CHAPTER FIVE

Monday

I

Jack was glad he did not visit Yourkeville before taking the job in Stillwater. If he had, Stillwater’s dreariness and somnolence would have been exaggerated by Yourkeville’s cleanliness, organization, and energy.

Apparently, the county seat didn’t get the memo that Monday morning was the usual business day off (along with the Sabbath and half of Saturday) for small-town East Texas. Downtown was bustling, due in large part to the steady stream of people coming in and out of the red stone courthouse; men in business suits, law enforcement officers, residents paying taxes, bail bondsmen talking to their clients, the stench of the county jail hovering around their crumpled clothes.

Jack found Ann Newberry’s office with ease and was ushered in without hesitation by a young, fresh-faced sheriff’s deputy who tried not to stare at Jack’s black eye and stitched eyebrow. Ann waved for Jack to sit while she finished her phone conversation, so he sat in the leather chair, crossed his legs, and looked around.

It was an impersonal office, save the row of pictures of Ann and her daughter through the years. All the hallmarks of life were there; first day of kindergarten, Halloweens, high school graduation, college graduation, marriage and, in the place of honor on Ann’s desk, a picture of three generations of Newberry women: Ann, daughter, and granddaughter in the hospital immediately after the latter’s birth. Jack smiled sadly. He thought of that exact picture of him, Julie, and Ethan minutes after Ethan was born. The women in Ann’s picture had the same happy pride on their faces he remembered feeling and that was caught on film for eternity, the proof now languishing in one of the many boxes of Julie’s stuff he had shoved in the extra bedroom. If only that happiness could last or could be so easily remembered during difficult times.

“Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” Ann said. She replaced the receiver.

“Not exactly the kind of first week I wanted to have.”

“I guess not. How are you feeling? You look like shit.”

Jack touched his bruised eye. The swelling had gone down and taken the tenderness with it. The bruise was still dark enough that people did a double take when they saw him, and stared longer than was polite. “I’m starting to remember bits and pieces of what happened.”

“And?”

“I remember the storm and pulling over and Diego standing over me with my gun. Everything in between is black.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t blow your brains out.”

“I know.”

“Should have called the jail for a transport.”

Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Don’t you think I know that? I had a good reason for taking him alone—I just don’t remember it.”

“What is the last thing you remember?”

“Calling Ethan.”

“Did you record the interrogation at the station?”

Jack smiled, bitterly. “Cameras don’t work.”

“Anybody watch through the glass?”

“No. Freeman says he was in his office doing paperwork the entire time.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you believe him?”

“Not really.”

“Why would he lie?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? Know him very well?”

“No. He seems to be a good enough officer, but not the type to move to the next level.” She tapped her temple. “Completely lacking in intuition or imagination.”

She tossed a folder onto the desk in front of Jack. “Well, here’s the partial crime-scene report for the murder-suicide. Won’t have the full for a couple weeks. Josh is swamped down there. Just confirms what we already figured. Rosa didn’t pull the trigger. Her prints weren’t even on the trigger.”

“Sloppy.”

“Yeah.”

“Did Josh dust the inside of the gun? Bullets?”

“Bullets, yes. No prints. The inside of the gun, no. Want him to?”

“That’d be great.”

“He did lift the serial number. Details are in the file but it was last sold to Justin Dixon, owner of Top Gun, a shooting range in the warehouse on the river in Stillwater.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Blustery and opinionated. One of those ‘don’t tread on me’ types. Runs a clean business as far as I know. My guess is he sells guns to himself, then sells them privately so people can avoid the background checks.”

“Huh. Shady but not illegal.” Jack opened the folder, glanced at the report, and flipped through the pictures quickly—there were the normal shots of the bodies and the scene before being dusted for prints. He closed the folder. He would look at them in more detail later.

“So,” Ann said. “A skeleton in the woods?”

Jack told her about the boy at the football game, taking Ethan to see it thinking it was a cow skull, the dig to unearth the skeleton, and their meager findings.

“One shoe. A few patches of clothing. No jewelry.”

“I guess a murder weapon and ID would have been too much to ask.”

“At least we found the rest of the skeleton, surprisingly intact. Based on the style of shoe, and the decomposition of the clothes, Hugh estimates the body has been in the ground for nearly fifty years. He should be calling me today or tomorrow with more info.”

Ann let out a low whistle. “Long time. Better you than me. Not a fan of cold cases. I’d rather work with real people than sit in a room poring over missing-persons records.”

“Me, too. Which is why I’m assigning it to Miner.”

She thought a moment. “Probably the best option of what you have to choose from.”

“Thanks,” Jack said. He knew better than anyone that he needed to upgrade his force but he didn’t want to hear Ann say it. “So, we’re looking for missing-persons records from the late ’50s, early ’60s. You have those online or boxed up?”

“Boxed up, most like. The project to put information online is always the first budget line to get cut. First of the year, we do as much as we can, as fast as we can. By June, they’re pulling the money into the jail or courts. Even so, something like missing persons is pretty low priority among the records. There probably aren’t many of them for the entire fifty years. I’ll ask Juanita to pull them from storage.”

“I’ll have Miner pick them up.”

“They have to stay here, Jack.”

“That’s hardly inter-agency cooperation.”

“Maybe not, but until the records get digitized, they aren’t leaving my house.”

Jack picked an invisible piece of lint from the knee of his pants. “Why?”

“I don’t trust Miner Jesson.”

Jack raised his eyebrows in question.

“He was with Buck Pollard the longest of any deputy.”

“You’ve said that before. Thing is, it doesn’t answer the question. Unless, of course, the answer is guilt by association.”

“Have you met Miner’s wife?”

“No.”

“You probably won’t, either. Teresa’s been bedridden for years. Started as fibromyalgia, which is bad enough, but recently Sam Poole suggested Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.”

“That’s hardly a better diagnosis.”

“No. No cure, just managing the symptoms, which isn’t easy, or cheap. It isn’t something someone on Miner’s salary can easily afford, even with the city health insurance.”

Jack drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, the wood scarred from years of use. “Is my deputy under investigation?”

“No.”

“Has he ever been?”

“No.”

“Cut the bullshit, Ann. Everyone tiptoes around Buck Pollard like he’s a damn minefield. He serves as police chief for what? Thirty years? Retires, and then doesn’t bother to even leave a note for his successor? No smooth transition, just see ya. Good luck.”

“That’s him giving the middle finger to Jane Maxwell. I will say this for Buck—he didn’t have much crime in his town.”

“Why does that sound like a backhanded compliment?”

“Because it is. Buck Pollard had a low crime rate because he didn’t arrest anyone. Or, maybe I should say, he only arrested people who did something they shouldn’t in public or if they couldn’t do anything for him in return.”

“And he got away with this for years, why?”

“Rumor has it he has dirt on everyone in the county with even a modicum of power.”

“You?”

“No, not me.”

“How is that possible?”

“I live a clean life.”

Jack scoffed. “Jane Maxwell?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised. He was never investigated. Given more Man of the Year awards than anyone in the county. He’s so clean that I am 100 percent sure he’s covering up something so big, it will blow this county apart if it ever comes to light.”

“Why didn’t you ever investigate him?”

“Never broke any law that I saw. Never directed to investigate him by the DA or anyone else.”

“You didn’t want the trouble.”

Ann leaned forward. “I’m a damn good sheriff, Jack. When I arrest someone, I put an airtight case together and they are convicted 90 percent of the time. The DA would kiss my feet if I asked him to. I run a tight ship but I’m elected, not appointed. Going after a corrupt cop who is related to half the county and has the other half in his pocket would kill my career. It would be a disservice to the residents of Yourke County who rely on a competent, clean sheriff’s department. Judge me if you want, but I don’t lose one moment’s sleep over it.”

“If Pollard had that much power, why did he resign?”

“No one knows. One day, he gives the city manager his two-weeks’ notice and was done. Spends most of his time in Galveston deep-sea fishing in his boat.”

“Guess that explains why I haven’t seen him since I’ve been here.”

“Oh, I bet you have. Gone to the Chevron?”

“Sure.”

“He hangs out there every morning he’s in town with three other old men. Seen them?”

Jack thought back to the man who spoke to him that first day. “Yeah, okay, I’ve seen him.”

“If Buck wants to pull strings, he’ll use Miner. They’re close.”

Jack thought back to Miner’s vote of confidence Thursday and how agreeable he had been helping Jack get acclimated, answering questions, the way he stepped up when Jack was hurt. Granted, his answers were much briefer than a man with his memory would or should provide, but Jack hadn’t felt like Miner was holding anything back. Now, he wondered if Miner’s affability wasn’t merely a ruse to lure Jack into a false sense of security.

Jack shifted in his chair, recrossed his legs. “What do you know about Ellie Martin?”

Ann narrowed her eyes and turned her head to the side. “Why? She done something?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Ann’s face cleared and she sat back, suppressing a small smile. Jack held her gaze and tried to not to look or act embarrassed. “I’d be surprised if she did. She’s been on the county Crime Stoppers board for years, since she got back from Dallas.”

“She lived in Dallas?”

“For a few months. After all that happened with her husband.”

Jack ran his fingers along the gashes in the arm of his chair. The question of what happened with her husband was on the tip of his tongue, but he refrained asking it. “I ask because she offered to help with questions about town history.” Okay, not completely the truth. Jack hadn’t talked to Ellie since Friday, but she had sort of offered to help him when they met. “I just wanted to make sure she is someone I can trust with information that the public might not be privy to.”

“I would trust her completely. If you tell her something in confidence, she’ll keep it.”

“That was my read on her, as well. Nice to have it confirmed.” Jack stood and held his hand out to Ann. “Let me know when Miner can come look through the files.”

“I’ll put Juanita on it ASAP.”

They shook hands. Jack nodded to the picture on the desk. “That your granddaughter?”

“Yes.” Ann beamed. “Madison. Best baby in the world.”

“That’s what all grandmothers think.”

Ann walked around the desk to usher Jack out. “But she really is.” She stopped him from opening the door. “About Ellie. You shouldn’t have concerns about her on any level. She’s good people.”

Jack smiled at the colloquialism. “She seems like it.”

Ann narrowed her eyes. “Should she have any concerns about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, don’t fuck with her if you aren’t available.”

“Ann, I would never—”

She held up her hand. “Don’t even. I made a few calls.”

Jack went cold. “What kind of calls?”

“The kind that gave me a pretty good idea of the cloud you left under, of your behavior those last few months.”

“We talking personal or professional?”

“Both.”

Jack released the doorknob. “What do you want to know?”

Ann shook her head. “Nothing. I get it, Jack. I really do. If anyone can understand what it feels like to be abandoned, what it does to your psyche, it’s me. Probably Ellie can, too. You got all that anger out of your system, yeah?”

Jack nodded.

“Good. I know the man you are. I like you. I’m glad you’re here. You’re going to be great for Yourke County.”

“But?”

“This ain’t Dallas. You have to be much more careful about what you do and who you do it with. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He didn’t, not really, but said, “Yes.”

II

On the morning of her fortieth birthday, three years earlier, Ellie had woken up and felt her stomach laying like a blob on the bed. Horrified and disbelieving, she stripped down and stood in front of her full-length mirror. She stood there for ten minutes, wondering how, why, and when she had morphed from a star high school basketball player to a forty-year-old fat woman with dull, stringy hair, puffy cheeks, and dark circles under her eyes. Her stomach stuck out, her back was fat, and her arms were flabby. Her ass, legs, and thighs, always her best features, were spared the carnage. Mostly. Thank God.

She’d had to dig deep in her closet to find her too-tight running clothes, and never-worn shoes, all left over from an earlier weight-loss resolution. Now, the number on the scale made her cry so hard, she vomited the remainder of the candy and ice cream she had eaten the night before.

She’d walked to the end of her driveway, turned right, and started to run. Within two hundred yards, she was short of breath and wanted to stop. Instead, she kept on, turned left onto the steep, overgrown, grassy road that led to the abandoned German church. No one went up there except kids parking late at night. Ellie knew no one would be there on a random predawn Tuesday. She could have stopped at any time, but she didn’t. She told herself if she made it, then she could do anything: she could lose thirty pounds, quit her boring job, and follow her dream.

She touched the wall of the church and leaned against it, arms outstretched, her breath like a jagged knife sawing through her chest. Her legs buckled and she sat heavily on the ground, the cool breeze drying the mingled perspiration and tears on her cheeks.

Through the trees Ellie could see the bend of the river hugging downtown Stillwater like a protective mother, reminding her of mornings of her childhood. Her most vivid childhood memory was of sitting on the back porch with her mother, watching the sunrise and the river transform from a black gash to a ribbon of reds, purples, pinks, and golds until it finally revealed its true state—muddy brown and shallow. Her mother, stroking Ellie’s long hair, would sigh. Ellie would pat her mother’s hand and say, “Maybe tomorrow it’ll stay pretty, Momma.” Her mother would give her a wan smile and say, “Maybe.” It was years before Ellie realized her mother was not sighing about the river.

