When Devils Sing(36)

A brightly colored flyer caught Neera’s eye as she neared the Chevron’s entrance. Her stomach sank as she recognized the blond teenage boy who had checked into the Colonial with tearstained eyes and blood on his hands.

According to the flyer, Dawson Sumter had gone missing during his stay at the motel.

A scarred hand snatched the paper away before she could examine it further.

“What the hell,” Neera snapped. “I was reading that.” Her anger sputtered out as she realized who towered over her.

Wiley, the handyman from the motel, crumpled up the flyer and tossed it into the garbage bag. With an exaggerated frown, he said, “No point now. Didn’t you hear?”

Neera slowly shook her head. “Hear what?”

Wiley nodded to the trash pile. “They just found that Sumter boy’s car abandoned near a fishing spot on Lake Clearwater. Were a couple empty liquor bottles on the shore, too. Like mama, like son, I suppose.”

A cocktail of guilt and dread mixed in Neera’s stomach. Was she the last person to have seen him? Could she have stopped him? “I—I gotta go,” Neera stuttered, turning away from Wiley. What was there to do? She couldn’t go to the police, especially not after Sheriff Buckley’s thinly veiled threat the day before.

Wiley called after her, “My sympathies ’bout that fire.”

Neera froze, her hand hovering above the handle of the Chevron’s entrance. Wiley’s comment was meant to taunt her. To make her feel small and scared and helpless. While she was afraid, she was also angry.

In the dreadful lingering heat of the late summer day, Neera turned on her heel and approached the man who had threatened her family. “How much?” she asked.

Wiley blinked, his smug grin quickly fading. “Beg ya pardon?”

Neera fixed her face into something hard. “How much does my grandfather owe your boss?”

“You really wanna have this discussion here?” Wiley sucked his yellow teeth, his beady eyes darting around. Neera looked around them, too. The good ol’ boys had turned their music down, now staring their way. Pam, the cashier who always sold Neera lottery tickets, looked on from inside the gas station.

Everyone watched with cautious, distant interest.

“Yes, I do,” Neera said with as much confidence as she could muster.

“All right, then.” In a quick motion, Wiley grabbed Neera’s arm in an iron grip, pulling her away from the front of the Chevron. He dragged her around the corner, not letting go until they were out of sight, hidden away at the back of the building near the employees’ entrance.

Neera fought against the urge to scream. To kick Wiley in the balls and run away. But this was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Answers? “How much?”

Wiley looked at her like a gnat that wouldn’t disappear. “Half a million, give or take.”

“Wh-what?” That wasn’t the number she was expecting at all. “I don’t understand how that’s possible.”

“Your grandpa bit off more than he could chew. Big loans mean bigger interest.” Wiley shrugged. “I thought you people were supposed to be smart with money?”

You people? Neera’s anger was quickly fading to the hollow feeling of defeat. She swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in her throat. “Who’s your boss?”

“Why? So you can talk to him yourself?” Wiley snorted. “It won’t change a thing. You can’t get your grandpa out of this, kid. He dug his grave with his own two hands.”

And our graves, too, Neera thought with a shudder.

“Your grandpa has until the Fourth of July,” Wiley continued. “Or, well, there may just be another fire at the Colonial.” He studied Neera’s face, his eyebrows furrowing in false, exaggerated sympathy. He dug in his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He licked his fingers, counting out ten dollars. “You’re here to buy lotto tickets for your grandpa, right? Take this. My treat.”

“I don’t want—”

Wiley didn’t give Neera a chance to decline before he grabbed her hand and wrapped her fingers around the small wad of bills. He treated her like a rag doll, merely a thing to manipulate for his own amusement. “Today may very well be your lucky day,” he said with a wink, then a glance at his phone. “I’m sure I’ll be seein’ you again soon.”

Wiley walked away, disappearing around the Chevron’s corner. He left her alone with ten dollars in hand, a freshly bruising arm, and a clear understanding of her family’s precarious situation.

If Nanaji didn’t pay his debt in less than a week’s time, he’d pay in not only his life, but in all their lives. In horror, Neera imagined the Colonial going up in flames with them in it, trapped inside as the building burned to ash and rubble. The cause would be a gas leak, or a haywire fuse gone wrong. Something easily glossed over by police. A cruel, fitting ending for the Singh legacy, and Neera felt powerless to stop it.

The harsh caw of a bird sounded nearby. Neera startled, looking up to find a single crow staring down at her from the power line above. The crow held her gaze, refusing to look away, even when she did. It cawed again, louder this time, then cocked its head.

The crow taunted Neera, as if to remind her that, despite everything stacked against her, she still had one option left.



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