Page 85 of The Chain House

Sam had a notion of calling him right now but held off. “How did Jules Whitaker die?”

That smile again. “She went into the woods. She was killed by demons.”

“You fucking murdered her.”

“Rules in any cult have to be followed, Sam Harper,” Batise said. “No children are to be brought to the ranch. And I am not a murderer.”

“And neither was Hitler?”

“Not the first time I’ve heard the comparison.”

“Was it Minks?”

“Of course it was.”

“Is her body going to turn up with the rest of them being discovered right now?”

“Very likely,” Batise said, staring out the window toward the sky. “Looks like a blood moon.”

“How can you live with yourself?”

“How can any of us live with ourselves? We just do. And remembering our mothers isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Sam said, “I loved my mother.”

“I hardly ever knew mine before she vanished and left us alone,” Batise said. “And Annie Harper wasn’t your mother.”

“She raised me,” he said. “Cancer took her. She was good through and through.”

“She was a traitor just like my little brother.”

Sam held himself back. Batise seemed to be amused by his apparent restraint, if not impressed.

Sam grabbed his phone, thumb-tapped a quick text to his father, to The Raven: Can’t talk now but did you know a woman named Jules Whitaker?

“Before my father was incarcerated,” Batise said, still staring at the moon, “and before my mother left us, we took a basket of food for a picnic lunch around a nearby lake. Tommy was only three. I was infatuated with the ducks. While Tommy fed them, I ran through them, scaring them into flight. And when they’d return I’d do it all over again, and at the same time I couldn’t help wondering how they would taste, plucked free of their feathers and roasted over a fire, turning slowly on a spit. Tommy, at that point, of course, had not yet developed his tendencies toward human flesh …”

“Stop,” Sam warned. “Finish your story.”

“My father had a peculiar way of talking, Sam Harper. At dinner, instead of saying pass the ketchup, he’d say pass the Heinz. Or with mayonnaise, he’d say get the Hellmann’s. Or with the baseball bat he’d say grab the Louisville Slugger and let’s go hit some balls. Always the brand names instead of the thing itself. And that day he said, Sal, leave the goddamn mallards alone. And Tommy, who was young and thought it funny to repeat things, kept saying mallards alone, mallards alone, except he spoke a little funny, Sam Harper, and used to blend some of his words together, so his mallards alone sounded more like mallards malone, mallards malone, Mallard … Malone.”

“So that’s where your pen name came from,” Sam said. “But I didn’t ask that.”

“But maybe you should have,” said Batise.

Sam’s phone vibrated—a long text from Jennifer: I was just with Nancy Tanner. Sal wrote the novel 23 years ago. He failed as a writer back then. Sam wasn’t finished with the text but couldn’t help looking up at Batise, who watched him quietly but with obvious curiosity, with one eyebrow raised in anticipation. Sam returned to the text: The Hawthorne massacre happened because of jealousy. Justin Hawthorne was celebrating the publication of his debut novel that night and Sal resented him for it. For their status, for his success …

Sam looked up from his phone when a door opened and FBI Agent Givens stormed in with Warden Wren. Sam stood. “What’s wrong?”

Agent Givens ignored Sam and instead spoke to Batise. “There was no body there. And no book. No Emily Hawthorne. What the fuck is going on?”

Warden Wren and Agent Givens must have seen the look on Batise’s face just as Sam did, because they shared a confused look and Givens backed off. It was clear that Batise was as shocked as they all were, and that he’d fully expected them to find a body, or, at least, bones, exactly where he’d told them.

For the first time all day, Sam saw worry in the eyes of Sal Batise, but then it quickly morphed into alarm, and then what looked like a revelation, when he turned to Agent Givens and said, “What if Emily Hawthorne is still alive?”

CHAPTER43

TREVOR KNEW WHAT Lizzie was doing as soon as she pulled him to the floor and straddled his waist. He only wished he’d had time to undo his belt and at the very least unzip his pants to make their act more believable.