Page 10

Nessie poured his coffee and plated a pastry, sliding both across the counter. “Beautiful morning,” she offered, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence.

“Hmm.” Hank’s grunt was noncommittal as he took a long sip of coffee. His pale eyes lingered on her face, studying her with the kind of intensity that made her skin crawl. “Been seeing anything unusual around here lately? Strange cars, people who don’t belong?”

The question hit like a punch, knocking all the air from her lungs. Her hand tightened around the coffee pot, and she felt Margery’s sharp gaze shifting between them.

“Unusual how?” she managed, proud that her voice came out steady.

“Oh, you know. Outsiders poking around where they shouldn’t be?

Men from the Ridge causing trouble?” His tone was casual, but there was something predatory in the way he watched her reaction.

“Had a report yesterday morning about someone walking the back roads before dawn. Thought you might’ve seen something since you’re up so early every day. ”

Her mouth went dry. How could he possibly know about that?

“Can’t say I have.” The lie was like sawdust in her throat.

Hank’s eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s funny. Because your car was spotted out on Ridge Road around five-thirty yesterday morning. Seems like an odd time for a drive with a little boy.”

Shit.

“Oliver loves watching the sunrise,” she said, echoing her earlier excuse to Margery. But her voice came out thin, unconvincing even to her own ears, and her heart hammered so hard she was sure the sheriff could hear it.

Hank’s smile was cold as winter. “Funny thing about sunrises. They happen every day, right from your back porch. Don’t need to drive twenty miles into the mountains for that.”

Margery set down her coffee cup with a sharp clink. “Hank Goodwin, are you interrogating this poor girl about taking her son for a drive? Last I checked, that wasn’t against the law.”

“Just making conversation, Mrs. Pendry.” But his eyes never left Nessie’s face. “Making sure our citizens are safe. You know how those Ridge boys can be. Unpredictable.”

The radio on his shoulder crackled. “Sheriff, the medical examiner is on site and confirmed the victim’s time of death was sometime early yesterday morning.”

The deputy kept talking, but Nessie didn’t hear the rest, the voice drowned out by the rising roar in her head.

Victim.

The world tilted. The coffee pot slipped from her numb fingers and shattered against the floor, sending glass shards and hot coffee in every direction. The crash echoed through the suddenly silent bakery, and every head turned their way.

“Oh, my!” Margery jumped back as coffee splashed across her shoes.

But Nessie couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She stared at the spreading pool of coffee and broken glass, seeing instead a flash of memory: Jax walking alone down that empty road, his shoulders hunched with defeat and… maybe something that looked like guilt?

“You alright there?” Hank’s voice held a note of satisfaction, like a cat who’d cornered a mouse.

He keyed his radio. “Copy that. I’m en route.

” His gaze fixed on Nessie again. “There’s a dead girl out on the Ridge Road, Ms. Harmon.

Killed yesterday morning. So, do you want to revise your statement? ”

“I—” She started to speak, but no words came. Her throat had closed up tight.

“Mom?” Oliver’s voice drifted from the back room, high and worried. “What was that noise?”

The sound of her son’s voice snapped her back to the present. She dropped to her knees, frantically gathering the larger pieces of glass, her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold them.

“It’s okay, baby!” she called back, voice cracking. “Just dropped something. There’s glass everywhere. Stay in there until I get it cleaned up, okay?”

Margery grabbed a handful of napkins to help soak up the coffee. “Hank, can’t you see the girl’s upset? Maybe save your questions for later.”

But Hank wasn’t done. He circled the counter and dropped to a crouch on the pretense of helping her clean up the glass. “You sure there’s nothing you want to tell me? Nothing at all about what you might’ve seen out there yesterday morning?”

She looked up at him and saw something in his face that made her blood run cold. There was no concern or suspicion in those eyes. Just hunger, like he was feeding off her fear.

How could his eyes look so much like Boone’s but express something so different?

“I-I don’t know,” she whispered and thought back to her drive that morning.

She’d been distracted, as she always was when she had to check in with Marshal Brandt, but she did remember seeing another vehicle.

She hadn’t thought much about it at the time because it wasn’t uncommon to see cars parked alongside that road before dawn—fishermen going down to Coldwater Creek or hikers headed up the mountain, hoping to summit by noon.

“I think I saw a car. Or, bigger than a car. Maybe a truck or van? It was pulled off the side of the road in the bushes. Light-colored. White or silver.”

“Now I know that’s a lie, Vanessa. You’re covering for someone. Tell me about the hitchhiker out there yesterday morning. The man from Valor Ridge.”

“He wasn’t—” Too late, she realized her mistake.

Hank’s smile widened, showing too many teeth.

“He wasn’t what?” The sheriff’s voice was soft, dangerous. “Go on.”

Nessie’s pulse hammered against her throat. She’d walked straight into his trap, and now she was caught. “He wasn’t hitchhiking. He was just... walking.”

“Walking where?”

“I don’t know. Away from the Ridge, I guess.”

Margery had gone very still, her shrewd eyes darting between them. The other customers were trying to pretend they weren’t listening, but the bakery had gone quiet except for the soft scrape of glass against linoleum as Nessie continued gathering broken pieces with trembling fingers.

