The big clue here is the shotgun. I suspect that someone in the Second Settlement is cheating on the “no firearms” rule. They’ve gotten hold of a shotgun and been shooting their prey and then jabbing in an arrow making it look as if the beast was brought down with a bow.
Does the entire settlement know someone’s breaking the law? Are they turning a blind eye because it’s winter and meat equals survival?
Nancy knows what’s going on, though. I’m certain of that. She knows who has a shotgun, and that’s why she tucked away the pellet.
Is it Tomas’s shotgun, and she’s covering for him? Or has she only figured out that someone in the village is using a gun, and she’s protecting whoever it is?
I need to find out who has that gun.
THIRTY-THREE
Dalton and I are talking around the fire when we hear running footfalls. We shine our flashlight and a voice huffs, “It’s Tomas,” sounding out of breath, before he appears. He bursts in and stops, panting, “Nancy’s gone. I got back to the village, and went to speak to her. When I couldn’t find her, I thought she was avoiding me. Miles said she’d told the kids to stay with the other women, that she needed to find Lane.”
“Lane?” I say, and it takes a moment for me to remember that’s his nephew. “Where is he?”
“Hunting. Lane … struggles with village life. His mother died when he was a boy, his father passed five years ago, and he lost his best friend the summer before last. Lane’s had a rough go of it lately. He spends most of his time hunting. Nancy and I worry about him, but the elders tell us not to interfere. He’s the best hunter we have.”
“Because he’s not using a fucking bow,” Dalton mutters.
“What?” Tomas says, sounding genuinely surprised.
“Someone has been hunting with a shotgun,” I say, “while pretending to use a bow. That’s why you’ve found so many pellets in the meat. Nancy figured out it was Lane, and now that Ellen has been killed with a firearm…”
Tomas’s eyes widen. “You think Nancy’s gone after Lane. I thought…” He swallows. “I thought that was just an excuse to get away, that she was distraught over Ellen. Lane would never hurt Nancy, but we still need to find her. It hasn’t snowed in three days, and there are too many prints for me to track. You’d mentioned your dog can do that.”
“She can,” I say. “But she’ll need—”
He’s already pulling a shirt from his pack. He manages an anxious smile. “I used to watch a lot of cop shows.”
“All right then. Let’s go.”
* * *
Storm picks up the trail easily. According to Tomas, Nancy rarely leaves the settlement in winter. The rest of the year, she loves to walk and gather berries and nuts and greens, but in winter, she hunkers down with her needlework. It’s been days since she’s been beyond the perimeter, so her trail is easily followed.
It’s only 10 P.M., but it’s been dark for hours. All around us, the forest slumbers, and every step we take seems to echo. It also means that every noise Nancy or Lane makes will do the same, and we’ve been out less than twenty minutes before we hear their voices on the night breeze.
“You made a mistake,” Nancy is saying, her voice low and urgent. “I understand that. This is why we don’t use guns, Lane, and when we do, we make mistakes even more easily because we’re unaccustomed to handling them.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lane replies.
“The gun. The one you got in a trade from those … those people. You’ve been using it to hunt. I told you that you needed to be more careful. If you wanted to do that, then you couldn’t hunt on our territory, where someone could get hurt.”
“And I told you I don’t have a gun.”
“I found pellets in the hares you brought us last week. I showed them to you.”
“And I said they weren’t mine. It’s like the elders say—sometimes they get into our game from other hunters.”
Nancy’s voice rises in frustration. “I’m trying to help you, Lane. You tell me you don’t have a gun? All right. Then take that gun that I’m clearly imagining and get rid of it, please. Hide it somewhere.”
“I don’t have—”
“Stop, Lane. Just listen to me and protect yourself. This woman from Rockton, her entire job is finding people who kill others. Your uncle told me all about it. She’s trained to find murderers by studying blood and bullets and dead bodies. If your gun killed Ellen, she won’t understand that it was a hunting accident. She’ll find the gun and know it’s the one that killed Ellen. Then she’ll read your fingerprints on it. But if there’s no gun, you’re safe.”
“I don’t have a gun.”
“Then who does?” I say as I step into the clearing, gun in hand. “Besides me.”