And I’m relieved. Because it’s not Case. He isn’t the one. But I’m also lost, because . . .
if it wasn’t Case . . .
and it wasn’t Dempsey Fontenot . . .
and it sure as hell wasn’t a swamp werewolf . . . then who killed Elora?
“Hart’s been wastin’ all dis time talkin’ shit about me.” Case’s voice is low and wounded. “And I ain’t never hurt nobody. Y’all shoulda know’d dat.” He looks at us, one by one. But nobody meets his eyes. “Hell. Hart shoulda know’d dat.” Case turns and spits. More blood. “That asshole got one thing right, though. Elora wasn’t my girl. Not any more.” The bitterness drips out of his mouth like the blood drips from his swollen nose. “I told you dat, Grey. You find whoever it is she was runnin’ around on me wit’， and I bet you find who killed ’er.” He turns to go.
“Case, I’m sorry, I –”
His words cut me open. “I don’t need your fuckin’ sorry. I need to know what happened to Elora.”
“Me too,” I tell him.
And then I let him go. Because there’s nothing else to say.
The five of us who are left look at each other. Evie’s wind chimes are whispering again.
“Who was Elora in love with?” I ask.
But all I get are blank stares and shrugs. I look around the little group.
“Was it you?” I ask Mackey.
“Me? Nah.” Mackey shakes his head. “It was never like that between Elora and me.”
“Who, then?” I turn to look at Sander. “You?”
He looks at me, surprised, and shakes his head. Then he pushes those sand-and-copper waves out of his face, so I can see his eyes, and he blinks at Sera like there’s something he wants her to tell me.
“Sander likes boys,” she says, just like she’s telling me the sky is blue. And it’s clear I’m the only one out of the loop on that.
Why are there so many holes in what I know about the people I’m supposed to know best?
Why haven’t I been paying attention?
Suddenly, I wonder if Zale was telling me the truth this morning. When he said he and Elora weren’t in love. The thought makes me nauseous. Because I believed him so easy.
But what if he’s the one?
“If Elora was in deep with anybody,” Sera is saying, “it was probably some guy from upriver. One of the Kinter boys she was always messin’ around with. Somebody like that.”
Great.
That could be any of a hundred guys.
I turn my attention to Evie. She’s burrowed into Sander’s chest. Her hair covers her face, and she’s still crying softly. “Evie,” I tell her. “If you know something. Or if you’re hearing something. Voices or –”
“I don’t,” she sniffs. “I’m not.”
“If you’re hearing Elora –”
“Stop it!” she wails, and Sera shoots me a dirty look. “I’m not!”
“Please,” I say. Evie looks so much younger than almost seventeen. She looks like a little girl. Terrified and lost. And it makes me feel awful. I make my voice as gentle as possible. “I need you to tell me the truth.”
She pulls away from Sander and looks at me.
“Just leave me alone, Grey. There isn’t any truth to tell.” Her arms are wrapped tight around her chest. “Why can’t everybody just leave me alone?”
Victor’s voice slices through the fog. Thick and slippery with alcohol. He’s calling from their front porch. “Evangeline! Where you at? Git yur ass in here, girl!”
I see Evie flinch at her uncle’s words.
“It’s okay, Evie,” Sera soothes. “Everything’s gonna be okay. Come on.” She slips her arm around Evie’s shaking shoulders. “Let’s get you home, sè.”
Sera and Sander practically carry a still sobbing Evie back toward the boardwalk with Mackey trailing behind them. He looks back over his shoulder to give me a sad smile.
“You get on to bed, Grey.” Mackey’s voice is kind, but his eyes are worried. “It’s not safe out here this time of night.”
Then the dark gobbles them up.
And I’m all alone.
I head back across the boardwalk to the light of Honey’s front porch. I’m still clutching Elora’s good luck charm. Case’s Saint Sebastian medal. I sit down on the steps, slick with damp, and stare at that rust-colored smudge on the back.