Now, three years later and fifty-five pounds lighter, she stood at the same spot and watched the river. Ellie had long since stopped being ashamed of her former fat self or impressed with her weight loss. Both selves were integral to her journey, to who she was, to her ability to accomplish those goals she set forth on her fortieth birthday. Two were crossed off the written list. One would be crossed off this week. The unwritten list, the list she carried inside, was more complicated, challenging, terrifying, and mostly unaccomplished. For now.

The sun crested, the river turned muddy, and Ellie walked down the road. When she got to River Road, she turned right and ran, quickly falling into the familiar rhythm. She slowed as she approached her old house, her body finally used to going past, around the corner to the left, across the bridge and into downtown. She opened a narrow door to the left of her storefront and jogged up the stairs. She stopped at her front door—bright red-orange for no other reason than that she liked it—caught her breath and went inside.

When she decided to move into the top floor of the building that was to house her bookstore, she had the walls torn down and had spent an entire day cleaning the eight-foot-tall windows. Light had flooded the open space and Ellie felt at home for the first time in her life. Refusing Kelly’s offer to help design and decorate, Ellie went about turning the empty room into exactly what she wanted. She had a wall put up to the left of her orange door, partitioning one-quarter of the space for her bedroom. She had a small kitchen built next to the wall near the door and had a combination bathroom/laundry room installed on the outside wall. Decorating was a work in progress but leaned toward comfortable and squishy, a couch that invited curling up with a book, a campaign desk next to the windows to capture the light, flea-market tables she refinished herself. Everything about it was completely her. Six weeks after moving in, she still got a thrill walking through the door.

She went about the rest of her morning routine without thinking. Stretching, push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups were her least favorite part of the morning but skipping them was not an option. She was self-aware enough to know if she ever cheated on her routine or her diet even a little, she would backslide completely.

When she finished, she checked her email. Her phone rang. “Good morning,” she answered.

“God, you’re so peppy in the morning,” Kelly said.

Ellie closed her computer and rose. “I’ve been up since 5:30, attacking the day.” She smiled, knowing full well her enthusiasm would irritate Kelly.

“Ugh.”

“You haven’t had your first Diet Coke, have you?”

Kelly grunted.

“What’s up?”

“I’m calling to offer my services today. I’ve cleared my schedule to be at your beck and call.”

“Have you?” Ellie picked a protein bar from the basket on her counter, grabbed her keys, and walked out of her apartment. She jogged down the stairs. “I’m going to the store now. Let me see where I am and call you back.”

“I still can’t believe you aren’t going to have wine and beer at your launch party.”

Ellie unlocked the front door, went inside, and flipped on the lights. “I don’t want to alienate half the town before I open.”

“You don’t want those people as customers anyway.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You should invite Jack McBride.”

“I told Susan to mention it to him.”

“Make sure he comes. We can grill him about the skeleton.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ellie said, with no intention of inviting him or grilling him. She still hadn’t fully recovered from their conversation Friday night. “Get your lazy butt out of bed. I’ll call you later.”

Ellie hung up without waiting for a response. She started a small pot of coffee and got to work.

There wasn’t much left to do. The books were shelved, the display tables organized, the coffee bar stocked and clean, the buffet table for the night’s reception set up, the storeroom organized. Ellie checked everything three times, sure there was no way it could all be done. There must be something she was missing. Damned if she could find it.

She dusted the shelves again. A mystery with a “cat” in the title caught her eye. She opened it to a random page and started to read. Good Lord—it was from the cat’s point of view. She couldn’t help but smile.

A knock on the window startled her. Jack McBride waved from the other side of the glass.

“Oh,” Ellie said.

She fumbled trying to re-shelve the book and settled for laying it on top of the others. At least that would give her something to do later on. She caught sight of her reflection in the door and groaned; she still wore her running clothes, her hair was stiff with dried sweat, and she wasn’t wearing an ounce of makeup. She was sure she stunk to high heaven after running six miles and working out. She didn’t want to impress him, not in the least, but she was vain enough that she didn’t want anyone, even Jack McBride, to see her in this state. She pointed at the sign in the window. “We’re closed,” she said with a smile, hoping her good nature would defer him.

Jack gave her an incredulous look, lifted the badge that hung on a chain around his neck, and said, “I’m here on official police business.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m really not fit for any business, official or otherwise.”

“I’m thirsty. And I can smell the coffee from here.” He smiled. His teeth were so perfect and white, she expected one to sparkle. She stifled a laugh. Even with the multicolored bruise and stitched eyebrow, he was ridiculously urbane. Had he realized how out of place he was in Stillwater?

“Please?” he said.

She resolved to stay as far away from him as possible, to not even look at him, and opened the door. Who knows? Maybe if he saw her like this, he would stop flirting with her. Ellie ignored the stab of disappointment at the idea.

“Don’t you want to lock the door?”

“With the chief of police here? Who would dare rob me?”

“Excellent point.” He looked around her store. “Very nice. The Book Bank—is that in honor of your former employer?”

“No.” She walked around the bar, a mahogany monstrosity salvaged from a historic hotel in Jacksboro. It was huge, maybe a little big for the space, but she loved it. She poured Jack a cup of coffee. “This building was a bank at one time. The competition. It’s been a few things actually, so none of the bank trappings are left. Except the safe, which is the office.” She placed the cup of coffee on the counter. “Cream or sugar?”

“Is your coffee that bad?”

She leaned against the back counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “See for yourself.”

He sipped it. “Very good.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better and better.” His smile was mischievous. He sipped again and looked up at the chalkboard menu above Ellie. “Brown Sugar Latte, Turtle Cake Latte, Raspberry Mocha, Snickerdoodle Latte? Good Lord, those sound good. What’s your favorite?”

“Snickerdoodle.” Ellie pushed her crunchy hair behind her ear, and looked down. Christ. She needed to shave her legs.

“Where did you learn to make a latte?”

“Hmm.” Ellie paused. Part of her wanted to dodge the question, not because the answer was scandalous or even interesting. In fact, he might already know the answer, but hearing it from her would make it personal, somehow.

“Is that too personal?” he asked.

Her surprise at his use of the very word she was thinking spurred her to answer, to contradict his unsettling clairvoyance.

“I took a sabbatical a few years back. Moved to Dallas and got a job at Starbucks.” His eyebrows shot up and his mouth twitched. “Don’t laugh,” she said, suppressing her own. “It was exactly the job I needed at the time. I had a rough year, personally and professionally. I needed a change. Like you.”

“Like me.” He sipped his coffee. “So, I don’t know if you remember, but when we met that first day, at the bank, you offered to help me with information about the town.”

“I remember.”

“I suppose you’ve heard about the skeleton.”

“I have.”

He lifted one eyebrow. “That’s it? Aren’t you going to ask me about it?”

“No.”

Jack stared at Ellie over the rim of his cup. “Hmm,” he said, putting his cup down. “Why not?”

“Honestly, I doubt there’s anything you can tell me I haven’t already heard.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.”

Jack leaned his elbows on the counter and motioned for her to continue. “Enlighten me.”

“It is the skeleton of a woman, in the ground about fifty years.”

“We don’t know for sure if it’s a woman.”

“You suspect so because you found a woman’s shoe. Just one, which is kind of weird.”

“What else?”

“I really shouldn’t.”

“Please. You might know something I don’t.” He was enjoying himself.

She crinkled her nose. “Ethan sent a picture of it to Troy.” Jack straightened up and his smile faded.

“The only reason I know that is because I was at Susan’s house yesterday when she found it. I won’t tell a soul. I would never.”

Jack drummed his fingers on the countertop, stared into the empty pastry case. He looked at Ellie. “Why aren’t there any pastries?”

“There will be tonight.”

Jack pursed his lips and nodded. He studied her. “I know.”

“You know about the pastries? How could you know about the pastries?”

“No,” Jack said. “I know I can trust you.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m so confused.” She opened her eyes. He was smiling at her, the same expression from the game. It puzzled her even more here. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“You have this, forgive the phrase, but a shit-eating grin on your face.”

“Do I?” He pursed his lips, furrowed his brow, and looked serious. “Is this better?”

“No. Now you look constipated.”

“What exactly is a shit-eating grin? I mean, why would anyone smile after eating shit?”

Ellie laughed. “We’ve moved from confusing to downright strange. What were we talking about again?”

“I don’t know. I’m supposed to be solving crimes and all I want to do is drink another cup of your coffee. May I?” He pushed the cup forward.

He watched her as she poured the coffee. “Did I see you run by the house this morning before dawn?” he asked.

“You did.”

“How far do you run?”

“Six miles today.”

Jack whistled. “How many laps of Stillwater is that?”

“I run down almost every street in town. I end up at the church on the bluff down the street from your house.”

He studied her. “Why did you want to sell your family home?”

She paused. “Bad memories.”

Jack straightened. “Did something happen to you?”

She stifled a smile. Jack looked ready to go back in time and kick some ass. “No, no. Nothing like that. Maybe it’s best if I just say I didn’t have many happy moments there and leave it at that.”

“I didn’t mean to pry.”

Ellie waved her hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and placed it on the counter. She recognized the Jeep immediately.

“Is this the German church?”

“Yes. It’s abandoned.”

“Why would anyone be up there?”

“That’s Seth’s Jeep—he’s Kelly’s son—and I imagine Freeman’s cruiser. There’s a steep trail down the backside that’s good for hill work—running. Seth and Freeman have been working out together for quite a few months.”

Jack nodded. “How long has it been abandoned?”

“As long as I can remember. I suppose it’s Stillwater’s Inspiration Point. Has been for years.”

“Did you go parking behind the church, Miss Martin?”

“I refuse to answer that question.”

“Why?”

“If I did, then I’m easy. If I didn’t, then I’m pathetic.”

“Those are two words I would never associate with you.”

“Still profiling me, I see.”

“Would you be offended if I said yes?”

“I guess that would depend on what the profile was.” She raised her hand. “I don’t want to know.”

“Really? You’re one of the few, then. You wouldn’t believe the number of times people ask me to do it, like a party trick.”

“And you lie to them.”

“Every time.”

“I wouldn’t want you to lie to me.”

He paused, held her gaze. “I wouldn’t.”

She swallowed, pushing down her heart, which had jumped up her throat. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

She knew, as well as he did, they weren’t just talking about a party trick. The same strange feeling she had during their conversations last week returned. She had struggled to find the right word for it, to explain it easily and succinctly, but for the life of her, she couldn’t. Until now.

Understanding.

Was it that simple? Was it merely that they understood each other on a deep level that belied the length of their acquaintance? She barely knew this man, but it was there. Whatever it was. She didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. She was afraid to know.

“I stopped wanting to know what people thought of me years ago. Sometimes, it’s unavoidable, but if it is …” She let the sentence trail off. Just let it be. Turn around and walk out the door. Don’t force me to make you.

“Do you really not know what I think of you?”

“I have a pretty good idea, but I hope I’m wrong.” She pulled a to-go cup from underneath the counter. “Want me to make you a latte to go?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I am, actually. What’s the official business you needed to see me about?”

He studied her for a long time. She forced herself to levelly hold his gaze, to look at him with as much neutrality as possible.

“What do you know about Barbara Dodsworth?”

She felt a small thrill of victory. “She was my babysitter.”

“Really?”

“She wasn’t very good. She would put me to bed almost as soon as my father left, and then sneak her boyfriends in the house. I caught her and one of them on the couch once. Miner, as a matter of fact. Very disturbing image for a seven-year-old.”

Jack laughed. “That’s not quite the type of information I was looking for, but interesting, nonetheless.”

“Is she a suspect?”

“Not unless she was a murderous toddler. The bones haven’t been specifically dated, but fifty years is the ballpark. You were right. I don’t suppose I have to tell you that this is all confidential?”

“No.”

Silence. Surprisingly comfortable considering all the emotions and questions hovering in the air around them. Was he waiting for her to say something? To make a move? Did he think of himself as so irresistible she would just fall at his feet as soon as he showed an interest? Ellie wasn’t an idiot. She had attracted enough men in her life—not as many as she wanted, but enough—to read what he wanted easily enough.

She moved to the coffee machine and started making a Snickerdoodle latte. With a puff of steam, she cleaned out the milk wand.

“Why are you so desperate to get rid of me?”

She worked silently, hoping that if she focused enough on her task, he would magically disappear and she wouldn’t have to answer. She finished the latte and looked up. He was still there. She pressed a lid on the cup, followed it with a cardboard sleeve, and placed it on the counter.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Because I like you much more than I should.”

He couldn’t suppress his grin. Her reveal had made his day. “Why is that bad?”

“Because you’re married.”

His smile faded. “I can explain.”

Damn. Part of her had hoped he would deny it, that he would tell her she was wrong and he was divorced. She felt sick to her stomach. She could no longer fool herself into believing they were just talking, innocent conversations between two people who didn’t know each other well. Of course she knew better, but it had been easy to justify her uncharacteristic behavior. Now, she couldn’t decide what was more disturbing: the idea he might be a philanderer or the fact that the more she talked to him, the less she cared. She was relieved she had the courage to confront him now instead of later. She could salvage her pride and self-respect from this. Regardless of who was the most reprehensible in this situation—and it was a toss-up—Ellie wouldn’t allow herself to fall in with a man who would break her heart.

Again.

“I think it’s best if you just go.”

