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“Sure. I told Wilmot that I would love to learn how he did what he did.” He held his hands out, palms up. “I work with my hands, and it just seemed an extension of that, as well as something creative. Wilmot told me that he would teach a class if I could round up four or five more students. He said he’d do it free of charge.” He paused and shifted in his seat.

I noticed the move and said, “What, Jeff?”

“I need to add something here, but this isn’t really the right spot. Those of us who took the classes never told our parents. There weren’t many classes anyway. From this vantage point, I know we should have told them. I don’t know the laws, but maybe us doing such a thing without our parents’ permission was a big deal, but that day we all talked about it, we just said we didn’t think it was. I gotta admit, though, from that moment, it felt like we were all part of a bigger secret, and then … well, when it happened, we knew we had to keep everything to ourselves.”

Calloway set his lemonade back on the tray. “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves, Jeff. Tell me about the first few classes. What did you all do? Who were the students and how did they behave?”

“Okay. Right.”

For the next five minutes, Jeff confirmed the names of the students in the class and shared unimportant details. Wilmot had gone over the basics for taxidermy, not working with anything but finished mounts. He shared the supplies used and made sure everyone was aware of what really happened—the reality of the skin or hide of an animal that had once been alive being placed over a form to give it a lifelike look. He shared tools and materials. He talked about the ethics of the business, the range of opinions, the downright hatred that he’d felt from some people.

Jeff remembered Wilmot seemed to work hard not to insult those who’d insulted him, but he hadn’t been great at it. I knew that if I hadn’t been in his life, there was a good chance that Wilmot would have been one of the many locals who planted a trailer out in the middle of nowhere, welcoming visitors and customers as he aimed a gun in their direction. With me around, he tempered any paranoia.

Hearing from Jeff about Wilmot’s efforts to be balanced left me slightly doubtful, but Jeff didn’t seem to be anything but straightforward.

“Shoot, I’m the one who got everyone together for the class. I didn’t look at it like this back then, but we were all outsiders in one way or another. You know. Minnie was unconventional but not intimidating, except she was the only one of us who didn’t come from some sort of abusive situation. My parents were, still are, assholes. Thalia’s grandmother burned her back with cigarettes. Danielle’s mother was always drunk—and a nasty drunk. Silas and Johnny were beaten daily.”

“That’s horrible, Jeff. I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

“Me too, Jeff. I … well, we’re not always made aware of those situations, but we do try to do something about them,” Calloway added.

Jeff shook his head. “Nah, Sheriff, I know. That’s not why … I guess I just want you to understand why we thought it was such a cool thing to have Wilmot teach us, of all things, taxidermy. It gave us a place to go that wasn’t home.” He looked at me. “Your father wasn’t cruel. Most of us were used to some cruelty in our days.”

My throat tightened again, but I wouldn’t allow myself to cry here, no matter how hard I had to dig my fingernails into my palms.

“Go on,” Calloway prompted.

Pain or stress pinched the corners of Jeff’s eyes. “Something got ugly and way out of hand.”

“That’s what we’re here for, Jeff. Tell us. Look, if you were involved in something that you’re afraid of being in trouble for, let me assure you that spilling the beans to us will go a long way to helping you through.”

“Don’t believe them, Jeff,” Claire called from the kitchen. “The police don’t ever take care of people like us.”

A shadow passed over Calloway’s eyes. He simply looked at Jeff and gave him a confident nod.

“I didn’t do nothing,” he said. “But someone did.”

“We’re listening.”

“It was only about the sixth or maybe seventh class or so. I was running late, literally running to get downtown from the bus stop in front of my house. Anyway, I missed everything that happened to lead to all the yelling that I heard when I went through the museum’s door. I could hear everyone screaming and yelling from back in the studio. I remember I hesitated but ultimately couldn’t stop myself from seeing what was going on. I pushed through the door to the studio and opened it wide.” He shook his head. “There was a lot of blood, everywhere. My eyes went from person to person. I wanted to know who was hurt. Wilmot was trying to calm everybody down, but even he was covered in blood. Minnie wasn’t there, but everyone else was, and so was … a thing on the table.”

“Blood? What thing?”

Jeff described the thing almost exactly like Minnie had, but she hadn’t said that everyone was covered in blood. I gulped away the chilling fear that Jeff’s words instilled in me. I needed to focus.

After he gathered himself for another moment, Jeff looked at Calloway. “I never saw him do it, but I figured it was Silas who brought the thing in. It was Silas who brought in the blood too, I’m sure, a bucket of it.”

“Bucket?” Calloway said.

This was news to both of us.

Jeff sighed and nodded. “Yeah. Let me back up just a little again. Silas heard about rogue taxidermy and told us all about it at the previous class. We all thought it was cool, artistic, but Silas … I don’t know, I guess he twisted it or something. He created the thing for us to see, but somehow along the way, his dad heard about the class and was pissed. You know, Silas’s father, Bud, he actually hired Wilmot to create some mounts over the years. I don’t know, Sheriff, I think Bud was just always looking at a reason to be angry with his son. Silas got beaten, and then, again this is only hindsight, he took it out on us by bringing that thing in.”

“He brought the thing and a bucket of blood?” Calloway asked.

Jeff nodded.

“Where did the blood come from?”