I had no intention of leaving with him, but I did let him lead me away. Behind me, I heard several people shouting hello to Finch—or “Doc,” as everyone called him—and I hoped they would corral him and Aubrey and allow me to make my escape.
No such luck.
“Faith.”
I stopped, closed my eyes for moment, then turned to face my brother. “Hi, Finch. Aubrey.”
“Hey, Faith. You doing okay?” Aubrey spoke with a thick, Louisiana drawl. Her family was from New Orleans—fourth-generation Creole.
“I’m fine, thanks. How are you doing? Feeling alright?” I glanced down at her gently swollen belly.
“I’m hanging in there.” She rubbed her belly. She was starting to show, and because it was their first, they didn’t even try to hide their excitement. “I’m just sick about what happened to the Reynoldses, though. First their daughter is assaulted by that poor excuse for a teacher, and now her parents are dead. That poor child.” She looked down at her protruding stomach. “I’ll never let anything like this happen to you, sweetie.” She looked back up at me and smiled. “The books say your baby can hear you speaking to them from real early on.” Leaving her hand on her stomach like a protective shield, she nodded toward Luke. “Who’s your friend?”
“Oh.” I looked at Luke. “He’s not my friend. Special Agent Luke Justice, Finch and Aubrey Day.”
Finch stepped forward and held out his hand. “Special Agent. As in FBI?” he asked.
“That’s right. I’m investigating a series of deadly fires, including the one that killed the Reynoldses.” I noticed that he lowered his voice. At least he had the decency to know how to behave at a funeral.
But Aubrey’s ears seemed to perk up. “Oh! You think someone burned the Reynoldses’ home on purpose?”
“We’re looking at all angles,” Luke said.
Typical investigator response.
“Did you photograph the crime scene?” Finch asked me.
“That’s my job.”
Finch shifted from foot to foot. “Can I talk to you a second? In private?”
“Can we do it later? I was just on my way out.”
“And we need to pay our respects,” Aubrey said, saving me.
“Then can I call you later?” Finch asked. “We really need to talk.”
“Sure.”
Aubrey was pulling on his arm. “I’ll call you later, too, Faith.” She gave me a quick wink and a smile over her shoulder as she urged Finch to come with her. “And nice to meet you, Mr. Justice.”
I’d nearly forgotten that Luke was still standing there.
“That’s the local veterinarian, right?” he said. “And he’s your brother? I get the sense that he’s respected in the community.”
I stared straight into his eyes. “If you’re looking for information, Special Agent, you’re going to have to stop sounding like an interrogator. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a real drink.”
Boone’s Taphouse was just gearing up for the dinner crowd when I entered, so it wasn’t that crowded. I immediately spotted Matthew Lake and Bella Reynolds tucked into a booth in the back, sitting side by side. Across the table from them were two girls I didn’t know, but who looked like high school students.
I slid into a seat at the bar. Caine approached with a glass and a bottle of Kentucky bourbon—Elkhorn Reserve. It was a favorite in the area. “You go to the funeral?” he asked while pouring.
“Yeah. They had a church service and a wake at Janice Jones’s house.” As I took a sip, I swiveled in the stool to study Matthew and the three girls in the back booth. “What do you make of that?” I asked.
“They’re not breaking the law by being in my establishment, so I’m trying to stay out of it. But I’m afraid as soon as the wrong person walks in, all hell will break loose. Then I’m going to care. A lot!”
I turned back to Caine. “And the last thing Matthew needs is to be the center of a bar brawl. Or he’ll find himself right back in jail.”
“Hey,” Caine chastised. “This is not a bar. This is a fine dining establishment.”
“With a bar,” I said. “And if a fight breaks out, you’ve got yourself a brawl. And a reputation. It takes far less than what’s going on in that booth to get this town chattering.”
“And hopefully far more than that to ruin the reputation of my restaurant, because don’t look now, but the fed just walked in. That’s something else people are yammering about.”
I looked toward the door and saw Luke chatting it up with the hostess. “How did you know he was a fed?” I asked. But the answer was obvious. Luke’s entire look screamed FBI. He wore a dark suit, a tie loosened at the neck, and his hair was disheveled, like someone who had just had sex or had worked a long, trying day. Since I knew he had just come from a funeral, I decided on the latter.
“He came in for lunch. I spotted that tall drink of sweet tea immediately,” Caine said.
I noted that the hostess now had a hand on Luke’s forearm. “Looks like you’re not the only one who spotted him.” I turned back to Caine with a lifted brow, unable to contain a slight annoyance at Luke’s easy way with another woman.
“So tell me,” Caine said, bringing the conversation back between us, “is it true that Bella’s parents knew about her relationship with the teacher?”
I shrugged. “If you believe the rumors.”
Caine’s eyes lifted to someone behind me. “What can I get you?” he asked.
Luke slid onto a stool beside mine. He looked over at my glass, and with no originality whatsoever, said, “I’ll have what she’s having.”
Caine poured Luke a glass, then tipped the bottle in my direction. I nodded, and he gave me another pour. He then went off to tend to other customers.
“I figured since you were going for a real drink, I’d find you here.” Luke faced forward, sipping his bourbon.
“You come to have a drink with me, Agent? Or did you come to question me some more?”
He turned, and I could feel him analyzing my profile. “You’re an interesting woman, Faith.”
I shot a lazy look his way. “And what, exactly, makes you the authority on that?”
“I have eyes and ears. When you walk through a room, people watch you. When you exit a room, people whisper. And when you exit a building, people sigh with relief.”
My lips curved upward. “Really? You got all that after just a few days of being here?”
He faced forward again. “If you don’t want to talk about yourself, tell me about your brother. Or we can discuss your stepbrother.”
“So this is an interview,” I said.
He motioned for Caine to pour him more bourbon. Took a sip when he had. Facing me, he said, “I’m not just investigating the recent string of fires. I’m also looking into the facts surrounding the fire that killed your mother and her husband.”
My grip around my glass tightened. “It’s been twelve years. Are they reopening the case?” I asked so softly I almost didn’t hear my own voice.