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“We were just heading to Maisie’s for our usual scone and tea when we heard the news.”

Lachlan and I exchange glances and we’re moving before either of our thoughts are finished processing.

“There you are,” Lachlan interrupts. “We need to hit the road if we’re going to beat this rain.” He spares the two watchful busybodies a courtesy inclination of his head. “Morning.”

“Yes. Thank you,” Everly says quickly, already edging away from the two in our direction. “I deeply apologize, but we need to get preparations in order for the party. I hope you both enjoy the rest of your day.”

I don’t say anything to either of them as I turn the cart around and follow the pair back in the direction we’d come from at a clipped pace.

“Thank you,” Everly breathes once we’re in the clear. “I know how fast word travels and still it surprises me every time.”

Lachlan settles a gentle palm on her lower back, a quick one that he promptly removes before anyone can see it. “Let’s get what we need and head out.”

No one mentions the way we’re shopping like we’re beating a clock.

We move through the store fast, aisle by aisle, checking each one before ducking through. We have a nice pile by the time we round to the registers and the watchful green eyes of Olive Holland.

When it’s our turn at the register, Olive’s smile tightens. Not rude. Just strained, like she’s holding her breath and hasn’t decided whether to let it out yet. Her gaze flicks over the contents on the belt, then to Everly, her expression unreadable.

I don’t know the Holland family very well. I did some work on their kitchen fixtures last year, but I spoke mainly to Darren, Olive’s dad. But Olive and her mom Ilsa seem to be the only two who run the grocery store. At least, the only two who man the registers.

“Having a fancy dinner?” she asks, tone light but prodding.

Everly smiles as she helps unload the cart. “Things for the party.”

Olive scans a bag of trail mix and makes a small, thoughtful sound. “Must be nice,” she says quietly, placing thebag into a paper sack, “to have someone you care about enough to do all that for. Take the time and energy.”

There’s no sarcasm in her voice, but something else rides beneath it — wistfulness, maybe. Possibly regret. Or just plain weariness. Maybe she’s as exhausted and done with Jefferson as I am.

Everly doesn’t answer right away. She glances at me, then at Lachlan, then back to Olive. “Yeah,” she says softly. “It is.” She clears her throat and pulls her Jefferson smile into place. “You’re coming right?”

Creases line the other woman’s brows as she cocks her head and pushes through a bag of gummy worms that Lachlan definitely snuck in at some point. “Um...” she trails off a long moment as if not wholly certain how to respond. “Yeah. I guess.”

Everly nods slowly. Still smiling. “Great. Excited to see you there.”

There’s a fault line beneath our feet, a winding crack splintering with every second we remain there under the scrutinizing eyes of the town people. already, there’s a line behind us, bobbing heads weaving over racks, trying to catch glimpses of Everly like she’s responsible for murdering her family.

It’s hilarious because she’s the victim. She’s the one who should be getting sympathy and the backing of the people she grew up with. Instead, they watch her like they expect her to snap and kill everyone. Like somehow, this experience has tainted herin their eyes. A few of them, I note, don’t even have anything in their hands. They’re simply standing there, waiting for Everly to fall apart.

Not an assumption. Not my paranoia getting the better of me. Even with their pathetic attempts to keep their voices below a whisper, I pick up their thoughts.

“Just this morning. He’s still at the sheriff’s office.”

“What do you think she did?”

“Obviously there’s a bigger picture. No one behaves like that for no reason.”

“She should have just talked to him.”

“She must have misunderstood.”

I shift. One hand settles on the lip of the counter as I turn my weight to face the crowd. It slightly conceals Everly from their eyes, but it’s more for me to stare them down, dare them to continue their bullshit.

A handful are wise enough to drop their gazes and hurry back to finish their shopping. The rest meet my focused attention with even more curiosity and speculations.

Fucking hell.

This is what Lachlan was talking about, I muse, thinking back on our conversation that night after the bar, after we’d put Everly to bed. Jefferson will never let her live in peace. Even if she were just a regular person and not the mayor’s secretary, they will make her life hell. For someone like Everly with no familyand a prominent position in town at a young age, her every move is scrutinized. In some cases, some even itch to watch her fall so they can pick at her carcass.