Page 84 of The Souls of Lost Lake

“Ava.” Hanny’s soft voice held warning.

Noah clenched his teeth. “Emmaline has nothing to do with this. Hubbard does. Hanny and I are both out on a limb for you here, and—”

“I know that,” Ava said. She picked at a burr that stuck to her dress from her jaunt in the woods. It was a burdock burr, round and sticky.

“All right then.” Noah slapped his knees and pointed toward the door. “Go. Convince Larson some loony is out in the woods attacking people, boxing in your face, and God knows what else! Face Tempter’s Creek on your own and see how long it is before Larson throws you behind bars and you stand trial for murder.”

“You just told me I needed to report this!” Ava could throttle the preacher if she didn’t owe him so much already. She pointed to her cheek. It still throbbed. She could tell her words were getting thicker too, along with her lip.

Noah glowered. “I’m trying to understand—as much as I can, Ava. The fact is, a select number of folks in Tempter’s Creek are working on making what little evidence they have fit their narrative. If you want to know from my firsthand experience, once there’s a narrative of guilt, it really doesn’t matter how innocent you are.”

“You two are like a couple dancing in a circle at a waltz and you can’t hold hands,” Hanny interjected. “Either hold hands and work together or find a new dance partner.” The woman rose to her wobbly feet and reached for her cane. “I’ve had it up to here with the two of you making not one lick of sense.” That Hanny was irritated was clear, but Ava didn’t understand what had gotten in her craw, and a glance at Noah told Ava he was perplexed by it too.

Hanny clicked her tongue and looked at them both as though they were wayward school children before toddling out of the room toward the kitchen.

“Well, she told you,” Ava muttered.

Noah tilted his head, and the embers flamed to life again. “Who is Matthew Hubbard to you?”

Ava looked away. The preacher couldn’t mind his own business if Jesus himself told him to. She glanced up at the painting. Sure enough. Jesus was staring off and away—almost looking like He was rolling His eyes at them too.

“Did Jesus ever do anythin’ wrong?”

Noah’s head jerked up. “What?”

Ava gave him a nonplussed stare. “Just answer the question.”

“No, He did not.” Noah frowned. “Why on earth would you ask that?”

“Well, if He never did nothin’ wrong, then how come He even bothers with us who have?”

Noah stared back at her as if to assess if she was serious or not. He chose his words carefully in response. “That’s the significance of who He is. We don’t deserve His grace—He gives it freely.”

“That’s a mighty fine answer.”

Noah took it as sarcasm. “It’s the truth, Ava.”

“Never said it wasn’t.”

“You meant it,” he stated glumly.

“’Course I did. Figured you of all people would be happy. I’d be an easy convert if you even tried just a little bit.”

Noah reddened.

Ava had to be honest. A big part of her had always wished God might smile at her instead of glare at her from the sky, ready to rain down hellfire and brimstone. Fact was, she had a feeling she deserved it, even if she didn’t murder her parents.

“Who is Hubbard to you?”

“Gosh darn it, Preacher!” Ava blew out a breath of exasperation. “You don’t give up, do you?”

Noah’s lips flattened together. “I’m nothing if not consistent.”

Ava squirmed. “Why’s it important?”

“Because it might givemea clue as to whether we even have an argument to spare toward proving your innocence. Not that there’s much we can do about it anyway. I’m at a loss.”

“I didn’t kill him,” Ava asserted.