He opened his mouth to say something and then stopped, picked up his coffee, and walked to the door. Ellie stared at the floor, forcing herself to not call him back, to not encourage him to explain, to not want to take what he said at face value. She brought up all the memories of the destruction of her marriage—the gossip, the humiliation, and the misery—and listened for the bell over the door to ding, signaling his departure. When it didn’t, she looked up. He stood at the door, staring at her.

“It’s not what you think.”

The bell jingled and he was gone, leaving Ellie with the uncomfortable realization he was right.

III

Well, that was a disaster.

Of course there was no way Ellie would get involved with a married man. Would he want to have a relationship with someone who would?

No.

Wasn’t he was drawn to Ellie because on every level she was the polar opposite of his wife?

Yes.

Oh, yes. Men would cross bars to buy Julie McBride a drink. They would cross oceans, even time and space, to be near her, with her. Lord knows enough had done so in the fifteen years they had been married. Not that Jack had ever known. He had been well and truly cuckolded.

He’d spent plenty of time the last few days thinking of this, of what drew him to Ellie. Was he attracted to Ellie for what she was or because of what she was not? He’d second-guessed himself plenty, but whenever he was with her, talking to her, he knew. When they were together, something snapped into place for him. He didn’t know what it was, he couldn’t explain it, define it, pinpoint it. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced. He couldn’t imagine feeling it with anyone else—which was why he wanted to make sure he didn’t screw it up.

When he took the job in Stillwater, he had made a conscious decision to be vague about his marriage, and why not? None of these people knew Julie and, unless something monumental happened, he would be divorced within two weeks of arrival. Then he could stop skirting questions and answer truthfully: “I’m divorced.” A perfect plan, but he hadn’t counted on Ellie Martin knocking him for a loop and, really, what had been the chances of that?

Now, though, his secretiveness seemed seedy, as if he were trying to hide his culpability, his guilt. He might be culpable; he resented—even hated—Julie for leaving, but he was aware enough to know his behavior played a role. Even so, he was not guilty. His faults were no larger than any other distracted suburban husband with a high-pressure career, were nothing that two people who loved each other couldn’t work through if they wanted. Julie, it turned out, didn’t want to. Any desire Jack had to make his marriage work a year ago was now gone.

He was tired of thinking of the past: he’d been wallowing in it for a year. He was ready to move forward. That was what taking this job, moving to this town, had been about. Ethan was settling in (at least he wasn’t scowling all the time) and their relationship was still wobbly, but Jack wasn’t sure how much of that was teen angst and how much was the lingering effects of his mother’s absence. Jack didn’t look forward to the conversation he needed to have with Ethan about his marriage—especially now that he hoped it would be followed by another conversation about a certain bookstore owner. But Jack was getting way ahead of himself. First, he needed to figure out what to say to Ellie and find a time to say it.

He took the City Hall stairs two at a time. Susan looked up when he entered.

“Hey, Chief.”

“Susan.”

“Where’s the coffee from?”

The cup in his hand was plain brown, 80 percent post recycle, about as nondescript as you could get. “Let me guess—you don’t recognize the cup. It isn’t from the Chevron, Dairy Queen, diner, or one of ours.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s from the Book Bank.”

“Oh! Did Ellie tell you about tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Her business launch? She probably figured I had already mentioned it to you. She asked me to last week and I forgot. What with your …” She waved her hand at her head.

“It’s a party?”

“Yes. Seven o’clock. At her store. A reception. Ethan’s invited, too. My kids will be there. Give you a chance to meet more people. You should come.” She buzzed Jack through the door.

Jack took the invitation as a good sign. He would talk to Ellie tonight then. “I think we will.”

Miner was sitting in his office at one of the two desks, looking through files. Jack took the chair in the vacant one. “Morning.”

“Morning, Chief.” He closed the file and put it in his desk drawer.

“What’s that?”

“Just some paperwork I’m behind on.”

Jack sipped his coffee and looked from the drawer to Miner. He doubted it. “You still don’t think the Dodsworths dumped a body in their woods fifty years ago?”

“No.”

“Okay, then. How far would you drive to dump a body?”

The officer’s lips fluttered. “Five hundred miles?”

“Before interstates?”

Miner shrugged. “I’d want to get it as far away from my home as possible.”

“Transporting a body out of state would make it a federal crime.”

“Which means we could pass it off to the Feds,” he said. Miner was one of the most taciturn people Jack had ever met, but with that suggestion, he was downright ebullient.

“Why would we want to do that? We aren’t ever going to be able to establish where the woman died fifty years ago anyway. Just where she’s buried.”

Miner’s face fell. He leaned back in his chair and sighed, resigned. “This is Texas,” he said. “You can drive five hundred miles without leaving the state. Easy.”

Jack stared at the map of Texas on the wall. “Using five hundred miles, staying in Texas,” Jack mused, “would mean they drove from south of Houston or west of Dallas, Austin, San Antonio. If you’re west of those cities, just drive into the desert. You could dump a body out near Big Bend and it would never be found.”

“If you were coming from Houston, why come north five hundred miles? Go south five hundred miles and dump the body in Mexico,” Miner said. “Hell, there’re so many bodies in their desert that one more would hardly be cause for investigation.”

“There’s also the ocean. Go far enough out and it would never be found. If you were coming from the east, Louisiana, Mississippi, or north from Arkansas and Tennessee, why stop here? Keep going to the desert or ocean.”

“Unless you knew the area.”

“Which brings us back to a local,” Jack said.

They stared at the map for a while in silence. Jack drank his latte and let his mind wander. It was a damn good latte.

“Problem is, Chief, there aren’t any local missing-persons reports from the ’60s.”

Jack nodded. “That is a problem. I suppose to be thorough we should expand the missing-persons reports from Oklahoma, Arkansas, Louisiana, and Mississippi.” He tapped a pencil on the desk. “Occam’s Razor.”

“What?” Miner asked.

“When you have two competing theories, the simplest solution is usually the correct one.” Miner remained silent. “Especially when you consider the fact the land has been out of use for fifty years. And Elizabeth Dodsworth specifically kept it fallow.”

Miner leaned forward and picked up a blue Bic pen. He held it upright, flipped it over, ran his fingers down to the bottom, and repeated the action. “Chief, I’ve been wondering.”

“What?”

“Well, is there really much point in investigating this? A fifty-year-old murder with no identification, no evidence, and no leads? If it was the Dodsworths, the old man is dead and Elizabeth is senile. All finding out would do is sully their name. Got to think how it would affect Barbara, too.”

“I’ve thought of that. But aren’t you curious just a little?”

“Not particularly. Plus we’ve got the Ramos case.”

“I’ll take care of the Ramos case. You’re in charge of this one.”

“I’d rather pull a month of night shifts.”

“I’m sure Starling would be thrilled, but no. Talked to Sheriff Newberry this morning. She’s pulling missing persons files for you. Have to go through them in Yourkeville, though.”

“I think it’s a waste of time.”

Jack watched Miner play with the pen and let the silence linger. “Is there a reason you don’t want to pursue this case?”

Miner let the pen drop. “It ain’t that. What if it turns out to be linked to the Dodsworths? The town won’t take kindly to you coming in here and opening old wounds.” Miner finally looked up and said with a sly grin. “They run you out of town, they’ll put me in charge.”

Jack laughed. “I appreciate your concern, but we’re going to pursue this case, no matter where it takes us. Do you understand?”

Miner nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, let’s talk about the Ramos case.”

“All right.”

Jack smiled at the way Miner was able to draw out two syllables for so long. He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Got the partial crime-scene report when I went to Yourkeville. Rosa wasn’t the shooter.”

“Pretty much what we thought.”

“Gun was last sold to Justin Dixon.”

“He buys guns and sells them privately.”

“That’s what Ann said.”

“Don’t see him having a motive to kill them.”

“We’ll see.”

“So, who would want to kill two hard-working Mexicans that seemed to get along with everyone?” Miner asked.

“Obviously, they didn’t get along with everyone.”

“How do you go from being well-liked to someone wanting to put a bullet in your head?”

“Without there being at least some small indication something was going on.” Jack finished his coffee, tossed the cup into the trashcan by the door. “Have you heard anything from the Feds about Diego?”

“The Feds?”

“Yeah, didn’t you run Diego through the DEA?”

“No. Did you want me to?”

Jack stared at the ground. Hadn’t he asked Miner to run Diego? In this very office? Jack shook his head to clear it. It wasn’t coming back. “I thought I did. I probably hallucinated it. I’ve been having some crazy dreams the past few nights.”

The phone beeped. Susan’s voice sounded through the intercom. “Chief, Juanita down at County called. Files are ready for Miner.”

“Thanks, Susan.” Jack stood. “That was fast. Must mean there aren’t many files. Good news, huh?”

“Yeah, great. Where are you off to?”

“Back out to the Ramoses’ trailer. See if we missed anything.”

“All right.”

“First, though, I think it’s about time I met Buck Pollard.”

IV

Jack got lost three times on the way to Buck Pollard’s house. Miner’s directions were awful, the directions of a man who knew which way to turn on every road in the county by sight but couldn’t remember the road numbers. Weird for a man Jack suspected of having a perfect memory. Pollard’s house was so remote, so deep in the piney woods, Jack’s phone wouldn’t work, making his maps app pointless. Of course his car didn’t have GPS. When Jack turned around for the third time, he let the idea lingering in the back of his mind come forward: Miner purposely tried to get him lost.

He drove back to the main highway, pulled over, and called Violet, the dispatcher, on the radio for better directions. With a chuckle, Violet recited the same directions Miner had given him, this time with road numbers, before telling him that Hugh Barnes left a message. He had some preliminary information about the skeleton.

Jack called Hugh back immediately and apologized for being out of pocket.

“Why people choose to live in the middle of nowhere, I don’t know,” Jack complained.

“Says the man who just moved to a small town.”

“But I live inside the city limits. There’s a big difference.”

“If you say so.”

“What do you have, Hugh?”

“No date yet, but I do have a cause of death: knife between the right third and fourth ribs, next to the sternum. Serrated knife.”

“So the killer was left-handed.”

“Most like. She had a couple of broken ribs, long healed. Her right wrist had a partially healed spiral break. There was also a hairline fracture on her right orbital bone. Probably happened at the same time as the arm.”

“Someone beat her up before she died.”

“Based on the healing, a couple weeks before. A more detailed report will take a while. We’re still excavating the legs.”

“This is good for now. Keep me posted.”

Jack put his car in drive and started. “Let’s try this again.”

He found it by chance when he saw POLLARD painted in faint black letters on a large, rusted mailbox with a loose red flag. Jack backed up and pulled onto the smooth oil-dirt road. Two fat sorrel horses with thick blazes stood at the barbed-wire fence, somnolent in the September heat. Their tails swished languidly at the flies on their backs. As Jack drove past, grasshoppers flew up from the wild blackberry bushes covering the barbed-wire fences on either side of the road.

The road dead-ended into the front yard of a plain, well-kept pier-and-beam house with a wide front porch. Behind the house, an old Ford tractor was parked in a wooden barn, weathered gray from years of exposure. If it weren’t for the late-model dually pickup in the front yard, door open and steadily dinging in protest, Jack would have thought he had stepped back in time.

Jack unsnapped his holster and got out of his car. There was no movement anywhere. Dense woods closed in on the house from three sides.

“Hello?”

No answer. A long, large cooler and an overstuffed duffel bag were in the bed of the truck. Jack moved to the driver’s side door, looked in the cab. It was clean and empty. He pulled the key out of the ignition to silence the incessant dinging. The quiet that greeted him was unsettling, unnatural. With relief, he heard one of the horses in the pasture behind him snort.

“What can I do for you, son?”

A large man wearing a low profile gray felt Stetson walked out of the front door loosely holding a shotgun in his right hand. Jack recognized him instantly.

“Buck Pollard?” he said with as much friendliness as possible.

“Yes.”

“I’m Jack McBride.”

“I know who you are.” Pollard locked his front door. He stopped at the top of the porch steps and surveyed Jack.

“I thought I’d come introduce myself since we haven’t had the opportunity to meet yet. Though—” Jack paused, as if searching his memory. “—weren’t you at the Chevron the other day? No. That couldn’t have been you. You would have said something, right? Introduced yourself.”

“Thought you had enough on your plate.”

“Thoughtful of you.”

The grasshoppers and cicadas were in a contest to see who could fill the silence with the most noise. Jack made a production of putting his hands in his pockets to show Pollard he wasn’t threatened by him.

“Heard you got the tarnation beat out of you,” Pollard finally said.

“I did.”

“Shouldn’ta taken him by yourself.”

“Well, we’re a little short-staffed at the moment.”

“So I hear.”

Jack jerked his head to the truck. “Going somewhere?”

“Fishing.”

“Where?”

“The Gulf.”

“What do you fish for?”

“Whatever’s bitin’. You fish?”

“All the time.”

“What for?”

“Information.” Jack waited a beat before continuing. He hoped he was hiding his chagrin at his stupid, smart-ass answer as well as he meant to. “Thought you might be able to fill me in on the town, the officers, people.”

“Miner can do that.”

“Sure, but who’s going to fill me in on Miner?”

“I thought you were some fancy profiler.”

