“If you have no further questions for my clients, we’ll leave you to do your jobs.” Jayme, our surprise lawyer, was a shark in a sleek pantsuit and sky-high heels. She’d nearly tackled me and my brothers on our way into the police station, claiming to be our representation. Jayme had already been briefed on our situation and claimed that a friend had called in a favor. I assumed it was Sheriff Tucker worried about us Bodines. Old habits were hard to break.

Sheriff Tucker exchanged a long look with the homicide detective who’d driven in to stick his nose into the case. Detective Connelly wore his years of experience in the deep lines of his face. “We’ll do our best to keep your clients’ names out of this mess,” Sheriff Tucker promised. “But with forensics going over their daddy’s house, it’s only a matter of time before every busybody in the tri-county area knows.”

Gibson shifted in his chair, no happier about a team of investigators ripping through our childhood home than I was.

“We appreciate every effort you make to ensure my clients’ privacy.” Jayme said, cool as the cucumber eye masks at Bootleg Springs Spa.

I took my cue from her and stood up while she packed her briefcase. “Gentlemen,” I said, nodding at the sheriff I’d known my entire life. His mustache twitched. And I knew this was as hard on him as it was on us.

Cassidy was pacing outside the door and grabbed me by the tank top straps. “You were in there for fucking ever!”

“Excuse me, deputy. My clients and I were just leaving.” Jayme hauled me out of Cassidy’s grip and through the back door of the station where our lawyer had ordered Gibson to park in the alley. “We’re having a meeting,” she announced. “Where can we go?”

“We can go to my house,” I sighed.

“I’ll follow you.” Jayme slid behind the wheel of a sexy little crossover vehicle.

I climbed in the backseat behind Bowie.

“Well, that was fun,” Jameson drawled.

“We did the right thing,” Bowie said. “Callie’s father has a right to know, and who knows? Maybe they’ll turn up evidence that leads them to the real killer.”

Gibson’s eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. Neither one of us said anything. It was a tentative truce.

“I can’t believe you went to Cassidy behind my back,” I said, slapping Bowie’s head from behind.

“Ow! What are you talking about? She said you went to her.”

I leaned around the seat and grabbed my brother in a chokehold. “Are you sayin’ you didn’t tell her?” I demanded, applying just enough pressure to make him uncomfortable.

“Gibs, I’m gonna kill you for teachin’ her this one,” Bowie gasped.

“Swear it, Bow! Swear you didn’t tell Cassidy,” I growled.

He slapped at my arm. “I didn’t say a damn word to anyone.”

“Wrote an unsigned letter? Made an anonymous call? Hired a sketchy skywriter?” I pressed.

His neck was turning a deep shade of raspberry.

“Jesus, Scar. I swear I didn’t tell anyone.”

I released him and sat back to glare at Jameson. He held up a hand before I could attack from the side. “It wasn’t me either.”

All eyes slid to Gibson.

“Don’t look at me. I’ve been holed up in the workshop for three days. I didn’t even see the sweater.”

“None of y’all talked?”

Gibson made the turn into my driveway. “How do we know you didn’t tell her?”

“I did tell her but only because she already knew!”

Jayme pulled in next to us, and I couldn’t help but look next door. Jonah’s car was in the driveway, but there was no sign of Devlin’s. Was he already gone? Had he really vanished from my life just like that? It was what he needed to do, what he should do. But why did that half-empty driveway hit me like a fist to the gut?

“Cute place,” Jayme said, pulling off her designer sunglasses and studying my cottage. I couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or sarcastic.

“Come on in, y’all,” I said, leading the way.

I put the coffee on and poured glasses of ice water while Jayme arranged her files just so on my dining table.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” she said, launching into business. “The sweater is being sent off for forensic testing. It’ll take weeks for any results to come back, so that’s a little bit of a reprieve. However, the crime scene investigation team already started on your father’s house. The sheriff and Detective Connelly have agreed to refer to you all only as ‘witnesses’ in any official statements and paperwork. But I grew up in a small town, and I know how fast news travels. You’re not to comment to anyone about anything,” she said. “Got it?”

I nodded, and Jayme zeroed in on me. “That includes your deputy friend.”

“Cassidy is trustworthy,” I argued. “She’s on our side.”

“Say nothing to anyone,” Jayme enunciated crisply. “This is now a police matter, and I don’t want you to get tangled up in this any further. None of you are suspects. None of you are to blame for any potential actions by your parent or parents. That being said, they will name Jonah Bodine as a person of interest. That plus the sweater when it leaks—and it will—will have the media swarming you like fleas.”

My brothers and I looked at each other. “Okay,” I said. “What else?”

Jayme consulted the notes she’d scrawled during our formal interview. “Stay the hell away from Judge Kendall. I know you share a town the size of a city block, but don’t talk to him, don’t try to defend your family, and for God’s sake don’t apologize.”

Avoiding someone in Bootleg was about as easy as finishing a marathon with only one leg.

“If you feel threatened by anyone, go to the police,” Jayme continued.

I snorted. “Who exactly would we feel threatened by?”

“Judge Kendall. Overzealous media. Drunk townsfolk.”

Gibson rolled his eyes. “We can hold our own.”

“Not saying you can’t,” Jayme said. “I’m saying your family doesn’t need any additional legal trouble for the foreseeable future.”

I laughed weakly. “Guess y’all can’t start any more bar fights.”

Jayme rolled her shoulders. “God, I hate favors,” she muttered.

* * *

It was better and worse than we thought it would be.

All it took for word to spread like spilled gin was Rocky Tobias to drive past Daddy’s house when the state police were roping off the driveway.

Approximately ten minutes later, everyone in Bootleg was informed that somethin’ was goin’ down at the Bodine homestead. Less than an hour later, the sheriff’s office was so inundated with calls and drop-ins that they issued a vague statement.

By lunchtime, the rumor mill had more grist than it knew what to do with. I didn’t know who was the first to whisper Callie’s name, but it ignited like gasoline fumes. And when Sheriff Tucker’s cruiser was spotted in Judge Kendall’s driveway, everyone’s suspicions were confirmed.

Lines were drawn. And my hometown chose sides faster than the Yankees and Confederates.