I drove home in a daze while my mind turned it all over.

Scarlett had found a red cardigan sweater tucked away in her father’s things. A sweater she identified as Callie’s. Shortly after the discovery, Scarlett had pleaded exhaustion, and I’d driven her home. And then I hadn’t seen her again for two days. When she finally did come back around, it was with the idea that we were too incompatible to make this relationship work beyond a summer in Bootleg.

I slapped the steering wheel in frustration.

She’d cut me out. She’d kept something huge from me when I was the one person who could help her. If that sweater was indeed the one that Callie Tucker had last been seen wearing, the Bodines could use an attorney. There’d be an investigation. The press would swarm all over a new development in a cold case like this. That kind of attention would bleed over into everything, turning their private lives into a public circus…

And that’s why she was ending things with me.

I pulled into the driveway and dropped my head against the seat.

There’d been no sign of the sheriff or any other law enforcement next door, and if Scarlett had reported the sweater, I was certain word would have spread like fire. I could only assume that she’d decided to keep the discovery to herself… perhaps her brothers as well.

I was having a lot of feelings about this. Conflicting ones. Scarlett didn’t trust me to let me in on this. And I wasn’t going to let that stop me from helping.

I carted the groceries inside and stashed them away. I grabbed a water, my laptop, and a legal pad and set up shop in Estelle’s tiny office. Research was one of my nerd-like obsessions. I excelled at finding answers.

Starting with the original articles of the disappearance, I dug in. The articles were mostly local at first and then spreading nationwide as hours turned to days and days turned to weeks. They shared the same information over and over again. The last people who saw her were teenage friends who had gathered at the lake on a rocky beach often frequented by locals on the warm July night.

Witnesses—some of whom I’ve met including Nash, Misty Lynn, and Cassidy Tucker—recalled seeing her walk back toward town on Hooch Road. According to her parents, Judge and Mrs. Kendall, Callie never made it back to their house on the lakefront Speakeasy Drive.

I printed out a map and highlighted her potential path. The beach that she’d left was less than an eighth of a mile from the Bodine house, but she’d have walked in the opposite direction toward town, keeping the lake on her left as she traveled west.

She’d been wearing a long sleeve cardigan on a hot summer night. Which I found odd. Wasn’t it usually warm enough to forgo a sweater? Curiosity had me calling up an image search. The pictures all showed a pretty young girl with a shy smile who always wore long sleeves. I scratched another note and moved on to the next thread to tug on.

I gave myself two hours to binge on everything related to Callie’s disappearance. I stumbled on a forum of conspiracy theories about the disappearance. The rabbit hole danger was real, but I did make a list of every suspect forum members named. It was a short list, and it didn’t include Jonah Bodine Sr. or any of the Bodine boys. I needed to know who had been investigated, interviewed. I needed access to those notes.

I tapped out a beat with my pen on the tablet now scrawled with notes.

There was one person that Scarlett trusted implicitly. And she was the same person who could get me information. I debated for a solid ten minutes, weighing just how pissed off Scarlett would be at me for making the call against what I could learn from it.

She didn’t want my help, but she was damn well going to get it.

* * *

Thirty minutes later I pulled up a chair next to Cassidy Tucker at The Lookout. She wasn’t wearing her deputy uniform, and it made me feel like I was just having a casual conversation.

“If this is about Scarlett’s favorite kind of diamond, you might as well save your money, Dev. She promised her mama she wouldn’t get married before thirty,” Cassidy said hefting her beer.

I caught Nicolette’s eye and pointed at Cassidy’s beer.

“This isn’t about diamonds,” I said. “This is about something… delicate.”

Cassidy’s eyes narrowed. Nicolette dropped my beer off with a nod and left again. “Define delicate.”

“Say I was representing the family of someone accused of a crime.” I waited a beat and looked at her hard. I wanted to know if Scarlett had already spilled to Cassidy.

“Jesus, what did Scarlett do now?”

“Scarlett didn’t do anything this time. No one did anything. Let’s say this is all hypothetical.”

“I’m not liking how this conversation is going,” she said, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms. She had the cool, flat eyes of a cop.

“Did a good friend of yours come to you recently with something he or she found?” I asked.

“Like what? A missing dog?”

“Like something connected to a crime.”

“What are you getting at, Devlin?”

I waited a beat and repeated the question.

Cassidy sighed, grudgingly. “No. No one brought me any evidence recently.”

Scarlett trusted Cassidy with her life but not with this. Either I’d have to trust her, or I needed to get up and walk out of here right now.

“Spill, McCallister.”

I leaned in and lowered my voice. “What if someone found something in a deceased relative’s house? Something that was connected to the biggest crime ever committed in Bootleg?” I asked.

Cassidy stiffened. She glanced around us and leaned in. “What did Scarlett find?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Let’s say my client,” I said.

“Fine. What did your client find?” Cassidy asked.

“First, what wouldn’t you do for Scarlett Bodine?” I pressed.

Cassidy’s eyebrows winged up toward her hairline. “What wouldn’t I do? There’s not a damn thing in this world that I wouldn’t do for her. If she needs help burying a body, I’m there with a shovel and duct tape.”

I nodded. It was the answer I wanted. And I believed her.

“What was Callie Tucker wearing when she disappeared?”

“Cut off shorts, a blue tank top, red sweater, and blue flip-flops.” She rattled off the list, and I remembered that Cassidy had been one of the last people to see Callie alive.

“My client,” I said, placing emphasis on the words, “found a red cardigan sweater that matches the description tucked away in her deceased parents’ possessions.”

Cassidy leaned in until we were almost nose to nose. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she hissed.

I shook my head and glanced around to make sure none of the bar flies were listening.

“And she told you and not me?” Cassidy hissed. “And she didn’t go to the cops? What is wrong with her? I’m going to kill her.”

I put a hand on her arm. “She didn’t tell me. I was there when she found it. But she didn’t tell me that it’s what Callie was wearing when she disappeared.”

“Then why are you here? How did you find out?”

I shrugged. “I connected the dots. I’m guessing Scarlett’s trying to handle this on her own. Whatever that means.”

“If word gets out that the first clue in a decade has turned up in that case, we’ll have the state police and FBI and media crawling all over this place. Jesus, Judge Kendall just got back in town.”

I nodded. “And the Bodines will be under the microscope.”

She flopped back in her chair. “Dang it, Devlin. I thought you asked me here to talk about engagement rings.”

I looked into the depths of my beer. “I wish. Scarlett decided this is just a summer fling and that, when I go back to Annapolis, we’re over.”

“What?” Cassidy slapped a hand on the table. My beer sloshed over the rim. “That girl is ass over head in love with you.”

“She said we wouldn’t work. Said she’d be a liability to my career.”

“Because of the sweater,” Cassidy sighed, connecting the dots. “She doesn’t want you to get dragged into the circus.”

“I think that’s why she didn’t tell you either,” I pointed out.

“Well fuck her,” Cassidy announced, picking up her beer. “I’m going to help the shit out of her.”

“We both will. Whether she wants us to or not,” I agreed.