Chet and I return home to a kitchen full of people—Paul and Diana and Micah and Chief Hunt, standing in a cluster by the island—and an air thick with sudden silence. The kind that comes after wrangling words and heated voices. The kind they stopped hurling around the second we walked through the door.
Paul turns, watching me with that beat-up brow and blackened eye, an angry kaleidoscope of black and purple and red. His expression sucks up all the air in the kitchen.
“What is it? What’s going on?”
I dump my bag and keys onto the counter and look around for clues, but there’s nothing but marble on the countertop between us, and in a house where visits revolve around topped-up glasses and trays overflowing with finger foods. But whatever this occasion is, Diana is dressed for it. Full makeup, silky top, leather motorcycle jacket over dark jeans, her hair slicked back into a high ponytail. She looks like a Charlie’s Angel, cougar edition.
“I’m here to talk to Chet,” Chief Hunt says, and a memory flickers. Of a younger version of him busting in our door, tackling my father to the ground, hog-tying his hands and feet. I was only six at the time—too young to remember the details, but that doesn’t mean my bones don’t still shake at the image of their bodies hitting the floor, that I don’t hear my father’s grunts or taste the fear and shame climbing up my throat. Memories are strange that way. They don’t have to be real to feel visceral.
But my fear of Chief Hunt, the way the sight of him sends my heart flapping around like a caged bird against my ribs—that is 100 percent real.
Chet parks his boots at the edge of the room. “Did Annalee send you? Because I told her I’d pay her back.”
“This isn’t about Annalee, Chet. This is about Sienna Sterling.”
“Okaaaay.” His gaze flicks around the room. When it lands on mine, I recognize alarm and something else that makes my skin prickle. I recognize fear, the same kind I’m feeling. “What about her?”
“A witness is on record saying she saw you coming out of Ms. Sterling’s room in the B and B at some time just before eight on Tuesday morning. One day before Ms. Sterling was killed.”
Chet doesn’t move. He just stands there, stock-still and wide-eyed, for a good five seconds. My breath turns solid and I stare at him—say no say no say no. Chet doesn’t shake his head, but he doesn’t nod, either.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe, what?” Chief Hunt scowls, stepping closer, looming in the kitchen. “Was that you coming out of her room Tuesday morning or not?”
“It was more like seven thirty, but yeah. It was me.”
“Chet!” I say, too loud and far too flustered because I want to strangle him. I think of the conversation we had downstairs on the couch, the way he swore they didn’t sleep together. Hiding his shenanigans from me is one thing; hiding them from the police is another thing entirely. He had to know this would come out at some point.
“Interesting. Especially since you told one of my deputies the last time you talked to Ms. Sterling was at the bar the night before. Monday night.”
Chet winces. “That’s ’cause once we got upstairs, we didn’t do much talking.”
“So you lied.”
“I didn’t lie. Not technically.” Chet looks at me for backup, giving his head a nervous shake. “I told Sam we didn’t talk, and we didn’t. We did…other stuff. But after I left her room, I didn’t see or speak to her, like, at all that day. I didn’t even know she was the one y’all fished out of the lake until Sam showed me her picture.”
“Did you have any contact by phone or text? And I’d suggest thinking real hard before you answer because we already have her phone records.”
Chet’s shoulders slump, and he sighs. “She gave me her number at the bar that night. That’s how I knew to come up. She texted me her room number. There’s not a single guy on the planet who would’ve said no.”
Chief Hunt sticks out a meaty hand. “Show me the string.”
“That’s private.”
Chief Hunt rolls his eyes. “There are a million ways I can go about getting those texts, son, and every single one of them only makes you look more guilty, not less. You might as well just show me. Unless you have something to hide.”
After a second or two, Chet digs around in his pocket for his phone. “Fine, but I just wanna state for the record that I didn’t show anybody these pictures she sent, and the plans we made to meet up on Tuesday night never happened. She went silent, and I ended up crashing on Jed Allen’s couch. Annalee had kicked me out.” Chet unlocks his cell and pulls up the string.
I watch Chief Hunt’s expression as he scrolls through the texts, the way his lips purse and one brow crawls up his forehead at photos with what looks like a hell of a lot more than a simple flash of skin. My mind is racing, but I can’t think straight, can’t think of any way to stop this runaway train. All I know is that I need the questioning to end and everybody to leave. Chet slept with Sienna Sterling the day before she died. Jesus Christ.
Chief looks up from the phone. “Where were you on Wednesday morning from, say, 2:00 a.m. on?”
“Like I said, asleep on Jed Allen’s couch.”
“Was Mr. Allen there at the time?”
“Yeah. And so was his girlfriend.”
“Can either of them confirm it?”
“I mean…everybody was asleep, but I guess.”
“I’m going to need a list of your whereabouts from the time you left the B and B until noon on Wednesday, along with a list of names and numbers of people who can back you up on it. Bring it by the station by closing time today. Oh, and if you delete this string from your phone, I’ll throw your ass in jail for evidence tampering.”
He doesn’t wait for Chet to respond, or for Micah or anyone else to say goodbye. The chief hands the phone back to Chet and stomps out the door, leaving behind him a silence so complete I hear the engine crank on the front driveway. I stare at Chet. Chet stares at the floor. Diana stares at us from across the island, that stupid perfect corkscrew ponytail draped down one shoulder, and I hate that she’s here. I hate that she’s a witness to all this.
I smack Chet with both hands on the chest. “Chet, what the hell? You said you didn’t sleep with her.”
“That’s because you’re my sister. I’m not telling you that kind of stuff. Gross.”
“This is serious!”
