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Chapter 29

I n the lavender twilight, Jamie turned his truck down the asphalt drive that led to the Cleburne family farm. Even in the dark, the place would’ve been impossible to miss. Two stately brick gate pillars, freshly painted white, flanked the drive. A massive wrought-iron gate bearing a huge, scrolled letter C , parted to allow us entry.

Mere was all eyes as we rumbled down the dirt road. The property was immaculate, with green pastures, massive oak trees, and the view of the lake in the distance. I was barely aware of any of it. All I could see was Peter’s corpse at the edge of the lake. He was there now, floating. Alone.

We reached a fork in the neat asphalt ribbon of road, and Jamie asked if we minded stopping by the main house to check on his father.

I glanced at Mere in the back seat. “Mere, we’ve got to go say hi to Mr. Cleburne. Can you stay in the car and hang onto Rams for me?”

“I don’t want to wait in the car,” she said, which was exactly what I expected her to say. The last time she’d done that, it hadn’t gone so well. I sent Jamie an apologetic look.

“It’s okay,” Jamie said, looking in the rearview mirror. “You can bring Ramsey in. Dad loves cats. He loves all animals. He built this whole lake just because he likes fish so much.”

Shit . I clenched my jaw, feeling dizzy, trying to settle my breathing. I was going to have to face the man, the patriarch of the Cleburne clan. I didn’t know if I had it in me. I didn’t know if I could stand there, making small talk, when I knew my husband lay dead not half a mile away on this man’s property. This man, his possible murderer.

But that’s exactly what I had to do.

Hold it together, Billie.

Just a little bit longer . . .

Jamie swung in front of the house, and I marveled again at the spacious white painted brick and soaring columns, the vast gravel court out front, like some kind of aristocratic country estate in England. I knew the house had been built by his great-grandfather back in the forties for the passel of kids he and his wife raised. Now only James Sr. and Jamie were left.

We got out and Jamie ushered us into the house. The foyer was a spacious room, light and filled with the expected oil paintings and an impressive array of taxidermied animal heads, many more than in Major’s loft. There were several deer, a buffalo, some terrifying-looking birds, and a few African antelopes. I felt sick to my stomach. Mere, clutching Ramsey, gave me a wide-eyed look.

“Dad?” Jamie called.

“Back here,” bellowed a surprisingly strong voice.

Jamie led us down the hall back to a large den. The room was paneled in expensive wood. There was a mix of antiques and modern pieces, all done in tasteful, southern traditional. Walls of bookshelves were lined with hardback novels by Grisham and Patterson and Thor. Three enormous TVs affixed to the wall played Bloomberg, ESPN, and the Outdoor Channel. A young woman dressed in nurse’s scrubs whisked away a TV tray of dinner laid out on china, crystal, and silver that looked like it had barely been touched. In the center of the room, his father sat on a plush leather recliner. Mr. Cleburne struggled up from the recliner.

“Dad, no. Sit,” Jamie said.

The old man didn’t. He stood all the way up and then extended his hand to me with a twinkle and a grin that drooped slightly on one side. Immediately, I saw where Jamie had gotten his devastating charm and good looks. If Jamie was handsome, it was clear that James Cleburne Sr. had been utterly incandescent, movie-star good-looking, at least back in his day. Even now, at seventy-something and coming back from a stroke, he was still impressive. He knew it, too, the way he clasped my hand in both his and locked eyes with me.

“Billie Hope,” he said in a warm, gravelly voice doused in honey. “I’ve been hearing about you from everybody in this town, including my son. I’m just sorry I haven’t been in good enough health to make it to your new restaurant.”

“Hopefully, you’ll be able to one of these days. Just let me know and I’ll save you the best table in the house.”

“I’d love to see it.” He released my hand. “And this must be Meredith. Hey there, little lady, how are you?”

“Pretty good,” she said in her typical spare, New York girl way. “I have a cat.”

“I see that. What do you call him?”

“Ramsey. He’s named after another cat who belonged to the manager at my mother’s other restaurant in New York. That was the original Ramsey.”

“Hello, Ramsey, Junior. Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” James Sr. said. “My son’s a junior, too, so he knows the hardship of having another man’s name.”

He chuckled. Ramsey eyed him suspiciously.

“Can I offer y’all a drink? Wine, Billie? Lemonade for Meredith?”

“No, no, Dad.” Jamie dropped his hands in his pockets. “We just dropped by to let you know—Billie here, and Mere, their house has some kind of contamination issue, so while they’re getting it checked out, I told them they could stay at the cabin.”

“Well, that’s perfect. Would y’all like some dinner? I have a housekeeper who cooks all kinds of stuff I can’t even eat. She makes something called profiteroles. You ever heard of that?”

