She’s dressed in simple khaki pants and a green sweater. Her hair hangs down her back, and her long bangs obscure her eyes. Still, I can read her body language. Her lips are tight, and her shoulders are rounded.

  If she feels bad, I don’t care. She should feel bad.

  Anger tightens my throat, and I redirect my eyes to Doug. “Also, collect Gwen Bailey’s firearm for ballistics testing.”

  I feel her eyes snap to me, but I turn on my heel and leave the room. We’ve got work to do, and if she has a problem with it, she can talk to her grandmother.

  Workers are dismantling the remainder of the festival equipment when I arrive at the fairgrounds. It’s odd doing this alone. In the past, I had Doug with me to inspect a crime scene, then I had her.

  Now, walking down what was the midway, I’m assaulted by memories of strolling hand in hand, stopping at the booths, dunking Doug. Her mood had been mixed leading up to the day, and I’d been worried it was something I had done. My chest heats when I remember texting her, asking that very question.

  It wasn’t me.

  A loud noise overhead draws my attention, and like a gut punch, I see the remainder of the Ferris wheel slowly being dismantled. I don’t want to remember her straddling my lap, my face buried in her tits, her hips rocking against my hand. I don’t want to think about how good it felt to have her in my arms. I believed we had something real, but it was only hormones and chemistry.

  Steeling my resolve, I continue to what was the corn maze. Now it’s an empty space roped off with yellow crime scene tape. Most of our documentation is complete, but the scene is still ours for a few more days to investigate.

  I walk to the spot where the body was found, and I inspect the area behind it, where Edward had picked up the scent of the boot we found at Terra’s. A flat path disappears into the stalks, and just as Britt said, a trail of narrow tire tracks leads towards the road.

  I can’t tell if they were made by a car or a trailer, and it doesn’t take long before they’re lost in the mix of tracks from all the vehicles used to haul in the equipment for the large children’s area.

  Whoever dumped Gary’s body planned it so we wouldn’t be able to follow him or her. I’ll ask the Beaufort guys to inspect the tracks and see if there’s any way to make sense of them. I’ll tell Doug they need to come out here and be sure every little detail is documented.

  I think of Britt carefully examining Terra’s field and studying the alley behind Holly’s house. I was so impressed by her thoroughness. I have to trust she’ll be as thorough again, knowing I’ve got my eye on her mother.

  My jaw tightens, and I know she will. I’m angry that I know she will.

  I’ve done all I can do here, and I’m walking back to my truck. We’ll know a lot more once we have the coroner’s report and ballistics. I need to take a long lunch so I can get a workout at the gym or go for a long run. I need to burn this tension out of my chest, then I’ll see what I can find out about Stan Roswell.

  Being so close to this, with how much it’s linked to her family, feels like I’m walking through the past, reliving my dad’s frustration with Gwen and her persistence about knowing every detail of Lars’s case.

  Lars Bailey attempted a stunt where he was bound in a straight jacket and locked in a metal trunk then dropped into the ocean fifty yards from the shore. Boats and emergency workers were all on hand, but he was an escape artist. The point was to let him escape.

  A huge crowd was gathered on the shore watching the performance, and a screen was erected to give them a close-up view of the surface of the water where the black metal coffin-shaped box was lowered. It sank all the way to the bottom.

  He was supposed to be free in less than two minutes. I remember it so clearly.

  Lars had always fascinated me with his tricks, and he always had a new one every Memorial Day weekend. I was seventeen, just graduated high school, watching with my dad on the sheriff’s boat.

  Five minutes passed, and the surface of the water remained quiet. We all strained our eyes, waiting for him to break through the currents, arms extended in a triumphant V over his head, like always.

  I remember looking over at the boat where Gwen and Edna waited, and straining my memory, I try to remember seeing a little girl. She would’ve been ten… I was way too focused on the dark blue water, a sick feeling in my stomach as another minute passed, as silence held the spectators on shore, as the tension grew stronger.

