FOUR

CHARLIE TAPPED THE MICROPHONE and listened as a thud broke the hushed air outside the sheriff’s station. He stepped back and gave a nod to Sheriff Huggins. “It’s ready.”

“Yesterday afternoon a body was discovered near the Ogeechee River—”

“Have you identified the body?” a nice-looking reporter with long blonde hair cut in. Her gaze was sharp and focused on Sheriff Huggins.

“That’s what we’re hoping the citizens of Walton can help us with.” Sheriff Huggins gripped the podium with both hands. Alone, his presence demanded attention, but coupled with the dreadful truth he was sharing, there was little chance anyone would turn away. “Right now, we’re looking for help in identifying the victim—”

“Has this been declared a homicide investigation?” The question came from an older man in a white linen suit reminiscent of something he imagined Mark Twain would wear. An affiliate lanyard for the Walton Gazette hung around his neck.

“We’re still investigating initial reports from the medical examiner, but it appears we’re dealing with a homicide,” Sheriff Huggins confirmed, heaviness in his tone.

“Do you have any suspects or does the killer still remain at large?” This question came from a beefy man in a mustard-yellow sport coat that should’ve disappeared with disco decades ago.

“A killer?” An older woman gasped, clutching her hands to her chest. A wave of murmuring rippled through the crowd.

Last night the deputies waited for someone to call in a missing persons report, but almost twenty hours later the body was still a Jane Doe. Sheriff Huggins hoped a small press conference would give them a lead, but it only seemed to be stirring up questions they couldn’t answer.

Charlie shifted under the unpleasant morning humidity and the expressions of those standing in front of him. They were expressing more than shock—it was almost disbelief that something like this could happen in their town. Even the church bells ringing in the distance seemed to be crying foul.

That’s the way it is in small towns, isn’t it? Everyone knows everyone or at least has heard of someone. People greet you on the street, offer you directions freely, and if you were inclined to sit a few minutes, they’d share some of the town gossip. Was that why they were here? Or maybe it was the harsh reality that in a tight-knit community like Walton, the young girl left to die in the muddy marsh could’ve been their daughter, sister, or friend.

Was that what stole the color from Lane Kent’s soft features? Charlie’s nerves buzzed at the notion he’d be getting those answers from her later today. He ground his molars. He’d do good to remember the woman—the witness—was married.

Married. The word—the thought—had chased Charlie out of the Way Station Café last night but lingered at the back of his mind into the early morning hours. If Lane was married, then where was her husband? Would he know that his young, beautiful wife stood at the brink of despair . . . no. Charlie wrestled the thoughts out of his mind. He had no right to let those kinds of questions consume his thoughts. Assumptions. That’s what they were. He didn’t know anything about Mrs. Lane Kent or the man she was married to. And no matter what he thought he recognized in her eyes, his attention needed to be on the investigation.

Charlie scanned the crowd. It didn’t take a criminal mind to wonder if the killer was among them. His eyes landed on one of the men he had met at the Way Station Café the night before. Wilbur. His arm was wrapped around the shoulder of a silver-haired woman he tucked protectively into his side. The simple gesture opened up something inside Charlie’s chest.

“Can you tell us who discovered the body?”

The reporter’s question brought Charlie’s attention back to his job. Where it should be. Expectant eyes waited for an answer.

“That information will not be released.” Sheriff Huggins tucked his thumbs into his gun belt and rocked back on his heels. The extra skin around his jaw flexed in frustration. “Folks, we’re going to make this investigation as transparent as possible, but remember that tragedies like this can rip apart communities. Please respect the process, and as soon as we have new information we’ll let you know.”

Charlie fell in step next to Sheriff Huggins. The reporters’ shouts for more answers landed on deaf ears as the two men walked into the station.

The distress outside permeated the brick building. The silence of the station was somber and reflected the devastation each person was facing over the news. They had a body. Jane Doe. And from first appearances, her death appeared to be a homicide. Her gruesome wounds told the painful story of her last minutes on earth. If the reactions of Charlie’s peers were any indication of how the town would react, he knew this murder had the power to change Walton forever.

“We will handle this case professionally and expediently.” Sheriff Huggins paused and turned to address the grim atmosphere in his station. “Deputy Lynch and Deputy Frost will be working on this case directly, but I expect each of you to work diligently in light of the long road ahead of us.”

Charlie straightened as he stole a glance around the room. If anyone disapproved of his being assigned to the case, the faces of those in the room didn’t show it. Even Deputy Wilson gave a chin tilt—was it approval?

