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didn’t seem to care—or notice—that the rest of Seven Devils spurned him.
    Enos grinned suddenly, displaying unnaturally white and even teeth. For a moment Skinner was certain that the old man was going to bite him before he regained control of the ill-fitting dentures and cleared his throat.
    â€œI was the one that found your Pa! Bet you didn’t know that!”
    Skinner swallowed. No, he hadn’t known that. But then Skinner doubted Enos knew that he’d once seen him masturbating with the freshly peeled pelt of a dead rabbit.
    â€œYeah, I was the one that come up on him.” Enos’ voice had taken on a nostalgic tinge, as if reminiscing about the good old days. “I was out grubbin’ for roots when I seen him lyin’ there, all chewed-up like. He was sprawled alongside this here deer carcass. I figured he must have brought it down himself, because it was already slit open. Then I hear this sound in the woods, off to one side. I was scared mebbe that whatever it was that chomped on ole Will was still hangin’ around, and with me with just a walkin’ stick! But do you know what it was?”
    Skinner shook his head, too astounded by the old hermit’s utter absence of tack to reply.
    â€œIt was your Ma! She looks at me an’ points at what’s left of your pappy and says ‘You best call the sheriff, Enos. Looks like a bear got hold of my Will. I’m gonna try and find Skinner ’fore it’s too late.’ Then she picks up Will’s deer rifle and walks off into th’ woods.”
    â€œYou must be mistaken,” Skinner said firmly. “I wasn’t in the woods that day. I was home sick with the flu.”
    Enos scowled, his over-magnified eyes making him look like a deranged owl. “Don’t go tellin’ me what I do an’ don’t know you damned cuckoo’s egg!”
    Suddenly Luke was looming over the old man. “Enos, why don’t you help yourself to that roast Cousin Phelan brought by?” He suggested helpfully. “There’s more’n we can possibly eat. I’m sure Mrs. Cakebread will be happy to wrap some up for you.”
    Enos grunted and shuffled off in the direction of the kitchen, his outrage forgotten with the mention of free eats.
    â€œHope I didn’t interrupt anything, but you looked like you could use some rescuing,” Luke said solicitously.
    â€œThanks. I’d almost forgotten about Old Enos.”
    â€œHe ain’t one to pass up a feed, even if he’s got to get slicked up for it,” Luke said with a chuckle. He then fixed Skinner with an appraising look. “What did he say to you?”
    â€œHe was going on about Mama being in the woods looking for me the day Daddy got—the day Daddy died.”
    â€œI wouldn’t pay much heed to anything Enos Stackpole says, son. The old fool’s been out of his head since Eisenhower was in office.”
    â€œLuke?”
    â€œYes, son?”
    Skinner shook his head. “Nothing.”
    He was being paranoid. He was underfed and missing sleep, that’s all. Why would Luke have a reason to keep Enos from talking about his father’s death, except concern for his feelings?
    It was well into late afternoon by the time the last mourners picked up their umbrellas and raincoats and left the survivors alone with their grief. Enos was among the last to go, his coat pockets bulging with roast beef wrapped in aluminum foil.
    Luke sat and drank a cup of coffee in the kitchen, his good tie draped over the back of his chair like an empty snake skin, staring at where his wife used to sit. He was still sitting there when Skinner went upstairs to bed. He shucked himself free of his good jacket and tossed it in the general direction of the bed. It missed and fell on the hooked rug instead. As he bent to retrieve it, his hand closed on the envelope tucked inside its pocket. Upon opening it, he found several pages of