“Well, that’s a pretty blanket term. I’m not technically a profiler. Those agents analyze crime scenes and work up a profile of who might do it. You know, serial killers are white men, twenty-five to forty. Bunch of generalities anyone who watches Law and Order knows.”

“Bunch of bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t call it that exactly.”

“You don’t need me to explain Miner to you.”

“No. I think I understand him pretty well.”

Pollard stayed on his porch, gun in his hand. He turned his head and spit a long, brown stream of tobacco juice over the porch rail.

“What do you need the shotgun for?”

“Protection.”

“From the fish?” Buck remained silent. Jack continued. “Did you know Gilberto and Rosa Ramos?”

“Nope.”

“I thought not. You weren’t much for arresting anyone, why mess with law-abiding illegals?”

“What do you mean by that?”

Jack shrugged. “Stillwater’s crime rate is freakishly low, almost as if crimes were waved away, ignored.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I know how the good ol’ boy network works.”

“Do you?” Disdain dripped from both words, as if there were no way a city boy like Jack understood small towns and the people in them.

“Maybe some father asks you to turn a blind eye to their kid’s crimes in exchange for future favors. Maybe you catch someone dealing drugs and they offer to cut you in on the action for protection. Blind eyes being turned on wife beating, sexual assault, and child molestation. Favors could be material, could be something else. A cop who’s been on the job for years could have a lot of dirt on a lot of people. Powerful stuff.”

“Do I look like I’m on the take?” Pollard gestured to his house and barn.

Actually, no. Everything was well kept but average. Nothing flashy, save the truck, and Jack had seen enough duallies to know that being truck poor was almost a prerequisite for the men in Stillwater.

“No. You hide it well.”

“Good luck proving anything.”

“It just takes one person coming forward. Or one secret being unearthed.”

Pollard stared hard at Jack before his face broke into a large grin. “You don’t know shit. You just have people whispering in your ear about me, planting bugs.”

“Who would do that?”

“Ann Newberry and Jane Maxwell.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Hell if I know. Women like that hate men on principle because they think we have it easier than they do. Think on it. Has anyone else in this town had a bad word to say about me?”

Jack thought back to the residents he had met. They mostly avoided talk of Pollard but, when they did, they always shared carefully worded generalities about his dedication to his job, all of his good works, and everything he’d done for Stillwater.

“I didn’t think so,” Pollard said. “Newberry and I didn’t get along, but she ain’t got it in for me like Jane Maxwell does. That woman can hold a grudge.”

“What’s her grudge with you?”

“That’s no business of yours.”

“You brought it up. I thought you might want me to investigate something.”

“I think you’ve got enough on your plate. Who knows, there might be a crime wave coming soon. If I were you, I’d start rounding up the Mexicans.”

“Why?”

“Those two murdered wetbacks? Probably drug-related.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Mexicans and drugs go hand in hand.”

“We didn’t find any drugs.”

“Probably the person who found them took them. Sold them already, I’m sure.”

“How did you know it was a double murder? I just got confirmation of that a couple of hours ago.”

Pollard laughed. “People still tell me things.”

“I’m sure they do. Then I suppose you heard about the skeleton we found on the Dodsworths’ land.”

“I heard something about it. Any idea how long it’d been there?”

“Not yet. It’ll take a while to get a specific date. I’m just happy it wasn’t a killing field.”

Buck scoffed. “Got any leads?”

“Early days yet. Did you know the Dodsworths?”

“I know everyone in Stillwater.”

“Then I came to the right place.”

“I don’t know what I can tell you that will help. George Dodsworth died in ’84. Elizabeth is in Pembroke Arms. Can’t remember her name, from what I hear.”

“And Barbara?”

“Owns a cleaning business. Did time in Gatesville for check fraud. Clean since.”

“Were you friends with the Dodsworths?”

“Friends?” Pollard pushed his Stetson up and scratched his head. “No.”

“If you were running this case, what would be your theory?”

“Theory?” He settled his hat back in place.

“Yeah. I have one. Miner has one. I’m curious what yours is.”

“Probably just someone passing through town who got caught in a bad situation.”

“Accidental death?”

“Uh-huh.” This stream of tobacco didn’t have near the arc or distance. It landed with a splat on the porch rail. Pollard wiped spittle from his lips.

“And the killer planted her in some random, remote woods.”

“Most like.”

“So, you think the killer was a local.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t you?”

“Just as like, more like, someone transported the body from far off. Maybe another state.”

“Yeah. We’re checking missing persons for the four-state area.”

“Four?”

“Mississippi, too. Was there any way to access that land back in the late ’50s? Besides driving right by the Dodsworths’ house?”

“I don’t remember. There might have been logging roads coming from the land behind.”

“Logging? I thought they didn’t log the area until the ’80s.”

“Been loggin’ off and on since Stillwater was founded.”

Jack looked around. “Haven’t logged here, I see. Interesting Elizabeth Dodsworth didn’t want them to log her land back in the ’80s. Almost like she was hiding something. Wasn’t much to find, anyway.”

“No weapon?”

Jack shook his head. “Would’ve been nice, huh? She didn’t have any ID on her either. Damn the luck.”

“What’s your theory?” Pollard said.

“Mine? Well, being an outsider, I don’t have a preconceived idea of people around here. The logical explanation is George Dodsworth killed her and buried her in the woods. Maybe she was a hitchhiker, he picked her up, fucked her, then murdered her. Buried her before his wife got home.”

“George wasn’t the type.”

“Maybe Elizabeth caught them. Killed the woman, George buried her to protect his wife.”

“I can see George protecting her, but I can’t see Elizabeth having the strength to stab someone.”

Jack pursed his lips and nodded. “Amazing the things people do when provoked. In the heat of passion.”

“True.”

“Maybe George found Elizabeth and this vagrant in flagrante, didn’t realize his wife preferred women. Went into a rage.”

“Have you noticed all of your scenarios involve sex?” Pollard sneered.

“Sex is a powerful motivator. Like jealousy, anger, betrayal. All powerful motives.”

“Well, you would know.”

“Excuse me?”

“Jealousy, anger, betrayal as motives for murder.” Pollard spit another stream of tobacco juice on the ground. “They ever find your wife, by the way?” His face was blank but his eyes were hard, calculating. “Or did they just drop the case because your momma told them to?”

There was a roaring in Jack’s ears. When he spoke, it sounded like a stranger talking. “There was no investigation.”

“Not what I heard.”

“If you know all about it, why are you asking me?”

“Thought I’d see how honest you were.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide.”

Pollard laughed. “Everyone’s hiding something. Well,” the word came out like he was stretching after a long nap. “As much as I would like to sit here and help you solve your cases, I have to get on the road.”

Jack grabbed Pollard’s arm as he walked by. Pollard stopped, stared at Jack’s hand, then moved his eyes to Jack’s face. A dollop of tobacco juice hung on the bottom edge of Pollard’s mustache. Pollard’s arm was surprisingly hard, like the arm of a man thirty years younger.

“I don’t know what you think you know, old man,” Jack said between gritted teeth.

“I’ll tell you what I think: I think only an idiot would grab a man who’s carrying a loaded shotgun.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

Pollard jerked his arm from Jack’s grasp, walked to his truck, put the shotgun in the rack. It took all of Jack’s willpower not to throw Pollard on the ground and beat the shit out of him. Pollard was in the driver’s seat and was shutting the door when Jack spoke.

“Thanks for talking to me. Very informative. Learned a lot.”

Jack could see Pollard’s eyes calculating, wondering what Jack meant, if he was bluffing. He turned on his truck and shut the door.

Jack stood in the driveway and watched Pollard drive off.

Very informative, indeed.

V

“Does your dad ever feed you?”

Ethan, Olivia, Mitra, and Troy were sitting together near the cafeteria door. Spread before Mitra and Olivia were homemade lunches; sandwiches, vegetables, hummus, fruit, and chips. Two lunch trays of half-eaten food were in front of Troy and Ethan. Olivia watched Ethan eat with a disgusted look on her face.

Ethan wiped the dribble of gravy from his chin and swallowed. “Yes, but not homemade chicken fried steak.”

“I don’t know how y’all can eat that.”

“Because it’s good?” Troy said around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

“Why don’t you ever buy your lunch, Olivia?” Ethan asked.

“I know what they do to make the food taste so good.”

“What?” Ethan asked.

“Bacon grease,” she stated. She pulled the turkey off her sandwich.

“What’s wrong with bacon grease?” Ethan asked.

“Besides being fattening?” Mitra asked.

“Olivia is a borderline vegetarian. She doesn’t have the guts to go full bore, though. Our dad would kill her,” Troy said.

“He would not.”

“He wouldn’t be happy.”

“Why would he care?” Ethan asked.

“His dad was a cattle farmer. He doesn’t trust anyone that doesn’t eat meat.”

“So, it’s not the grease you have a problem with,” Ethan said to Olivia, “it’s the bacon.”

“Oh, no. I love bacon.”

Ethan looked between his three friends, completely puzzled. Troy shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “She’s a girl, what do you expect?”

“Well, I don’t care what they do to it. I didn’t know cafeteria food could taste this good,” Ethan said. “Every school I’ve been to, the food has tasted like poo.”

Ethan didn’t want to say it, but compared to this food, his mother’s cooking was bad. Since the only meal his dad could make was breakfast, there was no comparison necessary.

“So, Mitra and I are going to study today after school. You two should probably join us,” Olivia said.

“What for?” Troy asked.

“Um, for our first big test on Friday?”

Ethan paused. “Why would we start studying Monday for a test on Friday?”

“Yeah, that’s overkill even for you, Olivia,” Troy said.

“We thought studying a little each day would be better than cramming on Thursday night,” Mitra said.

“I would, but I can’t. I’m grounded, remember.” Ethan cut his eyes at Troy, who looked down at his plate.

“Are you two still mad at each other?” Olivia asked.

“About what?” Mitra asked.

“Nothing,” Troy and Ethan said in unison.

Mitra looked embarrassed and hurt, aware she was being left out of a secret. Ethan knew how that felt from firsthand experience. Hadn’t his dad been keeping secrets from him for a year? He would rather get in trouble with his dad for telling Mitra than see her look so sad. How much more trouble could he get in, anyway?

Ethan leaned across the table. “I texted Troy a picture I shouldn’t have. His mom found it and told my dad.”

Mitra turned as red as the square of jello on Ethan’s tray. “Oh.”

“Not that kind of picture, Mitra,” Olivia quickly said.

It took a moment or two for Ethan to realize what Olivia meant. When he did, his face turned as red as Mitra’s. “God, no.” He leaned forward a little more. Mitra, Troy, and Olivia all leaned toward him. “It was of the skeleton,” Ethan whispered.

Mitra’s eyes widened. “You didn’t.”

“Yeah. My dad was not happy.”

“It was a really cool picture,” Troy said.

Olivia agreed.

“Can I see it?” Mitra asked.

“Dad deleted it from my phone.”

“I deleted it, too.”

Mitra was dejected. Ethan said, “If I had it, I would let you see it.”

She nodded and smiled. “It would probably give me nightmares anyway. Did you go around town Saturday?” Mitra asked.

“Yeah.” Something kept Ethan from telling his friends about his run-in with Freeman. “Did y’all realize there are no sidewalks in Stillwater?”

“I’ve never thought about it,” Olivia said. Her brows furrowed in concentration.

“I’ve noticed,” Mitra said. Ethan wondered if she’d had the same problem as he had, but with residents calling the police about a strange Middle Eastern girl walking the streets.

“I guess people just don’t walk many places,” Troy said.

Olivia’s face cleared and she took on a look of determination. “So, about studying,” Olivia said. Ethan learned early on that Olivia didn’t give up easily. “I’m sure your dad would make an exception for studying.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He didn’t particularly want his dad to make an exception for studying.

“I’ll go see my Mom at work and just happen to run into your Dad. Parents love study groups. You’ll be free in no time.”

“I’d hardly call study group freedom,” Ethan murmured.

“Olivia can be convincing,” Troy said.

Olivia motioned to her brother with a smile. “See? Troy agrees.”

“You’re going to search out my dad and ask him if I can do a study group? I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

His dream of Olivia came rushing back to him in great detail. Ethan felt his face burning. “Um, because he will never let me hear the end of it.”

“We’re just friends.”

“I know that, but he doesn’t. Just don’t ambush him, okay? I’ll ask.”

“Are y’all going to the Book Bank tonight?” Mitra asked.

Olivia’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Perfect. I’ll ask him then. Completely natural, because y’all will be with me when I do.”

“The Book Bank?” Ethan asked.

“Ellie’s launch party,” Troy said.

“Oh,” Ethan replied. The woman from the square, the one his dad seemed so interested in. Ethan started to think he should delete those pictures.

“Ellie’s one of my mom’s best friends,” Troy said.

“We’ve known her all our lives. We used to call her Aunt Ellie until she said it made her feel old,” Olivia said.

“How old is she?”

“My mom’s age,” Olivia said. “She is totally awesome.”

“She is very nice,” Mitra said.

“Are you going tonight?” Olivia asked.

“With my parents,” Mitra replied.

“Dad hasn’t said anything about it. We probably aren’t invited.”