“For those unaware, Deputy Lynch is a former Marine MP. He brings a wealth of information and, more importantly, distance. An asset I’m sure y’all will find necessary.” Sheriff Huggins’s gray eyes took on a steely gaze as he looked each person in the eyes. His features hardened. The lines set deeper. His tone became more assertive. “What happened to that little girl”—he cleared his throat—“it’s personal. That truth is going to send a shock wave through our community.”

It had been thirty years since Walton had a murder. How would the town react to the death of one of their children? What kind of person was the young woman found in the mud? The town’s sweetheart or a rabble-rouser? Did it matter? No one deserved to die the way she had.

Sheriff Huggins finished giving instructions to the deputies and requested that those able to work overtime sign up with Deputy Hodges. The only sound in the room was the deputies returning to their work. Chair legs scraping against the oak floors, the shuffling of papers—normal sounds no longer reflecting normalcy.

“Sir?” Deputy Benningfield, an older lady with short salt-and-pepper hair who Charlie recognized as the one who had helped him with his paperwork, tapped Sheriff Huggins on the shoulder. Her expression was transparent. “We just got a call about a missing girl.”

“Who?”

“Trevor and Amanda Donovan.” The deputy tucked her chin. “Their daughter, Sydney.”

A few hours later, Charlie massaged his temples as he looked over his notes one final time to make sure he hadn’t missed a single detail from his and Sheriff Huggins’s conversation with the Donovans. Right now, the sheriff was escorting the distraught parents to the Savannah County Morgue to identify the body of Jane Doe.

Charlie’s gut clenched. As a Marine, he knew when to trust his intuition and right now it told him Jane Doe would soon have a name. Sydney Donovan. He stared at a picture of a young girl with fiery red hair and bright blue eyes. Seventeen. Ambitious. Bright. And also, according to her parents, was supposed to return home today from a sleepover with her best friend—Charlie checked the list of names he had collected—Jolene Carson. However, according to a neighbor, Jolene Carson and her mother had left town early this morning for a college tour up in South Carolina and so far hadn’t answered any of Charlie’s calls.

The phone on his desk rang. “Deputy Lynch.”

“Lynch, it’s Sheriff Huggins. Have you been by to get that statement from Lane Kent?”

“Not yet, sir.” Charlie worked to keep his tone neutral. He didn’t care for the way hearing her name sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins—the same way it had when he found out she lived and worked in the café behind his home. She’s married. Charlie gritted his teeth. Why did he have to keep reminding himself? “I’m meeting her today.”

“Make sure you ask about her camera. She usually takes it with her when she hikes. Get a copy of the pictures. Maybe she caught something on them.” The sheriff sounded rattled. Why wouldn’t he be? He held himself as Walton’s guardian. Did he believe this murder was his failure? “Oh, and find out if she saw anything or anyone out there.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, ignoring the uptick in his pulse. Isn’t that what she had told him she was doing? Taking pictures? But Lane wasn’t holding her camera when he saw her on the bridge. She was barely holding on to the railing. Charlie’s fears had gone into overdrive when he had approached her, afraid he’d scare her and she’d let go. The thought unsettled him almost as much as finding out what had really sent Lane to the ledge of the bridge yesterday.

And what would’ve happened if he hadn’t found her?

“Charlie.” Sheriff Huggins’s voice drew Charlie back to their conversation. “Son, I don’t know the reasons you left the Marines, but you’ll tell me if you . . . are having issues?”

“I can take a statement, sir.” Charlie shifted in his seat, his ears burning. Was this his boss talking or his uncle? The weighted concern felt foreign and it scared him. Did the sheriff have doubts about his ability? Or the choice Charlie had made to leave the Marines and move to Walton? His own father certainly had doubts about his decision. “I’ve handled criminal investigations, including a couple of murder cases, but if you’d feel more comfortable with Deputy Wilson taking the case, I have no problem stepping aside.”

“That’s not what I want. I need someone who can handle the uncertainty. I believe you’re that person, but you need to be honest with me.” Sheriff Huggins spoke with the authority of a military general prepared for battle. “I don’t want any mistakes.”

“You have my word, sir. No mistakes.” A foreboding feeling grew in the pit of Charlie’s stomach even as the promise left his lips. He had let his father down. And Tate. Leaving the Marines was supposed to be a decision that brought him peace, but what if his dad was right? He couldn’t let his uncle down, or the citizens of Walton. The pretty face of one in particular came to mind. No. Charlie would do whatever it took to prove he was not the man his father believed him to be—there would be no mistakes.

