“At this time, Jonah Bodine remains a person of interest in the disappearance of Callie Kendall,” Detective Connelly said, his lined face sober as photographers snapped pictures like he was a Hollywood starlet confessing to butt implants and a drug problem.

He stared into the local news station’s camera with hooded eyes as a light drizzle of freezing rain fell from gray skies. Sheriff Tucker stood behind him, mouth set in a firm line under his mustache. “We are asking that anyone with any information about Callie Kendall or Jonah Bodine come forward.”

“He’s gonna have half of Bootleg Springs lined up to tell him their reminiscences of that summer,” I muttered at the TV screen. It was six in the morning on a Monday, and I had a feeling it was going to be a shitty-ass day.

Jonah grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. It was a replay of what we’d seen breaking live yesterday in time for the five o’clock news. “I need Jayme to scare them into at least using middle initials,” he said.

On cue, Jonah’s cell phone rang again. We both swore.

Sharing a name with our father was not only insulting to the guy who grew up without the man but now it was a direct link for the press to exploit.

They’d descended like locusts. Journalists, bloggers, conspiracy theorists arrived in Bootleg Springs in time for last night’s press conference with their noses for news and their shiny camera equipment. Ready to violate the privacy of each and every resident until they could serve up some twisted version of the truth that would sell the most advertising space.

Our landline rang so many times after the press conference that I’d unplugged the damn thing and tossed it in a closet. I decided to focus on getting to work early.

I, unlike the rest of my siblings, didn’t have the luxury of working for myself. I was the high school vice principal. A job that I loved. A job I’d hate to lose over a family scandal that I hadn’t at least earned.

If my father did play a role in Callie Kendall’s death, would I be found guilty by association in the court of public opinion?

I honestly didn’t believe my father was a murderer, but accidents could and did happen. The result was the same. Callie Kendall was gone. And the rest of the Bodines were still here.

Jonah, my roommate and half-brother, could leave. He could go back to his old life and pick up where he left off in Jetty Beach, chalking up Bootleg to an extended visit. But my entire life was here.

I couldn’t help but wonder if Dad was reaching out from beyond the grave to ruin my life.

“Holy shit,” Jonah muttered, peering through the front window.

“What?”

“There’s a low-budget news crew setting up in front of the house.”

I joined him at the window and stared in horror at the two guys setting up a tripod and running wires on the sidewalk. A third guy, in a rumpled trench coat, paced back and forth taking selfies.

Jonah made a move for the front door, and I stopped him. “What are you gonna do? Tell them to get off the public sidewalk while providing them with footage of an angry Bodine?”

“This is ridiculous,” he argued, arms crossed over his chest. I think Scarlett’s temper was rubbing off on him.

There was a tap on the back door, and we glanced at each other. Nothing we could do about reporters on a public street. But one climbing fences in our backyard? We could at least punch that guy in the face once or twice.

In silent agreement, we tiptoed into the kitchen. Jonah put his hand on the doorknob while I positioned myself on his right. I nodded and just as another tap sounded, Jonah hurled the door open.

“Oh my God! Y’all scared me out of my boots!” Leah Mae, my brother Jameson’s girlfriend, clutched her hands to her heart.

Her long blonde hair was tucked up under a red knit cap. She wore a heavy down coat and she was indeed wearing boots. They had frogs all over them.

“We thought you were some dumbass reporter tresspassin’,” I told her, pulling her into the house and shutting the door.

She slid out of her coat and hung it on the hook inside the back door. “That’s why I’m here. I’m giving all you Bodines a crash course in media training.”

Jonah and I looked at her like she’d started clucking like a chicken.

“We’re not allowed to talk to them,” Jonah reminded her.

“You’re not allowed to talk to them about the investigation,” Leah Mae corrected him. “I’ve been here before. A couple of times. I can make this easier on you by sharing my bountiful wisdom with y’all.” Leah Mae had been a successful model looking to break into acting when her ex-fiancé set her up for a series of humiliating scandals to raise her profile. She was familiar with negative media attention.

“What do we do?” I asked.

She gestured at the table in the dining room and we all sat. “Let’s start with the basics. You both are going to change your outgoing voicemail messages to the robotic, no-name version. You’re not to answer any phone call unless you recognize the number. Do you have a landline?”

“Closet.” I jerked a thumb toward the living room.

She gave me an approving nod. “Good. Keep it there. Don’t answer your front door. If anyone wants to see you, they get a key to your back gate and come in that way. Or better yet, you meet them off-site. Social media, make it as private as you can or better yet, deactivate it all for now.”

Jonah swore again.

“I know you have a presence for your training clients. Maybe create a private group to stay in touch with them and turn off commenting on your public accounts.”

He slumped in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “This sucks.”

“You say ‘no comment’ politely to any questions about anything remotely related to the investigation. If anyone gets pushy with you or crosses any lines, breaks any rules, you contact the police immediately. Do not retaliate.” Her green eyes narrowed at us. Leah Mae was new to the family, but she was well aware of what we Bodines were capable of in a Friday night fight at The Lookout or a run of the mill rumble on the streets.

“Jayme told us not to talk to the press at all,” I reminded her. No lie, Jayme scared me a little bit.

“You have to walk a fine line of being politely silent. Don’t do anything to provoke them. Don’t react with anything more than one of your nice-as-pie smiles. Say ‘excuse me’ if they’re in your way. Don’t go all Scarlett on them and threaten to run them over if she sees them in a crosswalk.”

I hoped that was a metaphor and not an actual retelling. Though, knowing my little sister, anything was possible.

“You’re playing a public relations game here,” she explained. “The angrier you get, the more negative footage they blast all over the place, the guiltier your daddy looks.”

She was right. I brought the heels of my hands to my eyes. “Jonah’s right. This whole thing sucks.”

Leah Mae nodded sympathetically. “Yes, it does. You two are going to take the brunt of the attention. Your house is accessible, your jobs are more public.”

Jonah and I shared another look. He was a personal trainer with public classes all over town. And he shared a name with a potential murderer.

This really fucking sucked.

Leah Mae reached out to both of us, covering our hands with hers. “Y’all are gonna be just fine. Sooner or later a more salacious story will be pullin’ on their attention,” she promised. “Hang in until then.”

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to take the attention off of us by going back on TV for us, would you, Leah Mae?” I teased. “Maybe you and Jameson could get engaged, and you could go on one of those bridezilla shows?”

She wrinkled her nose. “You’re hilarious. So funny.”

“How’d you get in the backyard,” I asked her. “The gate’s locked.”

She grinned, flashing a glimpse of the gap between her front teeth. “I jumped the fence.”

Jonah snickered. “We’ve got models climbing fences to get to us, Bow. Maybe this isn’t so bad after all?”