“Oh, you’re invited,” Olivia said. “My mom mentioned it. You’ll be there.”

Ethan’s embarrassment about his dream had long since vanished, replaced by the irritation he felt whenever Olivia put on her know-it-all, hyper-confident attitude. Now he didn’t want to go to whatever this party was just to prove her wrong.

“I can’t believe Stillwater is going to have a bookstore,” Mitra said. She swirled a carrot in her hummus and took a bite.

“And a coffee shop,” Olivia said.

“I won’t be hanging out there. I don’t like books or coffee,” Ethan said, standing. “Come on, pile it on.”

“Ease up, Grumpy Cat,” Olivia said.

Olivia and Mitra put their trash on Ethan’s tray, and he picked up Troy’s to take everything to the trash.

“Isn’t this sweet?”

A muscular boy with the hint of a mustache on his upper lip stood at the end of the table, blocking Ethan’s way.

“I don’t know, Kevin. Dumping my lunch tray has never been the highlight of my day, but I’m new to Stillwater. Maybe it is for the natives,” Ethan replied.

Kevin smirked. “The natives. Funny, city boy.”

“And I wasn’t even trying,” Ethan said, wondering what was so funny about his comment. He was trying to be insulting.

“Ready for the game this week, Kevin?” Troy asked.

Kevin Jackson stood a little straighter, as he always did when talking about football. “We’re always ready to kick some ass.” He slammed his fist into his palm for emphasis. Ethan tried to stifle a laugh.

“What’s so funny, city boy?”

Ethan shrugged. “Can a snipe kick anyone’s ass? I mean, do they even exist? What exactly is a snipe? Ever seen one? Besides on your helmet?”

Kevin stepped closer to Ethan and glared down at him. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

Troy stood. “No, Kevin. He’s just trying to learn as much about his new school as he can.”

“Ma—” Ethan started.

“Shut up, Ethan,” Olivia interjected. He shot her an annoyed look.

“Yeah,” Kevin said. “Shut up, Ethan. What kind of pussy name is that?”

Ethan put the trays down but Troy moved in front of Ethan and shook his head. Kevin smirked, before turning his attention to Olivia. “You’re the one I wanted to talk to.”

“Really?” she asked. Her neck turned all splotchy.

“Yeah. Want to walk to the DQ with me after school today?”

“Um,” she stammered, the blush completely overtaking her face.

“She can’t,” Ethan interrupted. “We’ve got study group.”

The entire table went silent. Mitra suppressed a smile. Troy was completely baffled. Olivia’s splotches evened out into a bright red. Ethan could almost see the waves of anger pulsing off her.

“That’s tomorrow,” Olivia said, fixing her blazing eyes on Ethan, daring him to contradict her. Ethan tried to hide his mortification at saying anything and he returned her angry stare.

Olivia turned to Kevin and smiled. “I’ll meet you out front after school.”

“Great,” Kevin said. “See ya later.”

“See ya,” she said.

Ethan picked up the trays. “Wow,” Ethan said. “I never thought you’d go out with a bully like Kevin Jackson.” He brushed past her.

She turned on him and hissed, “He’s not a bully!”

Ethan dumped the trash and put the trays in the window for the dishwasher. He faced Olivia, who had followed him. “Uh, yeah. He is,” Ethan said. “Or is calling people a pussy the way you bumpkins welcome people to Stillwater?” He walked back to the table, Olivia on his heels.

“You’ve been here a few days and you think you know everything about everyone,” she said. “I’m beginning to think Kevin’s right about you.”

“I was obviously wrong about you. I wouldn’t think you would defend a bully.”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed and she turned and stalked off.

Ethan, Troy, and Mitra watched Olivia go. “Well, Mitra. Hope you didn’t have your heart set on studying. You just got stood up,” Ethan said.

Mitra shrugged. “Tomorrow is fine.”

“I can’t believe Olivia would defend him like that,” Ethan said to Troy, trying to ignore the stone of jealousy lodged in his stomach.

Troy shrugged. “She’s had a crush on Kevin for years. You kinda ruined the moment.”

“Me? He’s a bully and you know it! Isn’t he, Mitra?”

She shrugged and picked up her bento box. “See you in class,” she said and left.

“Thing is, Kevin’s not a bully, Ethan,” Troy said. “He really hates you for some reason but overall he’s a really good guy. Totally unlike his family.”

“He just called me a pussy and he cornered me in the locker room my first day.”

“You were being rude to him.”

“So that justifies it?”

Troy shrugged. “No, but you being a smart-ass might explain it. I can’t explain the locker room. I didn’t see it.”

That was the problem: no one saw it.

With no athletic clothes (of course his dad forgot) and no desire to play football, Coach Taylor had put Ethan in charge of filling water bottles for the “real” athletes. He had been alone in the locker room doing just that when he heard the clicking of cleats on the concrete floor and Kevin Jackson came around the corner, unzipping his football pants. He stopped when he saw Ethan. He walked to the urinal without a word. Ethan was fitting the tops on the water bottles when Kevin walked up behind him and stared at him in the mirror. For a moment, Ethan thought he was going to introduce himself, then Kevin straightened his shoulders and his nervousness changed to bravado.

“I wouldn’t bother making too many friends. Your dad will be out of a job by the end of the month. My uncle will see to it.”

“Good. The quicker I get out of this shithole of a town, the better.”

Kevin grabbed Ethan’s shoulder and turned him around. He was at least six inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. Ethan saw a wispy mustache on Kevin’s upper lip. “Watch it, city boy.”

“Great comeback, cracker.”

Ethan heard the door to the locker room open. One of the coaches yelled in for Kevin. He had flipped the water bottles onto the ground and stalked out.

“You saying I made it up?” Ethan said to Troy now.

“No. But just because someone doesn’t like you doesn’t mean they’re a bully.”

Ethan wanted to argue but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to lose his only friend after barely a week in town. They wove through the crowd of students on the way to their lockers. Olivia glared at Ethan and shouldered past them without a word. Troy watched her stomp into her class.

“It is weird, though,” Troy admitted.

“What?” Ethan took his social studies book from his locker.

“Why he asked her out.”

“What’s weird about that?”

“He’s known for years that Olivia liked him. Why did he decide to ask her out now?”

“Maybe he realized how—” Ethan stopped himself from saying something he would regret. “—much he liked her,” he finished instead.

“Or maybe he’s trying to make you jealous?”

“Me?” Ethan said, his voice an octave too high. “Why would that make me jealous?”

Troy rolled his eyes. “I’m not that stupid. See you in class.”

Mitra walked up, holding her books close to her chest. She watched Troy walk away, disappointment written all over her face. She looked at Ethan and smiled. “Ready?” she asked.

“You think Kevin’s a bully, too, don’t you?”

She sighed. “I’m not the best person to ask.”

“Why?”

“At one point or another, everyone has bullied me.”

Ethan felt his stomach tighten. He asked the question, even though he didn’t want to know the answer. “Even Troy and Olivia?”

She shrugged. “We’re going to be late for class.” She started walking. Ethan followed.

“How long have you lived in Stillwater?” Ethan asked.

“Ten years.”

“Where are you from?”

“I was born in Houston. My parents left Iran when the Shah left. They were kids.”

“Why Stillwater?”

“My dad bought an oil well servicing company here. He wanted my brother and me to grow up in a small town.”

Olivia glanced up when they entered the classroom and gave Ethan a withering glare. She was making a big production of slamming books and jerking the zipper of her backpack. Damn, she had a temper. Just like Ethan’s dad.

He knew Troy was right: Kevin had asked Olivia out to piss Ethan off and make him jealous. Whether Kevin was quick enough to see that Ethan liked Olivia or just assumed it because he spent so much time with her, Ethan wasn’t sure. Either way, Ethan knew he needed to distance himself from her, not only because he didn’t want everyone to figure out he was having wet dreams about her, but also because he didn’t want Kevin Freaking Jackson to date Olivia just to spite him.

He got a funny, fluttery feeling in his stomach at that idea. It quickly changed to nausea when he thought of what the innocent-sounding walk to DQ actually meant. He’d heard through snatches of conversation that these “walks” were merely excuses to detour through an abandoned, overgrown lot and make out. The idea that this was Kevin’s ultimate intention—and why wouldn’t it be?—made Ethan want to puke. And that Olivia, being a local and knowing much better than Ethan what a walk to DQ meant, would still choose to go with that Neanderthal made him furious.

VI

With a small pocketknife that once belonged to his dad, Jack cut the yellow crime-scene tape sealing the front door of the Ramoses’ trailer. He put on gloves and went inside. He closed the door and surveyed the room.

The spicy aroma so prominent the day of the murders had dissipated, replaced with the musty smell of disuse. A thin veneer of dust covered the counters and tabletops, had settled into the fabric of the sofa and chair, and lay lightly on the carpet worn shiny and flat from years of use.

Jack dropped his duffel bag on the floor and, starting on the left, methodically began his search. Behind and underneath the sofa. Below the cushions. With a grimace, he shoved his hand between the frame of the sofa where the back met the seat and scooped out years worth of loose change, used condoms, chip bags, paper clips, pen caps, dried-out pens, plastic spoons, a butter knife, a plastic ring, a yo-yo, an empty snuff can, a tampon (unused, thank God) and a pair of panties too large to be Rosa Ramos’s. He repeated the search with the chair, finding much of the same. He ran his hands under the coffee table and lifted it. Nothing but green, blue, and red gum and dried boogers.

He opened every drawer, cabinet, and appliance in the kitchen, came up with nothing interesting or out of place, and moved down the hall and into the bathroom. Despite being abandoned for a week, it smelled fresh and looked clean. A medicine cabinet full of over-the-counter drugs, condoms, tampons, a rubber bulb parents use to clear the mucus from babies’ noses, a tiny set of fingernail clippers next to a larger pair for adults, a black comb with broken teeth, a can of Axe, and a small bottle of Jennifer Lopez perfume. A round hairbrush matted with black hair lay on the clean sink next to a small jelly jar holding two toothbrushes and a twisted tube of toothpaste. The toilet was clean, inside and out, but no amount of scrubbing could get rid of the years of neglect the toilet suffered before being saved by Rosa Ramos’s good housekeeping. Jack lifted the lid off the back of the toilet. Nothing except a small dispenser of bleach that would release when flushed. The shower, hard-water stains notwithstanding, was spotless as well.

Jack stood in the doorway to the bedroom for a long time. It was a pocket door, necessary because having a door that would swing open would drastically reduce the floor space in the room. When he tried to close the door, it jumped off the runner and jammed into the wall. It took Jack five minutes to get the door back on track. Obviously, it wasn’t closed when the killer arrived. Jack doubted Gilberto and Rosa used it at all.

The bed was next to the door of the small room. They would have seen their killer immediately, even if they had been making love, which they clearly had been. Jack turned and stood in the hallway next to the door, his back to the wall. He took his gun out and held it next to his ear. He pivoted into the doorway and pretended to shoot Gilberto, then Rosa. A few seconds was all it would have taken for a man who knew how to handle a gun. They never knew what hit them. He put his gun back in his holster.

Jack searched through the inside of every drawer, pulled them out, felt underneath, and looked inside the dresser frame. He moved it away from the wall and looked behind. He got down on his hands and knees, shined his MagLite under the dresser, then turned it under the bed. He pulled the long, thin plastic bins from beneath the bed and searched them. Nothing. Same with the closet. Nothing. He tapped his flashlight on his leg and took one last look around.

For someone who liked to hide things, according to her “brother,” there was nothing interesting to be found. Were Rosa and Gilberto really this boring? Or had someone cleaned up before the police arrived? The killer? Or Diego Vasquez?

Jack moved to the nursery. Where all the other furniture in the house was obviously secondhand, the nursery furniture was new. Brand new. Underneath the crib was a plastic bag full of instructions and warranties and a Wal-Mart receipt dated August 29. Three weeks ago, Rosa and Gilberto bought $750 worth of baby furniture, toys, and clothes—in cash. Jack pulled a small baggie from his pocket, placed the receipt inside. Besides a few unpaid bills in a kitchen drawer, Jack hadn’t found evidence of a bank account or personal paperwork. He didn’t expect to. Rosa and Gilberto worked in cash jobs, though what either of them could have done to earn so much cash he could only guess.

The baby’s room was mostly empty since clothes, diapers, toys, and supplies had been given to the foster family. It turned out Miner had been right about the woman he gave the baby to; she was well known to the county child protective services and had taken in Mexican babies for them before.

Jack dumped the contents of the duffel bag on the kitchen table, tossed the empty bag aside, and sat down. He took all the items from the evidence bags, placed them in the middle of the table, and stared at the meager possessions the crime-scene tech had found in the bedroom the morning of the murders. The pay-as-you-go phones sat atop the printouts of their activity over the last month. Gilberto called and texted very few people and had never set up his voice mail. Rosa made more calls, recently mostly to doctors and numbers in Mexico that Jack assumed were family members and were being traced. Her voice mail had been empty. Jack picked up Gilberto’s wallet. The edges of the black leather were worn from use and the shape of the wallet indicated it was normally much fuller than Jack found it. The contents were uninteresting; driver’s license, a Wal-Mart portrait of Rosa and the baby, twenty-three dollars, and a Chevron receipt for chips, Mountain Dew, and a candy bar.