“Maybe my sister should be the one running for political office.” Lane blew her bangs off her forehead, maneuvering another rectangular box into a corner. “If I knew how much space these things were going to take up, I’d never have agreed to hold it all.”

“Meagan does have a way of getting what she wants.” Ms. Byrdie winked. “I can make some room in the pantry closet. We could move some of the smaller ones into there.”

“That’s okay.” Lane held an oblong box and studied her stack, finding a small space to stick it. “Meagan’s supposed to come by so we can go through and catalog the items for the auction.”

“Speaking of which, if you and Noah don’t get cleaned up now, you’ll be late.” Ms. Byrdie used the hem of her apron to wipe flour dust from Noah’s face. He giggled. “I’ll finish cleaning down here and lock up.”

Today, Lane’s father, Judge Raymond Sullivan, and his family would be dedicating the new community center to the city of Walton and it was imperative, her father said, that the whole family be there. Exposure was everything during election season. The right exposure equals votes. The wrong exposure loses them. Lane had heard her father’s mantra her entire life. And nothing won more votes than a strong family. Too bad they were nothing like a strong family.

That last thought drew Deputy Charlie Lynch’s face to mind. “Why didn’t you tell me about your nephew?”

Ms. Byrdie stopped wiping Noah’s chin. “I did, honey. A couple of times, actually.”

“No, I mean you told me that your nephew was coming, but you didn’t tell me about him.” Lane picked at the corner of a shipping label with her thumbnail. “Not, like, details.”

“What, that he was handsome?”

“I didn’t say that.” Lane’s gaze swung up to Ms. Byrdie’s. “He’s older than I expected. Surprised me.”

“Charlie looks like my daddy. Tall, strong jawline, and the kind of eyes that seem to see right through you.”

A zing zipped through Lane. She knew exactly what Ms. Byrdie was referring to because she’d seen it firsthand yesterday at the bridge. “Come on, Noah, let’s get ready.”

A pout found its way to Noah’s little lips. “But I want to mash the rest of the nannas.”

“You don’t want to poke the Bear, do you?”

Noah’s eyes grew wide as he swung his head back and forth emphatically, even as a grin tugged at his chubby cheeks. “No way.”

“Good. Me neither.” And that was the truth, though it wasn’t for the same reasons as her son. After another restless night, the last thing Lane wanted to do was put on a plastic smile in front of the town, but if they were late she’d get a lecture about timeliness. Who was she kidding? There would probably be a lecture no matter what. Lane hung up her apron before she bent down and planted a kiss on Noah’s cheek. “Let’s go get dressed.”

Twenty minutes later, Lane gave up on trying to do anything with her mess of hair and Noah was MIA. Carefully dodging the LEGO land mines, she made her way down the hall.

“Noah, we’re going to be la—” Lane stopped at the sight of Noah huddled on the ground, shoulders shaking, his face buried in his hands. Sweeping into the room, Lane dropped to her knees and pulled her little boy into her lap. “Noah, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“I lost my tags.” He sniffled. “You told me to be careful and I lost my tags.”

“Oh, honey.” Lane pushed the hair from his forehead. “No, you didn’t. They’re on the dresser. See?”

Noah’s gaze followed hers to the dresser. He slid out of Lane’s hold and scooped up the military dog tags she’d found under his bed and placed on the dresser the night before. Noah admired the pieces of metal like they were gold. He looked up, his eyes still wet. “I’m sorry, Momma.”

“Your daddy”—Lane gently took the tags and put them over his head—“he would be so proud of how big and responsible you’re getting.” She wiped the tears from the little boy’s eyes. Noah was the only piece of Mathias she had left.

A knock on the front door pulled Lane from the bittersweet nostalgia. She wrinkled her nose. Ms. Byrdie didn’t normally come to their upstairs apartment, but when she did she didn’t need to knock. Who was it? Her parents? Ensuring Lane and Noah made it to the dedication on time—or at all? She groaned.

Another knock on the door, this one persistent, hurried Lane into the living room, making her forget about the colorful tiny blocks on the floor until her bare foot found one. She bit down on her lip to avoid the scream that wanted to escape. Rubbing her foot, she took a few seconds to regain her composure.

“Momma,” Noah said, wrapping his fist tight around the dog tags. “Someone’s here.”

“Mrs. Kent, it’s Deputy Charlie Lynch”—the strong baritone voice carried from the other side of the door—“with the Walton County Sheriff Department.”

Lane’s heart seized. Dread crept up from the pit of her stomach and reached around her torso, squeezing her breaths out in short, shallow gasps. Her mind flashed back to the moment two years ago when North Carolina troopers stood on her porch. Mathias was gone.

