“Mr. King.” Margaret greeted me as I walked into the office. Her iron-gray curls and cloying perfume had been a constant at the front desk of King & Morris for as long as I could remember.

“Morning, Margaret.” I strode past her, the familiar creaks in the one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old floor another reminder of how neither the office nor the people in it ever seemed to change. To me, the stasis was comforting, like a child’s well-loved blanket.

The double doors to my father’s office were closed, but a light shone through the crack. He was an early riser, so it was no surprise he was already hard at work.

I glanced at the long line of portraits as I made my way down the hall, each one an image of a King or a Morris lawyer, their hair and clothing styles changing with the decades. Each one gave me a gruff stare, silently telling me to get to work, do a good job, and keep the family names unblemished. I wouldn’t let them down.

My secretary’s desk was empty as I strode past. I mentally made a black mark against Jenny for it. Other than death, there was never any good excuse for missing work. I’d been out of law school for ten years, never missed a day at the firm.

“Hey, tight ass, was wondering when you’d show up.” Porter sat in my office chair, his dusty boots propped on my spotless desk. “Can’t believe I beat you here.”

“Put your feet down and get out of my office.” I smoothed my tie, even though there was no chance at it having a wrinkle. Not on my watch.

The morning sun streamed through the wide wood shutters along the side of my office, and a slight twitch pulled at the corner of my eye as my valuable time ticked away.

“Don’t be a dick.” Porter swung his feet down but snagged the hat off his head and dropped it on my keyboard. I could almost feel the grime from it transferring to the keys.

“What do you want?” I unbuttoned my dark suit coat and crossed my arms over my chest.

“First, I’d like it if you got the stick out of your ass.” He grinned, his easy charm lost on me. “Go ahead and move that to the top of your to-do list. Second, we need to talk about Dad’s birthday party.”

I ignored his initial request and moved on to the birthday party. “What about it?”

The clacking sound in the hallway told me Jenny had finally arrived.

“Sorry I’m late, Mr. King. A logging truck spilled all over the—” She walked into the room and stopped, her gaze stilling on my brother. “Well if it isn’t Sheriff King.”

Porter flicked his badge and winked at her. “Yes, ma’am, here to maintain law and order. It’s my job around these here parts.”

She giggled like a schoolgirl, a rose hue rising into her spray-tanned cheeks.

I didn’t have time for this. “Porter, this isn’t even your jurisdiction. We’re inside the Azalea city limits.”

Porter cocked his head to the side, his eyes squinting as he tried, and failed, to do the math. “So that means…”

“That means you have to defer to the city police department. You’re the county sheriff. This is the city.”

His grin resurfaced. “I know that, man. I’m just yanking your chain.”

I wasn’t so sure. “You’re wasting my time. I have work to do.”

Porter plucked my fountain pen from my desk and twirled it in his fingers. “We need to talk about Dad’s birthday.”

“Can I get you boys some coffee, drinks, anything?” Jenny practically purred the words.

Porter gave her an up and down perusal. One I’d seen too many times to count. This wouldn’t end well.

“Yeah, I’d like to take a drink of y—”

“No thank you, Jenny.” I turned to her, her gaze roving back and forth between us. “We have family business to discuss. Please close the door on your way out.” I punctuated the word “out” with a stern glare. At least she followed my instructions—but only after swaying her hips so hard I thought she might knock something out of joint.

Once the door clicked shut, Porter whistled. “You hit that yet?”

“No, of course not. We have a strict no-fraternization policy, and she’s only twenty-three.” And I’m simply not interested in vapid women who gossip more than they work.

“Oh, come on. She’s not too young for you, and definitely not for me. You’re what?” He tapped his fingers on his chin. “Thirty-two now? Why do you act like it’s seventy-two? You’re worse than Dad. At least he flirts with Widow Brewer every chance he gets. Not to mention what he gets up to with ol’ Letty. Let’s see. The last girl you dated was, hmm.”

I hadn’t seriously dated anyone in a while. Dating was a distraction, and all the women in Azalea who gravitated toward me were focused on getting their Mrs. Degree with a specialty in King. No, thanks. “I have things to do. Unlike some people who lucked up on a position that was way out of their skill range, I actually have to work for a living.”

He smirked. “I totally have the skill set to be sheriff.”

“You worked as a process server for a couple years, and now, thanks to this foolish county, you’re a glorified process server with a badge.” I walked the rest of the way to the desk, snatched his hat from it, and handed it to him. “If you want to discuss Dad’s party, we should wait until Charlotte is back in town.”

“Yeah, but I had this great idea. You know how he was the king of Mardi Gras over in New Orleans when he was, I don’t know, twenty or something?”

I shook my head. “I think that story was made up.”

He shrugged, the black radio attached to his shoulder wobbling a little. “Whatever. How about we throw him a Mardi Gras party? Let him be the king of ceremonies again. He’d love it! Maybe we could even find a date for you. Some gal who likes stuffy types. A librarian or something.”

“Out.” I tossed his hat onto the visitor’s chair and walked around to him. He stood and ran a hand through his dark blond hair. “I thought we were really having a moment there. You were going to open up to me about why you’ve always had a corn cob wedged between your cheeks, then we were going to discuss party planning, curl our hair, maybe stay up late and talk about what boys we liked.” He stepped out of the way as I swiped the grit off my desk.

A brown smudge marred the edge of my planner. No way that was coming out.

“If that’s all you have to discuss—”

A knock sounded on the door, and Jenny’s voice rang out. “Mr. King?”

“Yes?” Porter and I answered in unison.

I shook my head. “You’re Sheriff King now, remember?”

He plopped his hat on his head. “Right you are, big brother.” He opened the door for Jenny whose cheeks somehow seemed even pinker, her lips too red.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Kitston is here to see your father, but he isn’t answering his phone. Would you mind checking on him? I’d go myself, but…”

“He scares you, huh?” Porter’s voice was conspiratorial. “Afraid he’ll chase you around the office like an episode of Mad Men?”

She laughed and placed her hand on his forearm. “You’re so funny.”

I stifled my irritation and walked toward the front of the office as Porter and Jenny trailed behind me, their tone hushed. I knocked on Dad’s door. No answer.

“Dad, Mr. Kitston is here about his will.” My voice seemed to stop at the wood, but surely he would have heard me. I glanced over at Porter as a cold sensation rushed up my spine. “Maybe he’s not here?”

He shrugged and turned his attention back to Jenny. “Now, about that coffee, sweetheart.”

I gripped the right door handle. “Dad? I’m coming in.”

Pushing the door open, I found Dad sitting at his desk. Everything seemed exactly the same as I remembered it.

Except the smell. And the blood everywhere. And Jenny’s piercing scream.