“You think I don’t know that?” He groans, scrubbing his face with both hands. “I messed up, okay? When Sam showed me her picture on his phone, I completely freaked. I swear I didn’t know she was dead, and I’d never hurt her. You know me. I wouldn’t.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “What else? Because I can’t fix it unless you tell me now. What else are you not saying?”
“Nothing, I swear. We were gonna meet up but she got busy. The last time we texted was Tuesday afternoon. She said she had something to do that night but would text me when she was done. She never did. Here.” He shoves his phone at my chest. “Take a look if you don’t believe me.”
I clutch his phone in my hand but I don’t look at the thing. I’m too busy breathing through the fury, the panic.
Paul steps up next to me, a supportive presence, but his words are aimed at Micah. “Can you talk to your dad? We need to know what we’re dealing with here, what, if anything, the police are holding back. She told Chet she had plans on Tuesday night. Can you find out if the police know what they were?”
Micah laughs, a harsh sound without humor. “You know as well as I do that man tells me nothing. I have zero control over what happens next. He’s just following leads, is all, and Chet did sleep with her.”
I wince.
Paul turns to Chet. “I take it you can make that list?”
Chet gives him a shaky nod. “Yeah, but seriously, man. We were all asleep. Is sleeping even an alibi?”
“Yes,” Micah says. “Especially if there was some kind of security system holding you inside, or if you can find a neighbor to confirm your car was there all night. Your phone’s another piece of the puzzle, assuming it was on you that whole time. They’ll use it to verify if you were where you say you were, so be as specific as possible. Retrace your steps, and make sure to write down everybody you saw or spoke to that day. Every name you can think of, even if you didn’t have an actual conversation with them. The more people saw you around town, the better.”
Chet thanks him, then scurries off to Paul’s study. Suddenly, I’m thinking about the Hostess cupcakes stashed in a shoebox at the back of my closet upstairs. Chocolate and sugar and preservatives. I want them so bad I contemplate marching up there. I want them so bad my teeth ache.
I whirl to face Micah, then Paul. “Chet didn’t do this. You know he didn’t.”
Diana sinks onto a counter stool. “Well, then he shouldn’t have lied. It doesn’t look good, you know. No wonder Chief Hunt is so angry.”
“That’s very helpful, Diana.” I stuff as much condescension as I can in my tone—a page from her playbook. Paul’s palm presses onto my back, but I shake him off. “Thank you for pointing it out.”
“Let’s all just calm down for a second,” Micah says. “Let’s think this through. As far as I know, the manhunt for Jax is still full steam ahead. There’s an APB out in three states and volunteer agents from Macon, Haywood, Transylvania and Swain counties beefing up the search. Even if Chet’s DNA was found inside Sienna, and I’m not saying that it was, consensual sex is not a crime. And if he’s telling the truth about seeing her last on Tuesday morning, that means he wasn’t the last person to see her alive. There were multiple sightings of both her and Jax in town all that day and into the evening.”
Micah’s words do the trick. I blow out a sigh, and my shoulders relax a good inch.
And then I think of something else. I saw Jax in town on Tuesday, too, when he stepped out of the shadows of the terrace. I am a witness.
Tell Paul I need to talk to him.
I whirl around to Paul. “Jax was looking for you. He wanted to talk to you. Why?”
Paul frowns. “I don’t… What are you talking about? When was he looking for me?”
“On Tuesday when I came to pick you up, Jax was waiting outside your office. He said, ‘Tell Paul I need to talk to him.’ The next thing I know, Sienna turns up dead and you run off to find him, and he shows up here wearing her scarf. Now it’s looking like all those things are somehow connected, and I want to know how.”
The blood drains from Paul’s face. “What exactly are you asking me?”
“I just want to understand, Paul. What is happening?”
Micah pushes to a stand, moving around the island, coming closer. “Back up a second. Jax was here?”
I nod. “Wednesday night. In Sienna’s scarf and Paul’s boots.”
Micah cuts his gaze to Paul, shaking his head in disgust. “Why am I not surprised? What other handouts have you been sliding his way? Wait, wait—let me guess. Food, for sure. Money, too, probably.”
Paul doesn’t deny either. He casts a pointed look at Diana, a silent communication like the ones we sometimes share, our married couple’s telepathy. Only this is a message I can’t quite read. I study her expression, trying to identify the emotion smothering her face. Worry looks like fear looks like disapproval. Or maybe all three.
But of course Paul has been taking care of Jax all this time. Why else would Jax be waiting for Paul on that terrace? Why else would Jax show up here?
The answer churns in my stomach, sending up a wave of nausea that makes my mouth water. I stare out the window and try not to throw up while the conversation moves on to the progress Micah and his team have been making—very little. Not a stitch of evidence, no sign of anything that would have been on her when she slid into the water. Her cell phone, maybe, or her jewelry.
“A pair of gold hoops, a pearl bracelet, a watch and her grandma’s diamond-and-ruby ring,” Micah says, “all of which are pretty much impossible to find in a lake the size of Lake Crosby. Don’t go spreading that around town, by the way. Dad’s trying to keep the list of jewelry quiet.”
“You can’t honestly think you’re going to find her jewelry in the lake,” Diana says, filling a glass at the sink. “The killer would have to be a real idiot to put it in the same place he dumped her body.”
Micah’s phone beeps, a muffled sound from deep inside a denim pocket. He fishes it out and checks the screen. “Looks like the guys have picked up something. Keep the doors locked and the alarm on, and don’t even think of stepping outside without backup. If Jax is desperate enough, we all know where he’ll end up.”
Micah disappears out the back door, and a tingling starts on the top of my head. It spreads down my scalp, ringing in my ears with the one word he didn’t say.
Here. Jax will end up here.