Gilberto might have been the dullest murder victim Jack had ever come across. His investigation hadn’t found one motive for anyone, even Rosa, to kill Gilberto. He was a good guy, hard worker, loving husband and father. He drank a lot on the weekends, but what hardworking man didn’t? His drinking never led to trouble with the police; there was no record of Stillwater police ever having contact with Gilberto, or Rosa for that matter. Try as he might, Jack could not profile Gilberto. He left very little impression on the home he lived in and supported. The people who knew him spoke of him in banal generalities, as if struggling to pinpoint why they liked him and realizing maybe they didn’t after all.

Jack had little doubt that Rosa had ruled the roost. The trailer spoke of a proud woman making the best of what she had. Everything was clean (the trash in the frame of the furniture notwithstanding; even the best housekeepers missed that) and obsessively organized. She was practical (using space under the bed for storage in a tiny room), conscientious (baby-proofing the house months before necessary), and frugal (food was off-brand, bought on sale and in bulk). Her one weakness, though, was family, as evidenced by using their recent cash windfall for the baby and her willingness to let her “brother” sleep on their couch and start a new life in Stillwater.

Or did she have no choice but to let Diego stay with her? Jack still remembered little from Diego’s attack, but the feeling that Diego was dangerous and he was lucky to be alive was constant. Unlike questions about Gilberto and Rosa, which were answered easily, everyone was reticent about Diego. When they said they didn’t know him, they were relieved.

Jack dumped Rosa’s purse on the table. Her wallet was a coin purse containing her driver’s license, green card (obviously fake), $3.23 in change and $289 in cash. Gum, Altoids, dental floss, two tampons, a panty liner, mascara, a half-used tube of Carmex, grocery receipts (paid in cash), the electric bill and gas bill clipped together, ponytail holders, a hair brush, a small, partially burned vanilla scented jar candle, a travel-sized package of tissues, hand lotion, and stick deodorant. Jack sighed. Nothing.

He stared at the shit spread before him. It looked more like a medicine cabinet than a purse. He picked up the scratched and scarred wintergreen Altoids tin. He opened it and wrinkled his nose as the faint scent of wintergreen wafted up to him. Inside was a necklace with a Saint Peter medal, a small key that would fit a luggage lock, and a business card with MARTES, 8:30, 24 RIVER ROAD written on the back. Jack turned the card over. SPIC AND SPAN CLEANING, BARBARA DODSWORTH, OWNER, he read. Jack flipped the card back over and stared at the address. Jack tapped the card on the table. “Huh.”

He put the card down, picked up the candle, removed the lid and sniffed it. What were the chances of his murder victim being connected to his fifty-year-old murder?

He put the candle down, opened the Carmex, and smelled it. There was no such thing as coincidence, right?

He wrinkled his nose at the lotion; he hated the smell of lavender. Of course, there had to be a lot of coincidence in a town the size of Stillwater. Everyone was connected to everyone else in some way. Except him. He was well and truly an outsider.

He picked up the deodorant and pulled off the cap. He stared down into the base of it. Instead of a white slab of chalky deodorant, a piece of paper, folded tightly into a square, was wedged into the empty base. Jack removed the paper and carefully unfolded it. An old family portrait was copied crookedly on the 8x11 paper. Four unsmiling children stood around the stoic mother and father, who sat, not touching, on a settee. A plump baby in a christening gown sat on the mother’s lap, her head turned toward the girl standing to her mother’s left, smiling. The large, raised birthmark on the baby’s cheek would have drawn the eye of the beholder, if not for the swastika armband and lightning-bolt insignia on the dour officer’s uniform.

VII

Ellie had lied to Jack when she said owning a bookstore was a childhood dream. Her childhood dream had been to live inside books, to escape into worlds full of color, life, adventure and, especially, love. She woke each morning and for a few moments kept her eyes closed, hoping against hope she would open them and see the attic of the March sisters, the dormers of Green Gables, or the rough-hewn boards of Little House on the Prairie. Instead she was always greeted with a water stain shaped like the state of Maryland on her ceiling, a drunken father (when he was there at all), and an empty refrigerator.

Living inside books was a nice idea, but it didn’t accomplish anything or change reality, and the reality was Ellie had a father who resented her for myriad reasons, all of which were out of Ellie’s control: she wasn’t a boy, and all of the property and wealth Jacob Yourke married her mother for was bequeathed to Ellie in an airtight trust. Which meant Jacob Yourke the Fourth, the direct descendant of Jacob Yourke the First, the founder of Stillwater, was dependent on his young daughter for money. Unless he wanted to get a job, which he didn’t. Of course, Ellie would have given it all to her father for one kind word or even a sincere lie. However, she didn’t gain control of the money until she was twenty-five. Until then, it was under the strict control of Jane Maxwell, who hated Jacob Yourke more than he hated his daughter. Which is why Gabrielle Robichaux Yourke had made Jane the executor of her will instead of her husband. She knew Jane would protect Ellie’s interests. One year ago today, Big Jake Yourke had died, nursing his resentment against Ellie and Jane and plotting new ways to wrest control of his money from his daughter to his dying breath.

Ellie paused, mascara wand in her hand. It was only natural, she supposed, to be thinking of her dead father on the night she was finally putting his ghost to rest. Jacob Yourke hated books, hated anything that might make Ellie happy. Opening a bookstore on the anniversary of his death was the biggest “fuck you” she could think of. She knew its impact would have been greater if he could have seen all of the money—his money—she was sinking into a bookstore in a dying town full of magazine-reading rednecks during the worst economic downturn since the Depression. But, when it came to her father, her resentment and anger didn’t supersede her fear of town scrutiny. There had even been a minuscule part of her that hadn’t wanted him to die completely broken. As such, she played the part of dutiful daughter to the bitter end. Only two people knew the true provenance of the Book Bank; Jane Maxwell, the woman who taught her to be an implacable businesswoman, and Shirley Underwood, the woman who taught her compassion.

The alarm on her phone went off. Her twenty minutes were up. She applied a small amount of lip gloss, rubbed her lips together, and pursed them at her reflection. “That’s as good as it’s going to get,” she said. She flipped the light off and went downstairs.

Shirley bustled around, putting the final touches on the buffet table. Her husband, Bob, organized canned drinks, water bottles, and small cups around the square bin of ice. Paige Grant stood on a step stool behind the coffee bar, writing the coffee menu on a chalkboard with much better lettering than Ellie had managed earlier in the day. A couple of Mexican women, hired for the night, walked around the store, dusting the already clean displays, killing time before their real duties began.

“Looks great, Shirley,” Ellie said.

“Thanks, darlin’,” she replied. She moved the plates a fraction and straightened. Then she opened her arms and walked toward Ellie. “I’m so proud of you.” Ellie fell easily into the arms of the woman who had been her surrogate parent for nearly thirty years. Bob walked up and patted Ellie on the back, a significant show of affection for him.

“We both are,” he said.

Ellie pushed away from Shirley but was not released from Shirley’s firm grip. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

Shirley ran her hand fondly down Ellie’s hair. “We all know that’s a lie. But we also know you are self-deprecating to a fault.”

“That’s what Shirley’s here for. To brag about you,” Bob said.

Shirley looked over Ellie’s shoulder, toward the door. “Speaking of …”

Ellie turned and saw Jack McBride walk in the door with Ethan. Ellie’s stomach lurched. She’d been planning how to avoid him since Susan confirmed he was coming. How was she going to be able to avoid him if he showed up early? Of course, he walked right up to her, smiling that ridiculous, toothpaste-commercial smile.

“Glad you could make it.”

“Thanks for inviting us.”

“Thanks for coming. Hi, Ethan.”

“Hi.” His eyes barely met hers before dropping.

“Troy and Olivia are going to be here soon. Until then, help yourself to the food and drinks.” She waved to the table at the back of the store. “There are some books on photography in the nonfiction section, if you’re interested.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Ethan!” Paige Grant called to him from behind the counter. “Come over here and let me experiment on you!”

Ethan blushed and looked to his dad. “Decaf,” Jack warned.

Ellie watched Ethan walk away. When she turned her attention back to Jack, he had an expectant look on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ellie got there first.

Ellie stood back. “You remember Shirley Underwood,” she said.

Jack arranged his face in a pleasant expression. “Of course,” he said. “Good to see you again.”

Before Shirley could respond, Ellie continued. “This is her husband, Bob. His law office is right across from City Hall.”

Bob was a large man with a booming voice and jocular personality. He pumped Jack’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Jack smiled and nodded.

“You haven’t called me yet,” Shirley said.

“Was I supposed to?”

“As soon as you needed something,” she said.

“I guess he hasn’t needed anything, Shirley,” Bob said.

“Don’t be foolish. Of course he has. Look at that face! He’s just too embarrassed to ask.”

“There is one thing I need.”

“Name it.”

“I need to steal Ellie for just a minute.” Without waiting for permission, he took Ellie by the elbow and steered her to the back of the store.

“Take her for as long as you like,” Shirley cooed.

Ellie didn’t like the knowing tone of voice Shirley used, nor did she like being given and taken like she was someone’s possession. She pulled her elbow from Jack’s grasp.

So far, the night was a disaster. Her one objective was to stay away from Jack McBride and here it was, 6:58 p.m., and he had gotten her alone. She stopped next to the buffet table, determined to not go into the back and be completely alone with him.

“So, about earlier.”

Ellie closed her eyes and shook her head. “Look, let’s just forget about the whole thing. Pretend it never happened.”

“But …”

“I jumped to the wrong conclusion and now I’m mortified. Just,” she sighed, met his eyes. “I really wish you hadn’t come.”

Jack pressed his lips together. He jingled the keys in his pockets. “What wrong conclusion?”

“That you were—” She stopped. Interested in me. Flirting with me. Of course she had the wrong idea, but she didn’t want to degrade herself by admitting it. Why would he ask her to? Was he that cruel? “God, are you really going to make me say it?”

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t get the wrong idea.”

“Ellie-Bellie!”

Jack and Ellie turned in unison. Kelly Kendrick, in skin-tight jeans and four-inch stilettos, catwalked toward them, arms outstretched. She hugged Ellie, whose astonishment was due in equal parts to Jack’s comment and Kelly’s horrible, no good, very bad timing.

“Surely you’re not already at the food, are you?” Kelly said, playfully.

Ellie tensed. “Of course not. I was showing Jack around. My guests are arriving. Why don’t you finish the tour for me?” She walked off, barely registering Kelly’s shocked “Yeah, sure” reply.

On her way to the door, she said hello to Seth, Kelly’s son, and directed him to Ethan and Paige with instructions to make the younger boy feel welcome. The next hour flew by, with Ellie greeting people as they arrived, giving brief tours for those who couldn’t figure out the layout of a one-room bookstore/coffee shop, hopping behind the counter to serve pastries and make lattes when Paige got behind, rushing around and picking up trash here and there, ringing up book sales, ordering books not in stock, taking suggestions, talking to everyone there, smiling, laughing, and still having a difficult time keeping her mind off Jack McBride. She checked on Ethan, Troy, and Olivia, who had parked themselves in the kids’, section. As far as Ellie could tell, they didn’t talk at all, only played on their phones. Kids. Jack moved from group to group, laughing and talking and always keeping one eye—the bruised one, of course—turned in her direction.

Kelly walked up and placed dirty cups on the coffee bar. Ellie put them in the bus tub under the back counter without a word. “What the hell was that earlier?”

“Paige, will you go check on the food table?” Ellie asked.

“Sure.” Paige squeezed bleached water out of a dishtowel and left.

“So?” Kelly said.

“Can we do this later?”

“No. You should have seen his face when you stalked off. I thought the man was going to cry. Or throw up. I couldn’t decide which. Maybe both.”

“Whatever. You suck at reading people. Always have.”

Kelly leaned over the counter and whispered. “Well, it’s easy enough to tell he wants to fuck you.”

Ellie put her hand over Kelly’s mouth. “Jesus, Kelly.”

Kelly pulled Ellie’s hand away and held it. “Are you going to tell me what gives, or am I going to have to guess?”

Ellie sighed. “I lied when I said I didn’t know if he was married. He is.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” Ellie pulled her hand free, took up a dishcloth, and started wiping down the counter.

“Well, she isn’t here, is she?”

“That makes it okay?”

“It makes it not your problem. It’s on him if he’s cheating. Not you.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever. Even if it did—” Ellie leaned forward and dropped her voice so the nearby minglers couldn’t hear. “I wouldn’t want to be with a man who would do that. And you fucking know why I wouldn’t, so don’t try to justify it or change my mind.”

Susan walked up to the counter. “Uh-oh. Ellie’s dropping f-bombs. Let me guess.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Jack McBride.”

“Jesus,” Ellie said, lifting her eyes to the sky.

“He’s not going to help you,” Kelly said.

“Come on,” Susan said. “Like we don’t know you.”

