Chapter 47 Avery
AVERY
“Sorry about that. I was, uh… curious about your ducks.”
It was dark inside the coop, especially with Walter blocking the light from the doorway, and a thrum of fear sounded through my body like a discordant note.
And yeah, Walter was old, but he was also strong. He would have to be to lift the statue that had killed Harold, not to mention all the bags of feed I’d seen him carrying when I’d been on my way to the cemetery.
Now he had me trapped.
He studied me, his expression flat and unreadable. “There’s a lot to say about ducks.”
“I’m sure.”
“For one thing,” he said, “they need easy access to water. But I’m sure you know that.”
There was something knowing in his voice. Something that said he knew exactly why I was there.
I tried to be calm. To act casual. “Definitely. Water and ducks go together like… like birds of a feather!”
“How did you figure it out?”
“I, um, figure what out?” Sugar. I was in trouble.
He shook his head, like he was realizing something unfortunate. “I liked Evelyn. You shouldn’t have come here.”
I wasn’t even surprised he knew who I was. Didn’t everybody by now?
“I’d like to leave.” I’d tried to sound confident but my voice shook anyway.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”
My gaze darted around the coop. The exit through the shed was blocked, but there was another gate on the open-air part of the coop. I just had to make my way through the mud and the ducks to reach it.
Walter followed my gaze to the other gate.
There was a beat where the lake seemed to hold its breath, where everything seemed to go quiet.
I lunged for the gate, slipping and sliding in the mud and duck poop.
I didn’t have time to see if Walter followed, but he appeared at the other gate a moment later just as I got it open.
He tried to block my way, to keep me penned in the coop, but I gave him a shove, attempting to break free from the confines of the coop so I could run.
He toppled backwards, his feet sliding out from under him in the mud.
The ducks streamed out after me as I broke free of the coop, their quacks and squawks rising into the cloudy sky as I ran, slipping in the quagmire underfoot.
I was halfway to the road — I was going to make it! — when I saw three figures running toward me: Beck, Noah, and Dane.
But I barely had time to feel relief before something snagged me from behind, stopping my forward motion.
I went down in the mud, Walter grabbing onto my left foot, seemingly unaware that my rescue was at hand.
I struggled to get to my feet, then slipped again — right into Noah’s arms.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Although I don’t mind saying you’ve smelled better.”
Walter scrambled to his feet and started running for the lake while Dane dodged the ducks that crowded around our feet before going down in a splay of arms and legs.
Cursing, he managed to get back on his feet, but one of the ducks started pecking at his shoes.
“Fuck… fuck you, duck! Get away.” He danced around it, clearly trying not to step on it while trying to get it away from him, then slipped and went down flat on his back. “Goddamn it!”
Noah reached out a hand to help Dane out of the mud.
“Stay with Avery,” Dane ordered.
Noah’s arm was tight around my waist, both of us now covered in mud. “Never intended to leave.”
Beck had herded Walter back in our direction, his pace slowing as he ran out of speed.
The ducks seemed to notice him all at once, and a second later they started running toward him, like they were expecting a meal.
“No!” Walter waved his arms as he got closer to the freed flock. “Get away! Get away!”
But it didn’t do any good. The ducks surrounded him, knocking him off-balance, into the bags of birdseed stacked next to the coop.
One of the bags slid off the top, bursting open when it hit the ground.
The ducks closed in on Walter, pecking at the seed that stuck to the mud all over his body while he yelled at them to “get away!”
Dane reached him first and he waded into the fray, trying to get his hands on Walter before the old man could escape again, but it was like trying to grab hold of a doorknob coated with cooking oil.
The more he grabbed, the more he slipped, until he went down again next to Walter, the ducks covering them both.
And that was when a loud whistle broke through the fray.
Even the ducks got quieter as we all turned to find Sheriff Crowe, fingers still in her mouth, standing with Deputy Pike.
Her expression was impassive as she studied the scene. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Harold Pembroke, Walter.” She turned her resigned gaze on me. “I thought I told you to leave the detective work to me?”
“Her listening skills need work,” Dane growled, rising carefully to his feet.
“But she has a lot of other amazing qualities,” Beck said.
“Yeah,” Noah agreed, looking down at me with a smile. “Tons.”