“Momma?”

Noah’s voice chased away the haunting memories and brought her focus back to the deputy standing on the other side of her door. Catching her breath, Lane opened the door. And there he was. Deputy Charlie Lynch. Unlike yesterday, he wasn’t wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Today his broad shoulders filled out the tan uniform, making him appear taller. Stalwart.

“Afternoon, ma’am. Aunt B said I’d find you up here. I hope you don’t mind—” The door pulled wide and Noah appeared at her side. The deputy’s gaze cut to Noah and softened.

“Hey, you’re a policeman.” Noah pointed at the deputy’s badge. “My daddy was an Army soldier. Momma says when you wear a uniform, you are a hero. See these.” Noah pulled on the dog tags around his neck. “These are my dad’s tags, but they’re mine now.”

What was that look? Something tugged at the deputy’s expression. Confusion? Whatever it was, she didn’t have time to figure it out. Leave it to a four-year-old to tell a complete stranger their life story.

“Sorry, one sec.” Lane looked down at her son. “Go grab three toys to bring with us to Bear and Gigi’s.”

Noah’s lips twisted. “Can I bring four?” He lifted up four chubby fingers.

“Yes.” She would’ve let him bring five toys just to put a stop to his show-and-tell episode. Lane waited until Noah disappeared down the hall before turning to the deputy standing at her door.

“Bear?” A soft smile curved his lips and Lane couldn’t help noticing the two dimples wedged into his cheeks. Or the uneasy way her heart was racing.

“My father. A nickname.” And personality. Most people in town knew her father’s moniker, which confirmed this deputy was very new—and very unaware of Bear’s wrath if she and Noah were late. “Will this take long, Deputy Lynch?”

“I promise not to keep you longer than necessary.” The deputy shifted, looking around. “Would you feel more comfortable talking up here . . . or downstairs?”

Lane glanced over her shoulder at the tornado of toys amassed on the floor and the pile of dirty laundry still waiting to be washed. The last thing she needed was a stranger getting a first-person account of her real-life chaos. “Downstairs.”

The deputy followed her down to the café’s sitting area. After settling Noah with a basket full of plastic dinosaurs to choose from, Lane found the deputy studying the photos and art along the wall where a large fireplace anchored the room.

“These are great. Are they all yours?”

“Some.” A tickle of insecurity pushed her forward. “Some are pieces created by students at the community center. I don’t mean to rush you, but I really do have somewhere to be, Deputy Lynch—”

“This town isn’t that big and since we’re practically neighbors”—Deputy Lynch turned from the wall of photos, the edge of his lips curling— “you can call me Charlie. I’d actually prefer it over what the rest of the town is calling me.”

Lane frowned. “Which is?”

“The new guy. Newbie. Deputy New.” Charlie’s tanned cheeks turned a subtle shade of pink. “And some others not worth mentioning.”

A smile came so easily to Lane’s lips that it startled her. Where had that come from? Her eyes found Charlie’s and it was hard not to be drawn into the richness of his gaze or imagine the kind of names the handsome new deputy might be adorned with.

Lane shook the thought away and let the smile slip back to where it belonged. “Would you like some fresh banana bread? Ms. B—I mean, your aunt and I just made it. It’s her recipe and very good.” Amusement lanced Charlie’s features, causing Lane to drop her gaze. “Of course, I’m sure you already know that.” Why was she so nervous? Taking a breath to get control of her nerves, she met his stare. “I’m sorry, Deputy”—his chin tilted—“Charlie, but I’m really going to be late if we don’t get started.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Charlie sat at the edge of an overstuffed club chair and pulled a notebook from his pocket.

“If I’m calling you Charlie, I must insist you call me Lane. Not ma’am or Mrs. Kent. Please.” She sank onto the cushion at the farthest end of the couch, opposite him and the woodsy scent of his aftershave. “Being called ma’am makes me feel old.” It was also a painful reminder that Lane needed to dismiss the thoughts she was having regarding the deputy who was there to do his job.

“I apologize. Habit.” Charlie settled into the chair and opened the notebook. “Sheriff Huggins said you like to hike around the river. Take pictures?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s what you were doing out there yesterday?”

“Y-yes.” Anxiety knotted in Lane’s chest. He’d seen her at the bridge—standing at the edge. Was this a test? Seeing if she’d tell the truth? Or was it something more? She licked her lips and drew her shoulders back. “Yes, I went out there to get some pictures, but it started to rain before I could take any.”

