “My in-laws lived here sixty years. God knows how many keys they handed out or lost. They kept a spare on a nail in the carport. Probably still there.”

“You never changed the locks after they died?”

Russ looked abashed. “I always meant to.”

Colly sighed. “This town’s a criminal’s paradise.”

Earla grunted in agreement. “Y’all come in a sec—I need input.”

They followed her inside. The three suitcases, still unopened, now lay prone on the foyer floor. Stepping around them, Earla led the way up the stairs into the master bedroom. Colly glanced around. The remnants of the ant farm had been bagged. Blankets, sheets, and mattress pad were peeled back, exposing the bare mattress.

“Are these the same sheets you took off the bed this morning?” Earla asked.

Colly nodded. “They were urine-soaked.”

“They’re clean, now. Perp must’ve washed ’em.” Earla rubbed her forehead with the back of her gloved hand. “I didn’t open the suitcases yet. Wanted you there for that.”

They followed her downstairs. Earla knelt and unzipped the largest case. The clothes lay in immaculate order—jeans, tops, socks, and panties carefully folded; bras nested in a neat stack.

“This look right?” Earla asked.

Colly flushed angrily. “It’s mine, but when I left the house this morning, half this stuff was in the hamper.”

“Christ Almighty,” Russ muttered.

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