Ellie sighed. Of course they did. She and Kelly had been best friends since fourth grade. They had pulled Susan into their fold when she moved to Stillwater sophomore year in high school. Since then, the three of them had been each other’s confidantes and cheerleaders. They’d had their ups and downs, their fights and outs, but they always found their way back together. Three was the perfect number for a reason, Ellie always thought. Wherever three occurred—in nature, mythology, and religions—Ellie saw the three of them, perfectly represented.

“Susan, you’ve been around him the most,” Kelly said. “Is he anything like Jinx?”

Ellie started to interject but Susan answered. “Gosh, no. But he is married. Ethan wanted to call his mother after Jack’s accident, but Jack told him not to. Has he made a pass at you?”

“A pass? What is this, 1957?” Kelly asked.

“Well, what’s it called, then?”

“No,” Ellie lied. She wasn’t in the mood for bickering banter.

“Good,” Susan said.

“If that’s not a lie, which I’m pretty sure it is, he will soon,” Kelly said. “He’s been watching you like a hawk all night.”

“I know. It’s starting to piss me off.”

“Why?” Kelly asked. “Have you forgotten that men—good looking, eligible men—”

“He isn’t eligible,” Susan said.

“—are thin on the ground in Stillwater?”

“If you don’t care he’s married, you make a play for him,” Ellie said.

Kelly shook her head. “He’d be dead by morning.”

Susan and Ellie rolled their eyes at each other. Kelly was firm in her belief that she was romantically cursed. Both of her husbands had died suddenly, and any males she got the least bit physical with suffered freak accidents soon after. She hadn’t dated in fifteen years, since her last husband, Barney Kendrick, dropped dead. “And I’m not going to let you off the hook.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you would love it if someone else sabotaged it so you wouldn’t have to make a decision.”

“I don’t think that’s fair,” Susan said.

“Me, either,” Ellie said.

“Well, it’s the truth. ‘With great risk comes great reward.’”

“Do you realize you just quoted Thomas Jefferson?” Ellie said.

“I got it in a fortune cookie last week.” Kelly looked over her shoulder at Jack McBride. “That, sweetheart, is a risk you’d be an idiot not to take.”

Susan shrugged. “You know what I think.”

Paige walked behind the counter. “Hey, Mom. Ellie, I’ve got this now. You go out and mingle with your guests.”

“Call me if you need me,” Ellie said.

Determined not to seem to be avoiding Jack (though she was), Ellie made a beeline to Shirley, Bob, Jack, and Brian Grant. Jack stepped back to make room next to him. He smiled politely at her and returned his attention to Bob. Kelly and Susan joined them.

“Jack here was just asking about the Dodsworths,” Bob said.

Shirley laughed. “When we got married back in ’65, Elizabeth and George were already an old married couple. Of course, they were probably only ten years or so older than us. Well, Elizabeth anyway. Not all that much in the scheme of things, is it?”

“Old Man Dodsworth sold me my first car,” Brian Grant said. He nudged his wife’s arm. “You remember that car, don’t you, Susan?”

Susan rolled her eyes. “Not as fondly as you do. Mr. Dodsworth died not long after, didn’t he?”

“He was quite a bit older than Elizabeth,” Bob said.

“About fifteen years,” Shirley said. “Still, he couldn’t have been much more than sixty when he died.”

“That puts it in perspective,” said Bob, who’d just celebrated his sixty-fourth birthday.

“Everyone seemed so much older then,” Shirley said. “I’m sure Bob and I don’t seem that old to y’all.” When nobody immediately responded, she continued, “At least lie to us and tell us we don’t.”

“You don’t seem old at all,” Ellie said, dutifully and with a smile.

“He was only sixty?” Brian asked. Ellie, who was busy calculating how far from sixty she and her friends were, shared Brian’s incredulity. From the expression on Kelly’s face, Ellie knew her friend was thinking along the same lines.

When did we get so old?

“Well, he died soon after, so he probably wasn’t in good health,” Susan said.

“He was probably bored to death married to Elizabeth,” Bob said.

Susan gasped. “Bob, that’s awful.”

“It’s true,” Shirley interjected. “Elizabeth, bless her heart, was sweet but dull as dishwater. I never heard her say anything original or contradictory to her husband.”

“Sounds like the perfect wife to me,” Brian said. Susan punched him. He pretended to be hurt and looked to Jack for support.

“I know better than to agree with that,” Jack said.

“Good move,” Kelly said.

“If you ask me, George tried to find the polar opposite of his first wife,” Bob said. “She gave him so much trouble, he was eager to marry a doormat, even if she was a little on the crazy side.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “George Dodsworth was married before?”

“Back in the ’50s. Claire was her name. Oh boy, was that woman a pistol,” Bob said.

“And how would you know?” Shirley asked.

“She had this car,” Bob said. His eyes took on the glazed expression so common in men who loved cars. “Canary yellow Thunderbird. She drove that car all over Stillwater, top down, her black hair tied back in a cherry red scarf, her lips painted to match.” He shook his head and returned his attention to the group, who were all staring at him, some a little dumbfounded, others embarrassed. “What? I was a kid.”

“Claire Dodsworth. I’ve never heard of her,” Susan said.

“You wouldn’t have. She ran off with the Fuller Brush man.” Bob laughed. “I kid you not. Can’t get much more postwar stereotypical than that. Unhappy housewife being swept off her feet by the traveling salesman. Doubt George Dodsworth ever said her name again in his life. He hired Elizabeth to take care of Barbara, who was a baby. Married her not long after.”

“So Elizabeth isn’t Barbara’s mom?” Jack said.

“Not biological, but Elizabeth always treated her like she was her own,” Shirley said.

“Does Barbara have any idea Elizabeth isn’t her mother?” Susan asked. She looked stricken with the thought.

Bob and Shirley exchanged a horrified look. “I don’t know,” Shirley said. “It wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t know anything about Claire.”

“That’s awful,” Kelly said.

“Things were different back then. Scandals were talked about more in hushed tones, not flouted all over the world like today,” Shirley said.

Ellie kept her eyes riveted to Shirley, fully aware that everyone, save Jack, was holding their breath for her reaction.

Shirley’s eyes widened as she realized her gaffe. She hurried on. “And a better thing, too. Sweep it under the rug and don’t talk about it. Barbara has had a perfectly good life without knowing about her mother.”

“I don’t know if you could say that,” Kelly said.

“Besides drive with the top down and skip town with a traveling salesman,” Jack interjected, “what else did Claire Dodsworth do to warrant that kind of silence?”

“She wasn’t from around here,” Bob said. “George brought her back from his time in the Army. She wasn’t ever part of the town. She wasn’t missed when she left.”

“That’s horrible,” Susan said.

“But that wasn’t all, was it? There was another reason why the town wanted to forget her,” Ellie said. When Bob and Shirley didn’t answer, Ellie answered for them. “She cheated on George, didn’t she?”

They nodded.

“With a lot of men?”

Ellie felt the weight of Jack’s eyes. She refused to look at him.

“Yes,” Bob said. “This was all a long time ago. The early ’60s sometime. Better left there, if you ask me.”

Kelly gasped. “You don’t think it’s the first Mrs. Dodsworth you found out there, do …”

“No,” Jack said, a little too quickly. Obviously, that’s what he thought. “The remains are probably more recent than that.”

Kelly’s son, Seth, walked up to the group. He was tall, over six feet, his naturally lanky figure sculpted with muscles. Seth had taken to wearing clothes that showed off his chiseled physique: tight T-shirts that bunched above his biceps, athletic shirts that acted like a second skin, showing off every dip and curve of his abdomen and highlighting the way his back tapered into his narrow hips. His transformation from child to man was so unsettling, Ellie often had to avert her eyes and remind herself he was her godson. “I have to go, Ellie,” Seth said. “Your store looks great.”

“Thanks, Seth.”

“Don’t be late, honey,” Kelly said. She rubbed her son’s shoulder and smiled. Seth nodded at everyone and left.

“I think he’s got a girlfriend,” Kelly said in a stage whisper. She fished her phone out of her back pocket. “But he won’t tell me who…. Jesus. This woman. Excuse me.” She walked off, greeting her caller with much more enthusiasm and professionalism than her initial reaction foreshadowed.

“Men like their secrets,” Shirley said.

“But the smart ones know better,” Bob said.

Ellie couldn’t help herself; she peeked at Jack. She saw tension in his jaw, his eyes narrow, but he kept them averted from her. Interesting.

“Where’s the mayor? I thought for sure she would be here,” Susan said.

“So did I,” Shirley said. She looked around as though she might suddenly see Jane in the dwindling crowd. “I thought she would want to see the first step in her grand plan take shape.”

Jack looked at Shirley. “Grand plan?”

“Ellie and Jane are working on attracting businesses back downtown and are working with a developer to rebuild the gaping holes in the square.”

“I would hardly describe cold-calling developers to gauge their interest a ‘grand plan.’ It’s all very preliminary,” Ellie said.

“Sounds promising,” Jack said.

“If anyone can pull it off, Ellie can,” Bob said. “She’s a great one for planning, our Ellie.”

“I have no doubt she can,” Jack said.

Brian looked at his watch. “Ellie, Susan and I need to get going. I have an early day.”

“Of course,” Ellie said. She moved forward and hugged Brian, then Susan. “Thanks so much for coming.”

Susan held her longer than normal. “Be careful,” she whispered.

Ellie squeezed her in reply. Susan and Kelly had always been the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other. Both wanted her happiness, but disagreed on how to get there. Ellie made each of them happy about half the time. Ellie pulled out of the embrace. “Thanks for coming,” she repeated.

The Grants’ departure opened the floodgates for others to leave as well. Ellie was saying goodbye to people and directing Barbara Dodsworth’s maids, hired for the night, in cleanup when she saw Jane’s housekeeper walk in. She and Shirley both dropped what they were doing and went to the old woman.

Marta Müller stood by the front display table, holding her purse in front of her, blinking like she was seeing light for the first time in years, which was somewhat apt. Besides grocery shopping and household errands, Marta did very little outside Jane’s house. She wasn’t exactly reclusive, but very close to it.

“Marta,” Ellie said. She put her hand on the woman’s arm. “Is everything okay?”

Marta’s eyes darted around the room before finally settling back on Ellie. Shirley was standing next to her now. “Marta. Is Jane all right?”

Mentioning Jane snapped Marta to attention. “Yes, Mrs. Underwood. She is well. A little under the weather. She wanted me to come and apologize for not attending your business party tonight.”

“Of course,” Ellie said. “Tell her I’ll stop by in the morning to check on her.”

The old woman nodded her head once in acknowledgment. “You have a very nice store.”

“Thank you. Would you like to look around?”

“Jane is very proud of you. She is not always easy with her feelings, but I can tell. She talks very highly of you.”

Ellie was taken aback. It was more than Marta had ever said to her in the thirty years she’d known her. “Thank you, Marta.”

Marta nodded once, again. Ellie glanced at Shirley, who was as obviously stunned as she. Marta jerked her chin toward the coffee bar. Jack leaned against the counter, talking to Bob and Paige. “Is that the new police chief?”

“Yes. Would you like to meet him?”

“Yes.”

Shirley brought Jack over.

“Jack, this is Marta Müller. She works for Jane Maxwell.”

Jack’s hesitation was so slight, Ellie wondered if she imagined it. His charming smile, easy demeanor, and genuine interest won Marta over immediately. Marta’s whiskery face blushed, turning the raised birthmark on her right cheek a deeper shade of red.

“It is terrible, what I hear of these murders,” Marta said.

“Yes. We’re doing everything we can to find out what happened.”

Marta jerked her head down. “It was not suicide, you are sure?”

“No. Not suicide.”

“Good. They will see their baby in heaven.” Some of the tension left the woman’s face and she smiled, though it looked more like a grimace from lack of practice.

“Did you know Rosa?”

“No.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. When he caught Ellie studying him, he relaxed and smiled.

“Would you like something to drink or eat, Marta? Let someone wait on you for a change?” Shirley said.

“No, no. I am fine. Though a book would be nice.”

“What do you like to read?” Shirley asked.

“Mystery, I think. Agatha Christie.”

Shirley motioned for Marta to come with her. “Right this way.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Ellie asked, “What?”

“What, what?”

She considered calling him on it: clearly, Jack thought Marta’s interest in the Ramos investigation was suspicious. She didn’t say anything, though. What business was it of hers? Ellie didn’t like gossip or busybodies but was acting like one herself. Instead she said, “Marta liked you.”

“What can I say? The old ladies love me.” He grinned.

“Then you moved to the right town.”

“Can we finish our conversation?”

“Looks like Ethan wants to leave.”

“He can wait.”

Jack was going to pester her until he said his piece, she could tell. Better to get it over with and move on. Plus, it would be easier to ignore how good-looking he was with the huge purple bruise around his right eye.

“Sure.”

At that moment, Kelly returned from the office, where she had taken the phone call from a client. “I swear that woman is going to be the end of me. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Party’s over anyway,” Ellie said.

“But I wanted to help you clean up.”

“That’s why I hired Esperanza and her friend. It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

“If you’re sure? It’s probably just as well. I’m going to be up all night pulling samples that I have already shown her and she’s rejected.” Kelly looked at Jack. “You leaving, too?”

“Not yet. Ellie asked me to give her security system a once over.”

“I thought Michael helped you out with that.”

“He did,” Ellie said.

