I Love It When You Lie

The Sheriff's Office
One Week After

Stephanie

One week has passed since I watched Tara and June and Clementine stand around Gran's grave in silence, the three of them in a kind of starstruck awe at what they'd done. Burying the evidence took on a whole new meaning.

In the moments of silence when the sheriff leaves the room to take a phone call or grab another cup of coffee, I can't help but wonder at how my sisters-in-law became the kind of people who could stomach doing what they'd done. They must've learned from the best. I shiver, and hope the sheriff doesn't notice my drawn features when he returns. I must keep him engaged, riveted, even. I choose my next tactic carefully as he settles across from me again.

"How's your eldest daughter doing these days, Sheriff? Rebecca, isn't it?"

I haven't seen this man's daughter in years, but I remember the girl's name just like I remember everyone's names in this town: alliteration. The sheriff's daughter is Rosy Rebecca for her pink cheeks. There's also Dreary "Sheriff" Dean, Persnickety Pearl (aka Grumpy Gran), Tricky Tara, Jaded June and Clueless Clementine. Walker hates that I remember people this way, but I never said that my mnemonic devices would be flattering.

Sheriff Dean is surprised by my question about his daughter after all this time.

"She's married to a youth pastor outside of Charleston where our people are from," he answers cordially, forgetting for a moment that we are in a blank room with a steel table rather than at a church social. "I'm surprised anybody can keep my kids' names straight with so many of them. Seems there's a Dean about every which way you look." I can tell he's proud of his brood.

"She's memorable," I say. "I never saw a girl look so much like her daddy."

He grins even though this is less of a compliment than he thinks.

I tilt my head. "Do your children tend to take more after you or your wife—their personalities, I mean?"

"I suppose they're more like their momma, her homeschooling them and all. Running an entire town with only a handful of officers has always consumed most of my time."

I hesitate, considering the best approach. I'd like this man to see how much one generation's behavior can influence the next. I could get into a philosophical discussion, but I don't feel like bringing in Locke's tabula rasa or Rousseau's enslavement of mankind to a sixty-year-old man who tucks his tie into his shirt every time he eats a plateful of hush puppies at potlucks. I've seen it too many times, and it's not pretty.

The sheriff lifts his chin. "I appreciate you asking about my family and all, but I'm not sure what this has to do with our missing person."

I tap my fingers against the cold metal table and show my teeth. "I'm just thinking about how history—how families—repeat. Just take a look at Gran and Tara," I cast the line and begin to reel it in.

The sheriff's face reddens from excitement and eagerness. He thinks this is the moment he's been waiting for. "Now, hold your horses. Are you telling me that you believe the Williams gals to be potential killers like their grandmother?"

I lean forward, my face only inches from him. "Sheriff, what did happen on the night Gran's husband, Walker's granddaddy, died all those years ago? Harley, wasn't it?" I motion vaguely to the door. "Do you still have her shotgun back there somewhere?"

Thirty years pass across the sheriff's face: the hope of the newly elected, the realization that he has less control than he imagined, the frustration over his powerlessness in the face of Pearl Williams, the woman who'd married into Willow Gap's founding family.

It seems he's spent half his life trying to catch Pearl Williams, but now she's eluded him once and for all with her death. Still, he collects himself. He won't be taunted with the promise of a guilty Williams, especially not by the likes of me.

"Why did you hate Pearl so much?" I ask.

"I didn't hate her." The sheriff swallows. "Harley Williams's death was my first case, and I needed to make the people in this town trust me. You know how it is, needing to be reelected every few years."