Josie looked to her grandfather who nodded. “I never really saw,” Josie said in a small voice. “We were outside. Becky and me. We heard the gun but didn’t see who did it.”
“What’s Becky’s last name?” Butler asked.
“Allen,” Josie said. “Becky Allen.”
“Her mother works at Shaffer’s Grocery,” Matthew filled in, and Butler turned to a deputy. “I need you to find the Allen parents and fill them in on what’s going on. Just the basics,” Butler cautioned. “Tell them there was an incident at the Doyle house and we’re trying to locate Becky. No more than that, got it?” The deputy nodded and rushed off.
“Okay, you’re doing a great job, Josie,” Butler said. “Did you see who shot at you?”
Josie shook her head. “It was too dark. I just saw someone coming toward us. He had a gun. He chased us.”
“So it was a he?” Butler asked.
“I think so,” Josie said.
“Was he young or a grown man?” the sheriff asked.
A ripple of doubt crossed Josie’s face. “I think it was a man, but I’m not sure,” she said thickly, her eyes fluttering shut. “I couldn’t see how old he was.”
“Okay, Josie.” Sheriff Butler sighed. He didn’t get to her before whatever pain medication the paramedics gave her. “Did you see or hear anything else strange last night?”
“A truck. There was a truck,” Josie said groggily.
“Last night? You saw a truck on your property?” Butler asked. This was something.
“No,” Josie said. “On the road. I saw it on the road earlier. Twice. It was white.”
The sheriff let out a breath. White trucks were a common sight in Blake County. Always had been. It wasn’t exactly helpful.
Levi Robbins approached the sheriff. “State police are on their way. Said it might take some time to get the dogs here.”
The sheriff nodded and returned his attention to Josie. “Anything else you came across recently that was unusual. Any strangers hanging around?”
Josie rubbed her head as if it hurt to think. “Not really. We saw Cutter right after supper.”
“Cutter?” Levi asked in surprise.
“Brock Cutter. He’s my brother’s friend,” Josie told them.
“Anyone else you see?” the sheriff asked. “Anyone at all?”
“My grandma and grandpa when we dropped off the pie at their house and then Becky and I went looking for Roscoe. We stopped at that house, the one with all the junk.”
Sheriff Butler knew who Josie was talking about. June Henley and her son, Jackson Henley, lived about two miles away over on Oxeye Road. Word was that June Henley was very sick. Cancer.
Jackson ran a hodgepodge operation selling vehicle parts, scrap metal, and farm collectibles. Jackson was a Gulf War vet with PTSD and a drinking problem. He lost his license sometime back and took to driving an ATV around the back roads. Jackson was odd for sure but not known to be violent.
The sheriff jotted the name down in his notebook.
“One more question for now,” Butler said. “Becky Allen. When did you last see her?”
Josie closed her eyes trying to remember. They heard the gunshots. Heard someone call her name. Who was it? Ethan? Her dad? No, that wasn’t right. They grabbed hands and ran. More explosions rang out. Becky’s hand was ripped from hers. But she kept running.
Josie’s face was wet with tears. “I don’t know,” she cried, looking to her grandfather for help. “I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, now,” Lowell said. “I think that’s enough for now.” He laid a cool hand on Josie’s forehead. “There will be plenty of time later for questions. We really need to get that arm looked at by a doctor. We don’t want an infection to settle in. Is there someone who will be meet us at the hospital?”
“My wife. Oh, God, I have to call my wife,” Matthew covered his eyes. Dry, silent sobs shook his shoulders.
“Why don’t you go with Josie?” Sheriff Butler said. “I’ll stop by later and we can talk more.”
Matthew shook his head and ran a shaky hand across his gray whiskers. “I can’t leave,” he insisted. “Not until we find Ethan and the girl and not until they bring my daughter out.”
Sheriff Butler flicked his eyes toward Josie. Her eyes were closed. “They’ll be brought out once the scene is processed and the county medical examiner arrives.”