  At the seven-minute mark, my dad said to call it. Lars’s team said to wait. He should have been fine. He was in a sealed box. At the ten-minute mark, Dad insisted something was wrong, too much time had passed, and they finally relented.

  I’ll never forget the chains raising the box from the water. It was too heavy, they were getting too much resistance. When it finally broke the surface, streams of water gushed from the broken seals. Everyone gasped, a woman’s screams turned to wails, and a pit was in my stomach.

  Lars Bailey was dead.

  By Friday, we’ve ruled out Gwen’s gun as having fired the shot that killed Gary Blue, and we’ve verified he had no alcohol or drugs in his system. We were also able to establish his time of death as late Friday night.

  Doug and Britt thoroughly documented the scene at his cabin and at the fairground, but even with all this information, we’re left with as many questions as answers. They’re all focused on what’s missing.

  We can’t find Gary’s prosthesis, and there are no signs of a three-wheel ATV anywhere. Holly’s chickens haven’t been recovered. We haven’t even found signs of chickens, which are pretty hard to hide, and we found no trace of white boards or paint.

  For that matter, I’m starting to think the mysterious signs are the work of a different person altogether, and considering they’re relatively harmless, I’m taking them off the table.

  Suicide is still on the table, but after all Gwen said, I’d like to find this Stan Roswell and question him.

  I’ve managed to keep all of this out of the press. The last thing we need is a swarm of reporters and social media types sticking their noses in everything and getting in our way. The worst are “true-crime detectives,” also known as meddling amateurs.

  Of course, Piper Jackson, Eureka’s very own Lois Lane, has been at the courthouse snooping around since Day 1. When I told her no comment, she immediately drifted to her bestie’s area. It provoked the one word I’ve said to Britt all week. A solid no.

  Her green eyes blinked wide with surprise, but she nodded, cutting her eyes to her friend and shaking her head.

  “Are you helping solve crimes, ole boy?” Friday also means Owen is with me in the office, and the sound of him playing with Edward at Britt’s desk is like tiny knives stabbing my stomach. “You’re wishing you could win another race, aren’t you? Are you coming over to our house tonight, Miss Britt?”

  “Ahh… not tonight.” I can tell she’s not sure how much he knows.

  Nothing. He knows nothing.

  I turn slightly, speaking to him. “You’re headed to Gram’s tonight, Owen. Ryan and Pinky will be there. In fact, we need to get going.”

  “Okay.” His enthusiasm dims slightly. “I haven’t forgotten about you, ole boy! We’ll play together real soon, don’t you worry.”

  He hops up and gives Britt a hug. I try not to notice her squeezing him back because it fucking sucks to feel this angry at her and still know she cares about my kid.

  Driving Owen the short distance to my mother’s house is a little like water torture. Slow drips driving me insane.

  “Edward’s such a good dog. I’m sure he misses chasing after my socks. Are we going to have them over for dinner again? Maybe we could get together at a park or I could go to Miss Britt’s and play while you’re at work. Maybe I could take Edward for a walk again, or we could see what else he can find…”

  He doesn’t stop talking, and I’m starting to wish Santa and I had gotten on the same page at Christmas and got him a damn puppy.

  “We’ll see.” Is as much as I say.

  Mom is thrilled to have “her babies” at the house for another Friday night. I hang around the door, wondering what I’m going to do alone in my empty house with my son gone for the night. It took less than a month for me to get used to the possibility of her.

  “Hey, there’s the old Aiden face I know and love.” My youngest brother drifts over to where I’m shadowing the door of my mother’s house. “Why the scowl?”

  “I’m not really in the mood, Adam.” My voice is flat, and I couldn’t be more honest.

  “Feel like having a drink with me? Just because Alex is out of town doesn’t mean we can’t open the tasting room.”

  I hesitate a moment. Hanging with my brother is a recipe for annoyance. At the same time, I don’t want to drink alone tonight.

  “Sure. Let’s go.”

  He follows me out, and it’s not long before we’re seated on polished wood barstools at the reclaimed oak and brass bar inside our family’s distillery.