Charlie considered her answer before dropping his gaze to his notebook. After a second he looked up. “How long were you out there?”

“About two hours, I think.”

“What time did you arrive?”

“I don’t remember the exact time. Maybe one o’clock or so.”

“How often are you in that area?”

“Once or twice a week, maybe.” Lane swallowed. Or more, depending on whether she allowed the darkness to take root. Some days it was harder to ignore. Harder to pretend.

“By yourself?”

“Yes.”

“When you’re out there, do you normally see other people?”

“Not usually. Sometimes I’ll see someone on the river. Kayaking or fishing.”

“And yesterday?”

Lane studied the deputy. His light brown hair was shorn close to his head. Typical of law enforcement . . . and the military. Where had Charlie come from? What was his background? Why did she care? And why was he staring—oh, staring. He asked her a question. What?

“Did you see anyone new or unusual out there yesterday?” Charlie repeated his question without a hint of annoyance. “Or any time before?”

“Before?” Lane grew uneasy. “Um, I overheard the other deputy say they thought it was suicide.” The word was like acid on her tongue.

Charlie’s square jaw flexed. His eyes probing. “You haven’t heard? The death is being investigated as a homicide.”

Homicide? Murder? In an instant, the girl’s ashen face flashed in Lane’s mind. Did she know her? The girl had to be someone from town, right? Lane’s fingers tightened over the arm of the couch as chills marched down her spine.

“Mrs. Kent.” A hint of softness returned to his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Her lips were dry. “Who-who’s the girl?”

“We can’t release that information yet.”

“But you think someone killed her? You think whoever did it might’ve been out there yesterday . . .” The noise. When she found the body, Lane discounted it as an animal, but what if . . . “There was a noise. When I found the body.” Lane’s heart was hammering inside her chest as her thoughts flashed to the strange man last night. Noah’s tiny voice in the next room congealed her fear. “Should I be worried?”

Understanding reached Charlie’s blue eyes as they locked on to hers. “No one knows you found the girl. And no one needs to know.”

Lane swallowed against her fear. There was nothing investigative about the way Charlie was looking at her now. There was promise—like an unspoken oath to keep her and Noah safe. The sentiment stirred something deep inside. When was the last time she felt safe? That someone made her feel safe?

“Momma.” Noah’s voice chased away the warmth blossoming in her chest. There was no room in her life for those kind of thoughts . . . or feelings. Her son appeared at the edge of the room, a dinosaur in one hand and her ringing cell phone in the other.

Lane scooped up Noah and took the phone just as it stopped ringing. Caller ID said it was her sister, Meagan. She was probably freaking out that they weren’t at the community center yet. “I really—”

“I think I have everything I need.” Charlie stood, tucking his notebook into his pocket. “But Sheriff Huggins asked if we could get a copy of the photos you’ve taken at the river recently.”

“Sure, I guess.” Lane shifted Noah to her other hip and found her camera bag sitting on one of the boxes she had stacked earlier. She dug for her camera and withdrew the memory card. “Everything from the last couple of weeks is on there. Is there something you’re looking for?”

“Part of the investigation, but because of the remote location we believe the killer had to be familiar with the area.”

Lane instinctively pulled Noah closer. Was it possible someone in Walton was capable of killing? She swallowed. Lane already knew the answer to that question even if no one else did. A radiating alarm echoed from her cell phone. Officially late.

“I appreciate your time and I’ll get this memory card back to you quickly, but if you need anything . . . well, we’re neighbors.” A shy smile tugged at Charlie’s lips as he looked around the café. “I’m sure I’ll be around.”

“Monday.” Surprise sucked the moisture right out of Lane’s mouth. “I mean, Mondays are when Ms. Byrdie, I mean your aunt, makes her famous banana pudding. Sells out. It’s a good day to come. For food. Or coffee.” Stop talking.

“Sounds perfect,” Charlie said as he turned and walked down the front steps of the café’s wraparound porch. He paused and waved to Noah before tipping his hat in her direction and then disappeared down her walkway.

“He’s a big policeman, Momma.” Noah stared after the man with admiration. Her son loved anyone in uniform but especially soldiers and police officers. “Can we see him again?”

Setting Noah down, Lane started massaging the knot forming in her shoulder. It was hard to share Noah’s affection when those in uniform only reminded her of pain. And death. That last thought drew Lane back into the woods. Who killed that girl? And why?

Lane’s cell phone rang. Her mother. They were late and her family would be angry. That should’ve been what scared her most—but it wasn’t. Ignoring the call, Lane stepped into her house and, for the first time since she could remember, bolted the lock.