“Freeman?” Jack asked.

“I was talking to him one day about Ellie moving in upstairs and the store and everything and he offered to help her with security,” Kelly said.

“Of course,” Jack said. “I am familiarizing myself with as many of the business security systems as I can. I thought since I was here …” he let the statement trail off.

“Right,” Kelly said. Ellie couldn’t look at her.

“I didn’t know you and Freeman were friends,” Jack said to Kelly.

“Well, it’s nothing romantic, I can assure you. Which, now that I think of it, I should probably be offended. He’s never even made a pass at me.”

Ellie laughed. “You’re something else.”

“Even if I dated I wouldn’t take him up on it. He’s a bit too,” she mimed a body-building pose, “for my tastes.” She addressed Jack. “Michael’s been like a brother to Seth. Helping him with his fitness routine. Taught us both how to shoot, helped us buy our guns.”

Ellie cringed.

“I know you don’t like guns,” Kelly said. “But it makes me feel safer having one around. You should have one, too. We’re going to another gun show this weekend. You could get one there. Skip the background check.” She put her hand up and pretended to tell Jack a secret. “She’s got a record a mile long.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Don’t tell Dixon at Top Gun though. He’ll be mad we aren’t buying from him. I think he’s a crook, but Mike likes him.”

“I’m not getting a gun,” Ellie said.

“Don’t you think she needs a gun?” Kelly asked Jack.

“If they make her that uncomfortable then she would only ending up accidentally hurting herself or someone else.”

“See?” Ellie said.

“Fine, I see I’m outnumbered.” She hugged Ellie and whispered in her ear, “Take a chance. You’ll enjoy it. Then call me with the details.”

“Bye, Kelly.”

“Bye, Chief,” Kelly said in a sing-song voice. “Bye, Paige.” She waved to Paige behind the bar.

Ellie sighed and with resignation, she said, “Come on.” She turned and walked away without looking at him.

“Dad, come on,” Ethan whined.

“This will only take a few minutes,” Jack replied.

“I need to buy the book,” Marta said.

“It’s on the house,” Ellie said.

Now that the conversation with Jack was imminent, she wanted to get rid of everyone as soon as possible. The sooner she got rid of them, the sooner she could get rid of Jack, too. “Shirley, you and Bob don’t have to help clean up. These ladies and I can take care of it.”

“Are you sure?”

Ellie waved her hand. “I’m sure. Go on. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Jack, call my office tomorrow,” Bob said.

“Will do.”

After hugs all around, smiles and waves, they were gone. Ethan sat on a stool at the bar. Ellie could feel his glare boring into her back and she and Jack disappeared into the office.

She leaned against the desk, crossed her arms, and waited. She met his gaze evenly and steadily and tried to remember why she had been so angry with him.

Thankfully, he didn’t beat around the bush. “You’ve been avoiding me tonight.”

“Yes, I have.”

“I hope it’s because you are so attracted to me, you’re worried you won’t be able to control yourself.”

“No.”

“Then it’s either because you’re mortified, which you said earlier, or you are so mad at me you might not be able to stop yourself from gouging my eyes out.”

“That’s more like it.”

“You have no reason to be mortified. Which, I’ve got to say, I love that you used that word. Most women would say embarrassed.”

“I’m glad you approve of my semantics.”

He stepped close to her. His eyes lingered on her lips. She clenched her jaw and stared him in the eyes. “But you have every right to be angry with me. I am a married man and I was shamelessly flirting with you. I want to explain.”

“What’s there to explain? You’re married. I get it.”

“What do you get?”

“I’ll admit I’m a bit surprised. You don’t seem like the type who would do that sort of thing.”

“I’m not.”

“You just admitted to shamelessly flirting with me while you were married.”

“Hey, you flirted with me too and you knew I was married.”

“I didn’t know for sure.”

“Yes, you did. And you didn’t care.”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “Okay, fine. We’re both reprehensible. This is the worst apology I’ve ever received, and that’s saying something.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Like what?”

“You would like it if I turned out to be just like every other shitty guy you’ve dated, married, or fucked.”

He could certainly rip her heart out like the others. “You’re doing a pretty good imitation of them.”

Jack took a deep breath and looked at the floor. “Okay. This is not going like I hoped at all.” He raised his eyes to Ellie. “Would you just let me talk for a bit, without interrupting, please? And uncross your arms.”

“Why?”

“Just humor me. Please.”

She uncrossed her arms, put them down at her side, immediately felt awkward, and grasped her hands in front of her.

Jack smiled. “Thank you.” He took a deep breath. “A year ago this coming Friday, I kissed my wife goodbye and went to work. When I came home, she was gone. Ethan had gone to a friend’s house after school, which meant I found the note. Thank God.

“The note said she was suffocating, needed space, time to find herself.” He pressed his lips together, stared hard at the floor. He jingled his keys in his pocket. “No idea of where she was going, when she would be back. Just a if you need me, email me. She left her phone on top of the note so I couldn’t even call her. She didn’t even mention Ethan.” Jack paused. “It was his fucking birthday.”

Ellie’s head jerked back. “Oh my God.”

“Yeah. When Ethan got home, I told him she had gone to her parents’ house for a bit, that there was some aunt or uncle or other who was sick. He accepted it pretty easily. Eventually, he asked questions. I told him as little as possible, just that we decided to take a break for a bit, all the while emailing her and begging her to come home, if not for me at least for Ethan. Nothing.”

He looked up at Ellie. “At first I was shocked, hurt. Devastated. As the weeks passed, I got angry. That’s not a good emotion for me. I did some things I regret.” He took another deep breath. “But it was the wake-up call I needed. Julie was gone and didn’t seem to want to come back or even care what happened to her son. Once I got past the anger, I realized I didn’t miss her. It had been years since we had the kind of relationship …” He caught himself. “Well, maybe one day I’ll bore you with the details. Today, tonight, I want you to know that, yep, I’m married, but in five days I won’t be.”

Ellie’s stomach dropped, but she remained silent.

“The state will grant a divorce if the spouse left with the intention of abandonment or has remained away for a least a year. As of Saturday, Julie’s done both.”

“Does Ethan know?”

Jack shook his head. “I’ve tried very hard not to poison him against her. Which basically means I’ve been lying to him for a year to protect his idea of her. I think I hate Julie for that more than anything.”

Ellie stared at the floor, not trusting herself to look at Jack. She didn’t know what to say or if he even wanted her to say anything. She also didn’t know what to feel. Relief was the strongest emotion—relief that her initial impression of him had been correct. Relief that there was a sliver of hope of this going somewhere.

He bent down, forced her to look at him, and smiled. “I’m not some philandering husband and I’m not toying with you.” He paused. “I like you very much. And I think you like me.” She looked away, suddenly shy.

“We hardly know each other.”

“I know enough.” He said it so simply, with the confidence that there was nothing he could ever learn about her that would change his opinion. She wasn’t so sure, though.

“Do you forgive me?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’m sorry I thought so little of you.”

“Señora?”

Ellie stepped back, like she’d been punched with an electric cattle prod. One of the maids stood in the doorway, her face bland. She looked only at Ellie.

“We are almost done,” she said.

Ellie cleared her throat and gave her a weak smile. “Excellent. Thank you, Esperanza. I’ll be right there.” The woman nodded and left.

Giddy with embarrassment, Ellie laughed and looked at Jack. Her smile faded. He was staring out the door, deep in thought.

“Jack?”

“Hmm?” He looked at her, but his mind was somewhere else.

“Ethan’s waiting.”

His face cleared. Jack reached out, put his hand on her hip, and pulled her to him. He smelled of long walks in the woods—pine and citrus and maybe a hint of cedar. His mouth was full, with a deep line in his lower lip that disappeared as he smiled. He pulled her closer, put his cheek against hers. His breath was warm on her ear when he said, “He can wait. You were right to think so little of me. I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the football game.” His right hand was at the small of her back, holding her close to him. His left hand was at the base of her neck, his fingers threaded through her hair. Ellie’s knees turned to water.

His lips travelled down her neck. She lifted her chin and closed her eyes, all sense of where she was forgotten. Jack interspersed kisses with whispered details of exactly what he’d been thinking the last few days. Her hands slid underneath his jacket and over his back. She trembled, imagining the vivid scene Jack described. How could anyone expect her to hold on to her objections beneath this onslaught?

“He’s married, you know.”

Ellie moved away so quickly she ran into the wall of the office with a resounding thud.

“Ethan!” Jack said. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!”

“I’ve been standing here a while.” Ethan stared at Ellie with such hatred she felt her skin burn.

Ellie didn’t know what to do with her arms. She crossed them over her stomach to try to stem her rising nausea. Please, God. Don’t let him have heard what Jack said. She swallowed the urge to vomit, though she was fairly sure she wouldn’t be able to resist later on.

After his initial outburst, Jack stared at his son in horror, completely at a loss.

“Ethan,” Ellie said.

“Don’t think you’re special. He’s screwed plenty of trashy women just like you. Why do you think my mom left?”

Jack lunged forward, sending the desk chair spinning. “That’s enough. Let’s go.” He grabbed Ethan’s arm, jerked him around, and marched him out of the office without a backward glance.

Ellie watched the chair as it spun to a stop. She buried her head in her hands and fought the urge to cry. This is why you always go with your gut. She dropped her hands and sighed. She could cry later. She had to finish cleaning up, pay Esperanza and her friend, count down the register, and close up the shop.

Ethan’s voice, full of excitement, rang through the store. “Uncle Eddie!”

Ellie heard Jack’s voice but couldn’t make out what he said. She walked out of the office and stopped at the buffet table, her eyes not believing the tableau she witnessed. Paige Grant was behind the counter, eyes round. Esperanza and the other woman stood near the door but off to the side, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible but watching everything. Next to Michael Freeman, Ethan hugged a man in handcuffs—a man who looked eerily similar to Jack.

“Eddie? What the hell are you doing here?” Jack said.

“Well, when the bat signal goes up, I am morally obligated to respond.”

Jack turned to Ethan. “You called Eddie?”

“Well, yeah. When you got beat up, it was either him or Lieutenant Governor Grandma.”

Jack rubbed his forehead. “Why are you in handcuffs?”

“He was speeding,” Freeman said.

“Do we arrest people for speeding in Stillwater?”

“Well, he was going eighty in a thirty-five. When I stopped him, he was belligerent, uncooperative, and I suspected he was driving under the influence.”

“I was not,” Eddie said.

“So I searched him.” Freeman didn’t continue.

Jack apparently didn’t need him to. He nodded his head. “Right. Thanks, Freeman. I’ll take care of it.”

“I should …”

“Nathan is probably waiting for you at the station for the shift change. Go on.”

Reluctantly, Freeman left.

Jack removed keys from his pocket, stepped behind Eddie, and removed the cuffs. “Jesus, Eddie.”

“Hey, that dude has a serious hard-on for authority.” He looked at Ethan. “Sorry, kid.”

“Like every other cop you’ve ever met, right, Eddie?” Jack put the cuffs in his pocket and caught Ellie’s eye, who was now standing in front of the coffee bar. She couldn’t read Jack’s expression. Eddie rubbed his wrists and followed Jack’s gaze. He smiled, a little too knowingly for Ellie’s comfort.

“Come on,” Jack said. “Let’s go.”

The tiny bell jingled over the door and they were gone. Esperanza and her friend—Ellie really needed to learn her name—were looking down at the table of books next to them.

“You can go, Paige. I’ll lock up.”

“Oh my God,” Paige said. “They’re twins.”

Ellie thought of the two brothers standing next to each other, completely different and alarmingly alike.

“Apparently so,” Ellie replied. “I’ll get your money, Esperanza.”

She got the cash from the safe and returned to the front when the door bell jingled again. Bob Underwood walked through the door.

“Will this night ever end?” Ellie said under her breath. She smiled broadly and said, “Forget something, Bob?”

“No. Is Jack gone?”

“Yes.” Thank God. “Is something wrong?”

Bob glanced at the two women and away. Ellie took the hint. She paid the two ladies and they left, Paige right behind. Ellie locked the door behind them.

“What’s up?” she said.

“I should probably talk to Jack about it.”

Ellie lifted her hands. “Fine by me, Bob.”

“Are you okay?”

She sighed. “No, I’m not. I’ve had a horrible night.”

“I thought it all went very well.”

“It did. After, not so much.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Bob asked because he knew it was expected of him, not out of any real desire to know what was going on. Bless him, he was a sweet man but not one who engendered confidences. Strange, considering he was a lawyer and confidences were his business. Ellie was sure Shirley would call her first thing in the morning to grill her unless she distracted him.

“I’m fine. Did you want to talk to Ja—Chief McBride about the first Mrs. Dodsworth?”

“How did you know?”

“I could tell you were holding something back earlier.”

Bob shook his head in disbelief. “I should know better than to try to fool you.” He cleared his throat.

“Do you remember when she left town?”

“No. But I remember when she came back.”

“She came back?”

“Yes. Nineteen sixty-one. I remember because it was my fifteenth birthday. I overheard my brother and his friend talking about her.”

“Your brother? I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“He died in Vietnam.”

“Who were his friends?”

“Walt Dixon and Buck Pollard.”