  “A little single barrel for you.” Adam pours two fingers in my glass. “And some special reserve for me.”

  I lift the tumbler, clinking it to his, and we take a sip of the smooth bourbon whiskey I’ve been using to kill the pain for the last five days.

  “Talk to me, bro. What happened with you and Britt?” He leans on his forearms.

  “She didn’t tell you?”

  “Not a word. She just thanked me for bringing Edward home and said she had a headache, which in my experience is always code for something else.”

  I decide I don’t care. I’m tired of carrying this alone.

  “She’s just like them.” It’s as much as I’m able to get out.

  My voice is thick, and the weight of emotion pressing down on my chest catches me off-guard.

  “Them… who?”

  Taking another sip, I’m able to continue. “The Baileys. They’re all tricky con artists, bending the truth to suit their purposes. I thought she was different, but she’s not.”

  Adam’s brow furrows, and he rubs his finger over the lip of his glass. “We’re talking about Britt Bailey?” I cut my eyes at him like don’t play with me, and he holds up both hands. “Just checking because I’m pretty good friends with Britt, and that doesn’t sound like her at all.”

  Pain twists in my stomach, and I polish off the rest of my drink. He’s quick to pour me another inch. “She lied to me. I was going along, thinking everything was great, and the whole time, she was keeping secrets and lying… just like Annemarie.”

  “What did Britt lie about?”

  “Gwen.” It comes out a growl. “Gwen knew who our suspect was. More importantly, she knew where he was, and when Britt found out, she didn’t say a word. She went a whole week smiling to my face and going behind my back.”

  My brother nods solemnly, pouring himself another shot. “That shit with Annemarie was fucked up.”

  “It was.” I clink my glass against his.

  “A whole year, sneaking around, sending letters. I mean, who even sends letters anymore? It’s like she wanted to get caught.”

  He’s saying the words, and my stomach tightens along with my jaw. “What’s your point?”

  Blue eyes lift to mine, and if he says what I think he’s about to say, I might punch him.

  “I remember this one time when we were in school, and Cass wanted Piper to write her English paper for her. Even then, Piper was killer at writing. Always got the A.”

  It’s not what I thought he was going to say, and my jaw relaxes. “Okay?”

  “Britt wouldn’t hear of it. She told them it was cheating and if they did it, she wouldn’t be their friend anymore. Ultimately, they didn’t do it.”

  I don’t like the sting of pride fighting with the anger in my stomach.

  He takes one look at my face and finishes. “I’ve known Britt a long time. She might be vulnerable to her mom’s games, but what she did is not the same as what Annemarie did. It’s not even in the same universe.”

  “It’s the lie, Adam. We spent the whole weekend together, and she never said a word.” I think about how she acted those days, the way she left so abruptly Friday night. “She knew she was doing wrong.”

  “You’ve heard that saying, ‘To forgive is divine’?” He squints up at me.

  “And you’ve heard the saying, ‘Fool me once’?”

  His lips press together, and he nods. “Yeah, but Britt’s not like Gwen, and she’s definitely not like Annemarie. She’s sweet, she’s serious, and she cares. If anyone deserves a second chance, it’s her.”

  I finish my drink, ready to be done here for the night. “I’ve had enough of second chances.”

  “So you’re going to lose a girl, one who made you smile for the first time in five years, because she didn’t rat out her mom?”

  Standing off my stool, I point at him. “Saying it that way makes it sound like it’s no big deal.” He chews the side of his lip, but to his credit, he doesn’t say it. “I’m not going to hold somebody in my arms, trust her with my son, if she can’t be honest.”

  “Everybody makes mistakes.”

  “Some mistakes are harder to forgive than others.”

  CHAPTER 24

  BRITT

  “I think I’m going to die.” I’m lying on my couch with my head in Cass’s lap. “Everything hurts. It’s like a sinkhole has opened in the middle of my chest, and it’s swallowing me whole, crushing all my bones.”