Hank shifted closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only she could hear.

“A woman’s dead, Vanessa. Murdered. And you gave a ride to a convicted felon who was walking away from the scene of the crime.

” He paused, letting that sink in. “Now, you can tell me about it here, in front of all these nice people, or you can come down to the station where we can have a more private conversation.”

The threat was clear. And they both knew what a trip to the sheriff’s station would mean. Questions about why she’d really been out there that morning. Background checks that might reveal things she’d spent four years trying to bury.

Her hands stilled. A sharp edge bit into her palm, but she barely felt it.

“There’s nothing to tell,” she said quietly. “I got a flat tire on my way home. He helped me change it, and I gave him a ride to town. He didn’t have any blood on him or anything like that. And he wasn’t in a hurry?—”

“What’s his name?”

Nessie hesitated, mind racing. She didn’t want to feed Jax to the wolves, but lying to the sheriff would only make things worse.

“Jax,” she said finally. “Jaxon Thorne.”

Hank’s eyes crinkled with satisfaction. He’d already known. This had been a test, and she couldn’t tell if she passed or failed.

“Where did you drop him off?”

“I didn’t drop him off anywhere. He was here until Boone came to get him.”

“Why am I not surprised my wayward nephew is neck deep in this?” Hank’s lip curled into a sneer just as his radio crackled again.

“Sheriff, the crime scene team is wrapping up here. You coming?”

He stood, brushing off his knees, and keyed the radio. “On my way, Murdock. Don’t let them leave until I get there.” His cold eyes found hers again. “This conversation isn’t over, Ms. Harmon. I’ll be back with more questions.”

He tossed a five-dollar bill on the counter, grabbed his bear claw, and headed for the door. But he paused at the threshold, looking back.

“Oh, and Vanessa? Next time you want to take your boy for a sunrise drive, maybe stick to the main roads. Safer that way.”

The door swung shut behind him, bell tinkling happily with his exit. The bakery stayed quiet for a long moment before the conversations gradually resumed, hushed and speculative.

God.

This was going to spread through town like wildfire, and by lunch, everyone would know she’d given a ride to a potentially dangerous ex-con on the very morning a woman had been murdered.

So much for staying quiet and invisible.

“Mom?” Oliver appeared in the kitchen doorway, eyes wide with worry. “Are you hurt?”

Nessie quickly wiped her bloody palm on her apron. “No, sweetie, just a little cut. Go back and finish your math, okay?”

“But you’re bleeding?—”

“It’s nothing. Please, Oliver. Just a few more minutes until the bus comes.”

He hesitated, then nodded and disappeared back into the office. Nessie let out a shaky breath.

“Here, honey.” Margery pressed a clean napkin into her hand. “And don’t you listen to a word that man says. Hank Goodwin’s been trying to shut down Valor Ridge since the day Walker opened it.”

She wrapped the napkin around her palm, wincing as the fabric soaked up the blood. “You think that’s what this is about?”

“I think Hank sees an opportunity to cause trouble for Walker, and he’s going to take it.” Margery’s voice was grim. “That boy you helped yesterday morning? He’s just caught in the crossfire.”

Nessie’s stomach churned. She’d seen what happened when powerful men decided someone was expendable.

And now she’d put Jax squarely in the sheriff’s crosshairs.

“I should call Boone,” she said, more to herself than to Margery.

“And tell him what? That Hank’s sniffing around? Trust me, honey, Boone already knows his uncle’s got it out for the Ridge.” Margery finished mopping up the last of the coffee and straightened with a soft grunt. “What you should do is stay out of it. Don’t give Hank any more ammunition.”

Good advice.

Smart advice.

But she couldn’t shake the image of Jax’s face when he’d looked at Oliver. Awed, like he’d forgotten what innocence looked like.

Earl Withers shuffled to the counter, his weathered face creased with concern. “You okay, Nessie? Heard the crash from clear across the room.”

“Fine, Earl. Just clumsy this morning.” She forced a smile. “More coffee?”

He nodded, studying her with sharp eyes that had seen too much in his seventy-odd years. “That sheriff giving you trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

Earl’s grunt suggested he wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t push. That was one thing she loved about the old-timers in Solace. They minded their own business unless directly asked to do otherwise.

She refilled his cup and tried to return to her normal routine.

She saw Oliver off on the bus and prepared for a lunch rush—because she had no doubt it would be a rush once the gossip spread—but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Every time the door opened, she expected to see Hank’s imposing frame filling the doorway again.

Every siren in the distance made her flinch.

A woman was dead.

And Jax had been walking near the crime scene.

She couldn’t explain it, but she knew with bone-deep certainty he wasn’t guilty. He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and someone should warn him.

Nessie reached for her phone in the pocket of her apron and scrolled until she found Boone’s number.

He’d given it to her more than a year ago, back when she thought he might make a move and call her for a date.

He never had, but she’d never deleted it, thinking he’d be a good person to have on her side in case of an emergency.

And this felt like one, but what would she even say?

That she was worried about a man she’d met only once?

That Sheriff Goodwin seemed determined to pin a murder on him?

She slid the phone back into her pocket.

Margery was right. She needed to stay out of it.