Page 119 of The Witch’s Orchard

She looks toward the door of what I can only assume is Tommy’s room and purses her lips, thinking.

I catch her gaze when she looks back and say, “Whoever took Olivia and Jessica, whoever killed Molly, is still out there. And now they have Lucy Evers. He might know something. I have to talk to him.”

She sighs through her nose and then gives a tiny nod and ushers me into the room. I’m surprised to find that it’s private but, then again, I wouldn’t want to put anyone in with Tommy Hoyle either.

“Ten minutes,” she says. “And then Teresa’s going to be coming around to check vitals. Please don’t get me fired.”

I nod and check my phone for the time. She edges out of the room and I walk to the foot of Tommy’s bed. He’s lying with one hand cuffed to the bed rail and his eyes shut. There are bandages on his left arm, disappearing into his hospital gown. Bandages on his left temple and over the left side of his freshly shaved head. There’s an oxygen tube stuck in his nose and an IV bag hanging over his bed and all I can think, as I stare at him, is how much this is going to cost Mandy.

“Tommy,” I say, nudging him and not bothering to be gentle.

His eyelids flutter.

“Tommy,” I say again. “Wake up.”

“Huh—” he says as he opens his eyes and squints at me. “Who are you?”

I move around to the side of the bed and pull the chair up next to him, check my phone again for the time.

“I’m the person who pulled your sorry ass out of that meth lab.”

“Oh my God,” he says. His syllables are mushy, his voice distant. “Oh my God, you’re that PI. I told Mandy not to talk to you. I always said a PI was a waste of fucking money. I told Dwight about you. Told him you were going around. Asking questions.”

“You talked to Dwight?”

“Yeah…” he whines.

“Tommy, did Dwight ever tell you something about seeing a scarecrow at the Andrews house?”

“What?”

“A scarecrow? Did he see a scarecrow at the Andrews house?”

He squints at me like I’m the one who should be doped up and chained to a bed.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

I take a deep breath. Change tack.

“Tommy, they used to say that you took Jessica. Do you remember that?”

He squints at me again, his head coming off the pillow. Then he grimaces and his head falls back. His eyes close tight, but he says, “Nothing but a bunch of fucking rumors. That’s all it ever was. Ugly talk. I’d never hurt my baby girl. I’d never hurt her. I told them. I told them then. It was that witch.”

“What witch?” I ask. “Who is the witch?”

“What?” he asks. “Witch what?”

The last word turns into a moan and then a high whine.

“The witch,” I say. “The Witch of Quartz Creek.”

He squints his eyes shut, and tears squeeze out of them and drip down his cheeks.

“She took my pretty baby. My pretty Odette.”

“No,” I say. “Jessica. She took Jessica. Your daughter.”

He shakes his head, eyes still closed, and whispers, “Odette.”