  Six days ago, my life was practically perfect. I had a great job, my own place, I was home again, and I had a gorgeous man to hold my hand, calm my fears… and give me incredible orgasms.

  Then on the seventh day it all went to hell.

  I can still feel his soft hair in my fingers, his lips on my breasts, his mouth claiming mine. I can still feel the warmth of his palm against my inner thigh as we descended from heaven on the Ferris wheel.

  We should’ve stayed in Eureka on Sunday and had sex. We should’ve gone to the beach with his brother and Owen.

  I should’ve told him when I had the chance.

  Every day this week Doug has been upbeat and cheerful, expressing amazement at my work and complimenting me on how smart I am for putting together a theory based on all that’s missing.

  Then every night, I would come home and lie on the couch and cry. Or eat. Or drink.

  Finally, this afternoon I went to Gran and told her I should go back to Greenville. As expected, she forcefully rejected the idea.

  “You’re going to stay right here and do the job I hired you to do. A killer is on the loose, and you have to help us find him.”

  Blinking down to my lap, I fought the sting of tears in my eyes. “I hurt him, Gran.”

  My voice was just above a whisper, and she was out of her chair, circling her desk to pull me into a hug before the first tear could fall. Resting my cheek on her shoulder, I closed my eyes as the pain twisted my chest.

  “I’ve always tried to make the right decisions. I was the good girl, the straight-A student.”

  “You made a mistake, child.” Her soothing voice did little to ease my pain. “Love can be tricky when family grudges are there. But I made peace with Andrew Stone. His son is a good man, if a bit closed-minded, and I bet you can help him with that.”

  “I can’t help anything. I only screw everything up.”

  Holding my shoulders, she smoothed her hands in the sides of my hair. “It was your first time being put in that situation, but you’re learning.”

  “He won’t give me another chance.”

  “He will.”

  “You don’t understand. He’s been hurt before. I didn’t think what I did was the same, but I guess from his side, it feels that way. He’ll never forgive me.”

  “He might.” She gave me a little smile. “I think he’d be a fool not to.”

  I hugged her, wishing she could be right.

  Confiscating my mother’s gun turned my misery into anger. I almost let Doug do it himself, because I wasn’t sure I could see her without letting her have it.

  In the end, I was a professional and did my job.

  “What does Aiden Stone want with my gun?” she groused, unloading it and packing it in her case. “He’s wasting time as usual and leaving me unprotected.”

  “He’s following procedure.” I couldn’t keep the edge out of my voice. “Hiding evidence makes you appear suspicious.”

  “You think I killed Gary?” Her eyes flashed to me.

  “No.”

  She pushed her hair over her shoulder, lifting her chin. “At least he hasn’t turned you against your family.”

  “He’s actually not even speaking to me now. Happy?”

  Silence fell around us, and when she answered, her tone actually sounded contrite. “No, I’m not happy if you’re sad. It’s possible Aiden might be good for you in some ways. At least he sounded good in one way.”

  “That’s it. I’m leaving.” I picked up her gun and put it in my bag, starting for the door where Doug waited patiently, smiling like the conversation didn’t take an awkward turn.

  “Waste all the time you want.” Mom followed me slowly to the door. “I’m doing my own research.”

  My eyes blinked closed, and I was almost afraid to ask. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’ll find Stan, and when I do, I’ll make him confess he killed Lars and Gary, and I’ll make him tell me why he’s doing all this. That’ll show the arrogant Sheriff Stone.”

  “You’re not to leave town, and if I find out you did, I will tell Aiden this time, and he’ll probably put you in jail.”

  Holding up both hands, she turned towards the kitchen. “I heard. I’m not planning to leave town.”

  “Then how are you going to get his confession?”

  “I pulled out the spell book and did it the old-fashioned way.”

  “You cast a spell.” A growl rumbled in my throat, and I couldn’t deal with her another minute.

  I motioned to Doug, and we brought her gun to the station where not surprisingly, it wasn’t a match.