A more important question was: Did the state truly believe Ethan was innocent? The commonwealth’s attorney had decided not to retry him for murder, but without knowing the evidence that had prompted that decision, I couldn’t say whether it was truly exculpatory or merely driven by a procedural issue. Uncle Henry had told me that a witness had come forward with proof that the prosecutor’s timeline for that night was severely flawed—but that wasn’t necessarily proof of innocence.
“Not exactly.”
I drained my glass of bourbon, then stood. “If you truly heard what people said when I left rooms and buildings, you’d know that I don’t appreciate people prying into my life uninvited. You’d also know that most men would warn you to stay away from me, as I tend to bring trouble everywhere I go.” I stepped close to him and placed a palm against his face. “And here I thought I was going to like you.”
“There’s a lot to like,” he said, his eyes glued to mine. “I think if you gave me a chance… got to know me…”
What I did next was completely out of character. Maybe it was because it had been a long time since I’d been with a man. Maybe it was because I liked the way he flirted and I knew he was blowing in and out of town so fast that his presence wouldn’t last. Maybe it was because I just fucking wanted to embrace the opportunity. But I smiled, leaned in, and touched my lips to his.
I’d wondered what his lips would feel like when I was at the wake, but never did I imagine I’d actually feel them so soon.
They were soft. And he was gentle. Until I felt a slight shift—quick, like a lightning reflex—and he slid a hand to the back of my neck, stood, and deepened the kiss.
When I pulled away, I kept my lips close to his. “Stay away from me. Stay away from my brother.”
He smiled. “I don’t think I can.”
“Try.”
Bella and Matthew were in the parking lot when I exited Boone’s, and they appeared to be arguing.
I took my time walking to my SUV, wanting to see if Bella needed help.
“Did you promise her my scholarship?” Bella screamed at Matthew.
“Of course not,” he answered.
Was Matthew helping Bella get a college scholarship? I imagined her parents might have been thrilled about that. Maybe that was why they’d had him over to their house.
“Babe,” he said, “you know I only have feelings for you.”
I had been just about to open my car door, but when I heard this declaration, I paused and risked a glance in their direction.
Bella leaned her forehead into his chest. “I know. I’m sorry. I know you love me. But I have nothing now. Without that scholarship I’ll never get out of this shithole town.”
Her parents had been dead only a few days, and she was worried about some scholarship?
Matthew rested his chin on top of her head. I saw the moment of recognition when his eyes rose and found mine… when he realized they were speaking in a public parking lot. He slowly pushed Bella back. “Let’s get you home. Your aunt will be worried.”
Bella’s head tilted backward. She seemed to read his face, then followed his gaze until she, too, was looking at me. Her face registered recognition, and her jaw hardened. She marched toward me in quick, long strides. “You! This is your fault. People say you should have seen your brother start that fire—that your word would have kept him behind bars for life. Because he’s out, my parents are dead!”
That verified that people were, in fact, linking Ethan to the recent fire.
I hadn’t seen Luke exit Boone’s, but suddenly he was beside me. “Miss Reynolds, I don’t think this is the time or place to attack someone for something you know nothing about.”
“Who the fuck are you?” she screamed, and I had to remind myself that she was a grieving seventeen-year-old kid.
“Special Agent Luke Justice—FBI.”
“Justice?” She laughed. “What kind of name is that? Like I expect a worthless cop like you to get me justice.”
Matthew had enough sense to back slowly away. Bella Reynolds really was an arrogant and angry teenager.
“Mr. Lake,” said Luke, “I think it’s time you get Miss Reynolds to her aunt’s house. And if I were you, I’d stay clear of each other, or you’re going to find yourself right back in jail.”
“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Bella said. “They’re not gonna let Matthew be a teacher anymore. Because of dicks like you, he’s got to find a new job.”
I wasn’t sure if she was calling him a dick because it was slang for cop, or if she was simply calling him a derogatory name. Probably both.
“He doesn’t even get a trial. And we didn’t do anything,” Bella continued. “You’re the one who should be put on trial.” She was yelling at me again, and it was taking everything in me not to slap sense into her. “You lied, and now your brother is out, and he’s killing people again.”
“Okay… Let’s go.” Matthew physically turned Bella and pulled her toward his car. When he had her settled in the passenger seat, he gave us a low wave. “Sorry. She’s just upset about her parents. I’m taking her to her aunt’s now.”
When Matthew pulled out of the parking lot, Luke asked, “You alright?”
“I’m fine.”
I turned back toward my car, but Luke pushed his way between me and the open door.
“You okay to drive?”
“I said I was fine.” I stood there, letting his eyes burn into mine.
He seemed on the verge of asking me another question, but thought better of it. Stepping aside, he watched me slide behind the wheel and shut the door. Instead of taking a moment to catch my breath, I turned the ignition and drove out of that parking lot without looking back.
Six
The next night, with the Spotted Cat matchbook sitting in the cup holder beside me, I turned my vehicle into the quaint, bordering on seedy, lounge. It was nestled beside a budget motel just across the county line from Paynes Creek. I parked, hopped out, and strode inside.
The place was dim, and a terrible five-piece jazz band played in one corner. One look at the trumpet player—an overweight, red-faced man dressed in a football jersey two sizes too small—made me worry he might keel over if he blew too hard. I hoped he didn’t; I wasn’t sure I had the mental capacity to perform CPR tonight.
I walked along the edges of the room, scanning the faces of the people sitting at the small round tables, looking for anyone familiar. I then made my way toward the bar, where a couple of men sat with two stools between them. Travelers, maybe. I figured there were two kinds of people at the Spotted Cat: tourists and regulars. This wasn’t the type of establishment that drew new locals in on a daily or even a weekly basis. It was the same people night after night, plus those staying at the motel next door.
Which made me wonder how a matchbook with the Spotted Cat logo had landed near my fire pit. Was it simply that the lounge was situated close to Paynes Creek? Maybe Finch or Uncle Henry had been in here and had dropped the matchbook the last time the family gathered around the fire pit.
A couple of waitresses walked between the tables carrying trays of drinks. I noted that all the servers were female, and they wore short black dresses with white aprons—like something right out of the seventies. Such a getup took the women’s movement back forty years.