"No," came the answer, muted by a sob.
The Deans continued, a step at a time. "Tell me what happened. I think I know."
"You couldn't know! How could you?"
"You want me to get it right, don't you?" They were nearly there, though no other light except their own was visible. Suddenly the beam caught a figure crouched ahead.
The old man sat crumpled in the grotto where Martha's bones had rested. The gun was in his hand. He raised his other hand to shield his eyes from the flashlight, which Dean then turned away. "You shouldn't have come back here," he said.
"Was it Blackie? Uncle Blackie Rowland?" Dean asked. "He wasn't drowned in a fishing accident, was he?"
Brandon Westlake shook his head slowly. "We killed him, Ralph and me." He looked up sadly. "The bastard deserved it."
The Deans scootched down next to him. "Why?" Cynthia asked.
Brandon Westlake sighed, the tiredness in his old body apparent. "There are some people who deserve to die, like Blackie-like that sheriff-like me."
"Don't talk foolishly," Dean said, trying to keep his voice light. "Just tell us about it. I'm sure something can be worked out."
"I've never told anyone. How could you know so much?"
"We saw the offer you made to the Dawkins. You're metalman29-a metal collector."
"1929 is the year I was born."
"You couldn't bear to let loose of a ten dollar cigarette tin. We located where you were trying to sell it on eBay."
Westlake gave a hint of a smile. "Once you're an auction rat, it sticks with you. Just ask Fred."
"Why?' Dean asked, with a wave of his hands. "Why all this business with the bones now, after all these years?"
"Please tell us," Cynthia asked, her voice as gentle as if she were speaking to a child. It brought a further smile to the old man's face.
"It's a long story."
She returned his smile. "Please."
"It's a lot to tell." It was his schoolteacher voice, instructing. "Please stop me if I become redundant or boorish. Life is too short to suffer the repetition of an old man's longings or regrets."
"No one is in a hurry. But the gun is a little frightening," Dean said.
Westlake looked at it, as if seeing it for the first time. He continued to hold it but pointed it downward.
"It was Billy who found the bones, wasn't it?" Dean prodded.
Westlake hung his head and nodded. "When I called Billy to tell him I was coming out this summer, he mentioned he'd found some old bones in a mine but he was afraid of getting in trouble for breaking in. I knew immediately whose bones they were. I told him I'd take care of it for him when I came out. He said he told a young lad about them in hopes the boy would 'find' them and eliminate Billy from being accused. I knew one way or another the bones would be made public. I couldn't let that happen nor could I remove them myself since Billy and the boy had seen them."