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“You can’t honestly think you’re going to find her jewelry in the lake,” Diana says, filling a glass at the sink. “The killer would have to be a real idiot to put it in the same place he dumped her body.”
Micah’s phone beeps, a muffled sound from deep inside a denim pocket. He fishes it out and checks the screen. “Looks like the guys have picked up something. Keep the doors locked and the alarm on, and don’t even think of stepping outside without backup. If Jax is desperate enough, we all know where he’ll end up.”
Micah disappears out the back door, and a tingling starts on the top of my head. It spreads down my scalp, ringing in my ears with the one word he didn’t say.
Here.Jax will end up here.
28
Buddy’s BBQ is little more than an ancient, rusted-out trailer shoved to the back of a clearing, but like most every night, the place is hopping. Packed with throngs of diners standing in clumps around the counter, spilling down its rickety deck. Cars are parked every which way on a stretch of trampled-down dirt, a field that’s more weeds than grass and scattered with picnic tables. On the opposite end, a giant smoker burps smoke into the nighttime sky.
Paul leans into the windshield. “Are you sure about this place? It looks kind of...unhygienic.”
They’re the first words he’s said since leaving the house, not that I’ve said much, either. I’m still worried about Chet, still pissed at Paul for sneaking out this morning and staying away all day, still confused about whatever had Jax and Paul looking for each other around the time a woman was murdered.
And I can’t shake that feeling, that cold and oily wave that went through me when I thought Sienna was here because of Katherine, because of Paul. I can’t just scrub those suspicions away. They hold power now, simply by the act of thinking them. Even if I don’t believe them anymore, what does it say about me that I did? What does it say about my marriage?
I kill the engine, drop the keys in my bag. “Don’t worry about the germs. By the time the food makes it to your plate, they’ve all been fried or smoked off.”
“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.”
We step onto the deck, and the gazes sweep over me and Paul with a disapproving thud. This is a Wrangler jeans and baseball-cap kind of crowd, and Paul’s brand of designer casual might as well be a three-piece suit. I scan the row of faces pointed our way, and I recognize every single one. Nobody smiles. Nobody says hi.
“Tough crowd,” Paul mutters.
I point to an empty picnic table under a pine tree. “Go save that spot. I’ll get the food.”
I step to the window and Buddy doesn’t smile, but then again, Buddy never smiles. He lifts a chin in greeting, wiping a hand down his grubby apron. “What do you want?”
“Two heavyweights all the way with strings. Two Cokes.”
Buddy huffs an approving grunt. He doesn’t have a menu, and only a regular customer would know the lingo for their most popular sandwich, chopped brisket topped with everything but the kitchen sink. The strings are code for french fries. He turns and hollers the order into the trailer, then leans his head out of the window far enough to see Paul, sitting woodenly on the hard bench. He waves when he sees us looking.
Buddy ducks back inside. “Who’s that?”
“That’s Paul. My husband.”
“What happened to his face?”
“Jax happened. Paul went searching for him in Balsam Bluff, and Jax didn’t want to be found.”
Buddy grunts, I think in approval. “Balsam Bluff is the last place Jax’ll be. He’s too wily for that.”
And thus the reason for me bringing Paul here. Buddy hears everything. He knows things, and assuming you’re the right person and you don’t ask for his BBQ recipe, he’s typically generous with his information.
“What’s the word on the street? About the tourist, I mean.”
Buddy’s eyes go squinty, and he stares me down. He knows I haven’t been around much since marrying Paul, and he knows this reception I’m getting from his regulars is why. I feel their gazes on me now, hear their murmurs and whispers behind my back, even though none of them will look me in the eye. It’s a proper mountain snub; I’ll give them that. But I’m hoping Buddy here is a different story.
He looks past me, shakes his head. “That Chet thing. That’s just a distraction.”
Something loosens in my chest, and I blow out a sigh. “A distraction from what?”
“Unclear. But I don’t trust that Chief Hunt. Too many tales of him planting evidence, strong-arming false confessions. That’s why this thing with Jax, it just feels too convenient.”
“You think Chief Hunt is dirty?”
Buddy frowns. “I didn’t say that. But ask anybody here. They’ll tell you that man don’t play fair.” He slaps a palm to the countertop. “Food’ll be up shortly.”