Page 60 of Death on Gallows Path

“—not the only ones who know things. I know a lot. You can pretend you don’t care by not listening to me—”

As if I’d had a choice during Marcus’ raucous bombast.

Clara had hold of my arm and dragged me toward the fence.

“We do care,” Clara said. “Of course we want to know what you have to say.”

When it came to investigating, Clara was willing to sacrifice herself. I admired that. The part I wasn’t as fond of is she was willing to sacrifice me, too.

“You should want to know,” Berrie said triumphantly. “Because Zoley was cheating on Bryon with Damon.”

“She was?” Clara was also a far better actor than I ever hoped to be.

“Yes. And I told the deputies that. Not that I like to gossip—”

I glanced heavenward. Not rolling my eyes, honest. Checking for lightning heading her way that might catch us.

“—but it was my civic duty and I never shirk my duty.”

“What made you think there was something going on between Zoley and Damon?” I asked.

“I didn’t think it. I knew it.”

She tried to peer down at me from the height of superior knowledge, a tactic made difficult because I was numerous inches taller. I straightened to maximize that advantage.

Berrie sniffed. “Pretty hard to miss when she was out on the public street saying to Damon about how it was too late to hide it now, that Bryon knew, there was no use denying it.”

“When was that?”

“That night after training. Right before Bryon killed Damon.”

“The night with the tic-tac-toe game? Thursday night?”

Berrie frowned impatiently. “I don’t— Yeah, I guess. Anyway, it was right before Bryon murdered Damon.”

“How did you—?”

“I heard them. Plain as day. Right out there on the public street.”

“You mean . . .” The bits I’d seen that evening rearranged.

Berrie hadn’t happened to cross the street into the midst of the confrontation within the Gang of Four.

She’d walked down the sidewalk on Zepke’s side of the street, ever closer to hearing the conflict among the Gang of Four better than Clara and I had from the steps. Then she’d crossed the street and walked right up to them, drawn like a magnet by curiosity.

Clara might have taken the same mental journey as I did, but she reached the destination faster.

“What did they say?” she asked.

“I am not an eavesdropper.” Berrie drew herself up, without altering her outline, which resembled her short, round dogs.

“Of course, but—”

Berrie rolled over the excuse for eavesdropping Clara might have offered with her own. “But sometimes you can’t help hearing something, especially not with them yelling on the public street.”

“We absolutely understand you couldn’t help but hear,” Clara said, “especially when they said . . .”

“Nasty things about—”