Scattered Graves

living room, gun in hand pointing straight ahead. Frank was bending over Crabtree. Henry was almost to the front door, the sheriff going after him, when a voice came from the porch.
‘‘Whoever’s in there, if you’ve hurt my family, I’ll kill you. You won’t get out of the house.’’
‘‘Caleb,’’ yelled Henry. ‘‘It’s okay. We’re all right.’’ He ran to the door and opened it and hugged his brother.
Caleb walked in, wide-eyed, surveying the room. He saw his grandparents huddled together and went over to them. Henry followed.
Diane still had the gun aiming toward where Crabtree had been sitting. She slowly dropped her arm.
Crabtree was on the floor, bleeding from his chest.
Diane knelt beside Frank and leaned against him. ‘‘I was afraid it was you,’’ she said.
‘‘I’m fine. Are you all right?’’ he said. ‘‘I was . . . afraid for you. Crabtree had his gun on Henry the whole time...’’
‘‘I’m fine,’’ she said. ‘‘Thanks to Mrs. Wilson. She managed to slip me a potato peeler. Fine weapons, potato peelers.’’ Diane was shaking and she hugged Frank closer, trying to stop shivering.
Fortunately, like Delamore, Shipman was a taunter. Taunters waste a lot of time—time enough for Diane to have formulated a plan. Things could have turned out so different. Diane fought back a wave of nausea.
She looked down at Curtis Crabtree. He was shot twice in the chest, but he wasn’t dead. His breathing was fast and shallow. Frank took a throw from the chair and applied pressure to his chest.
Sheriff Canfield walked toward the kitchen to check on Shipman, his own gun in his hand. After a while she heard his voice speaking to someone. He came back several moments later.
‘‘I called for an ambulance,’’ said the sheriff. ‘‘He’s not dead, but his breathing is real bad. I didn’t know if I should take the knife out or not.’’
Another chill ran through Diane. She leaned against Frank again as he tended to Curtis.
‘‘What happened in here?’’ she asked.
‘‘I’d been mentally rehearsing how I was going to get at my gun, when Caleb drove up. Henry made a dash for the door. He was so quick, it caught Curtis off guard. He started after him, but Henry was too far away to reach quickly. Crabtree realized his mistake in going after Henry, so he turned around, but by that time I had my gun and shot him. It was all very fast.’’
Crabtree turned his head and looked up at Caleb. There was a lot of hate in his eyes, but nothing com pared to the black hatred in Caleb’s eyes.
‘‘Who are these people?’’ asked Mrs. Wilson. ‘‘Caleb, what have you to do with these people?’’
Mrs. Wilson’s question remained unanswered while the sheriff tended to the aftermath. The ambulance came and took both Shipman and Crabtree to the hos pital. Several Rose County deputies arrived and stood on the porch, guarding it, Diane guessed. She wasn’t sure from whom. It could have been from another of Jefferies’ thugs, or it could have been from the Rose wood police in case they decided to show up.
The sheriff called his wife and briefly told her what had happened and that Henry would be staying the night with them. Henry didn’t want to go, but Caleb talked him into it. Caleb wanted to tell his story, but he didn’t want his little brother to hear it. A deputy left with Henry.
‘‘Okay, Caleb,’’ said the sheriff, ‘‘we’re listening. You know you can have a lawyer, don’t you?’’
‘‘Yes, I know. But right now I just want to get this off my chest.’’
They were sitting in the living room. Mrs. Wilson had put a rug over Crabtree’s bloodstains. Mr. Wilson had declined to go to the hospital for examination. He was holding ice in a ziplock bag to the side of his head where he had been struck. He and Mrs. Wilson were still in their pajamas and robes, but Mrs. Wilson had taken the rollers out of her hair. She sat on the couch with her husband and motioned for Caleb to sit be tween them. But he shook his head.
‘‘I’ll sit right here,’’ he said and took a seat across from the sheriff.
Diane and Frank pulled up dining room chairs. All eyes were on Caleb. He looked so thin and small.
He glanced over at Diane. ‘‘You got my message?’’ he asked.
‘‘If you are the ghost in the machine,’’ said Diane. ‘‘That’s why we’re here. We figured out it was you.’’
He smiled. ‘‘I’m a little surprised. I thought, if you figure it out,