Page 108 of Night Songs

We came upon a brick building with silver letters spellingCRAW VALLEY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENTand parked in its small lot. Inside the tiny office, it smelled of burnt toast and dark urine. A young man in a uniform came out of the back and smiled when he saw us.

“Welcome!”

Hess returned the smile and introduced us. He shook both of our hands enthusiastically.

“Well, look at that. A real-life country star in Craw Valley. I can’t believe it.” He mimed wiping sweat from his brow.

Jesus.

“Is there someone we could talk to who would’ve been around in the sixties? I’m assuming that isn’t you.” Hess winked, and he put a meaty hand behind his head.

“You’d be right about that. But the sheriff could help you. He was a deputy ’round that time. He’s in the back.”

A few minutes later, an old wiry man in a tan uniform that hung from his frame shuffled into the room. “Johnson tells me y’all wanna talk about the old days.”

“Yes, sir.”

“My memory ain’t what it used to be, but I’ll do my darndest. What d’you wanna know?”

Hess pulled out a picture of Belle from when they first met. “Do you remember this woman? She would have been about eighteen in 1967.”

He grunted. “Well, of course. The Arwood girl. Ernestine, I believe. Lived with her daddy’s sister and husband over yonder.”

My heart jerked.Finally.

Ernestine Arwood.

The name conjured the hardy mountain girl I’d sometimes imagined Belle to be, and I knew this was right. “What do you remember about her?” I asked.

“She had a voice like an angel. But she was troubled. Wasn’t really her fault on account of her blood.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her mama’s blood was bad. All the women in that family died real young, real tragic-like. Made ’em act crazy sometimes.”

“Oh, really?” Hess asked, coaxing him along.

“Yes’m, I remember when she run off after almost killing her uncle. I tried to get ’im to make a statement, but he refused, so I left it alone. The family never recovered. They all either died or left—not one of ’em is still in the Valley.”

We were speechless for a moment. “So none of her relatives are around?” I asked in a quiet voice.

“Some of her mama’s people are still here. Hasil, and his son, um, Enoch.”

“Could you tell us where they live?” I asked, perhaps too eagerly.

He eyed me. “What you want with ’em?”

My mind whirred, calculating what would be safe to reveal. It felt like we’d entered that separate dimension I’d imagined, cut off from the rest of the world. I decided to take a chance. “Ernestine was my family.”

He eyed me. “I can believe it.” He clucked his tongue against his teeth. “All right. I’ll give you directions.”

We drove out to where he pointed us, burrowing deeper into the mountains. There were no businesses in this part, just a two-lane road running through the forest with houses nestled here and there on either side. We passed one property where a deer hung by its neck from an invisible string in the yard, as if it were suspended mid-escape. Its belly was split open, and the camo-clad man attending to it stopped his work and watched our car, unblinking, until we rolled along.

“Ernestine,” I said in disbelief.

“I know,” Hess said, looking at me. “No wonder she changed it.”

Down the road, we saw the milky blue of the door the sheriff had described peeking through the trees, and we parked in front. It was a little scary approaching a house in this area; I had the feeling that I could be shot at any moment, and no one would care.