Mere looked at me. Of course, she knew what profiteroles were—she was the daughter of a restauranteur. But I had a feeling he wanted the upper hand in this conversation, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to challenge his alpha-male play, no matter how small. I gave him a noncommittal smile.

“We had dinner, thanks.”

Jamie shifted his weight. He looked slightly nervous. “Well, we should mosey over to the cabin.”

“Well, now wait a minute,” James Sr. said. “I was just thinking.” He turned to Mere. “Can your mom hold Ramsey for you, my dear? Or better yet, let him go and see if he’d like to make himself at home here. Been a long time since we had a cat. Might be some mice around this place he’d like to chase.”

Mere nodded, but her expression was tremulous. She released Ramsey. He immediately darted across the room, pivoted, and ran out the door.

“See that?” James said. “Just like I said. He’s okay.”

Mere watched him. I watched him, too, on edge. I couldn’t tell what his game was. What he wanted from us.

“Would you do me a favor, darlin’?” he asked Mere.

“Okay,” she said, and the vulnerability of her voice broke my heart. Do. Not. Cry. I picked a spot on the wall, an oil portrait of what appeared to be the Cleburne family in happier times. I stared at it with all the intensity I could muster.

“Run out to the hall,” Cleburne continued. “There’s a table out there and a box on top of it that’s covered with shells. My late wife made that box. Jamie’s mother. She found all those shells down at Sanibel Island, Florida, and glued them all on there. You ever been there, to Sanibel Island?”

Mere shook her head.

“Well, run on out there and open the box—it ain’t locked. There’s a bunch of stuff in there, but only one bracelet. Find that bracelet for me, will you?”

Mere stood, gravely. “Okay.”

“Yessir,” James Sr. corrected her, a sharp edge in his voice.

Mere froze and blinked at him.

“We say yes, ma’am, and yessir down here, young lady.”

Jamie looked stricken.

“She’s not—” I started to say.

James Sr. spoke over me. “You understand me?”

Mere nodded. “Yessir.”

And then my daughter trotted out into the hall of the house. James Sr. turned to look at me and the air in the room stilled. I could feel my heart beating inside my chest. In his expression I detected a mix of triumph, amusement, but also warning. And it was that warning look that not only filled me with fear, but also sent a white-hot rage shooting through me. I started to tremble and gripped the side of the ottoman. James Sr. kept his eyes on me.

Don’t fuck with me, they said.

But I was sending a message back, just as steady and cool as his.

You don’t know me.

And that will be your downfall.

Mere ran back into the room holding out a delicate, gold bracelet.

James motioned her over. “Bring it here.”

Mere dropped the bracelet in his hand. She glanced briefly at him. “Yessir.”

He awarded her with a crinkly, warm smile, minus one side of his mouth. Slowly, deliberately, the man unclasped the bracelet and put it around Mere’s wrist. He held up the small charm that dangled from it. “See that? It’s a letter J and a letter M . You see that? The J stands for . . .” He raised his eyebrows at Mere.

“Juliana?” she said.

“That’s right. Our Gentle Juliana. Now my wife’s name was Margaret. We didn’t have daughters, only a son, and so far, that boy”—he sent a pointed look in Jamie’s direction—“hasn’t had any daughter he could call Margaret or Molly or Mary. No M names, can you believe it? And then, you walk in here. Meredith. ” He shot me a pleased grin. “Meredith who lives in Juliana. It’s a perfect match. And it looks really nice on you.”

“Oh, we couldn’t—” I started to say.

He waved me off. “Nonsense. It’s only twelve-carat. My wife had plenty of nicer stuff.”

“Mere, say thank you to Mr. Cleburne.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I love it.”

“You’re welcome.” James sat back, and the fine leather enveloped him. “How do you like Juliana, Meredith?”

“I like it a lot. It’s very nice.”

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest? It is nice, but it’s a lot more than that, you know.”

I inhaled, bracing myself. I couldn’t give myself away at this point. I had to let this man talk, no matter how much I distrusted him. No matter how much I despised him being within touching distance of my daughter. But I would not look away.

“Juliana is a very special place. You know it was a mill town originally.”

A lie. How many more of these was this man going to subject us to?

“We sawed lumber in the 1800s, and then along about the time of the Great Depression, we figured out how to make sawdust into pressed logs. After that we made pulp for paper. The Minettes still run that one, the pulp mill. It’s a ways out of town.”

Mere nodded. I wondered what she was making of his words.

“Eight families started the town, Meredith. Eight families that came from places like South Carolina, Virginia, Pennsylvania, and New York, just like you. But there are three families that are the most important. The Minettes, the Dalzells, and our family, the Cleburnes.”

She smiled, still unsure what the man was trying to tell her. My skin rose in goose bumps.

His expression darkened. “I want you to understand something about Juliana, Meredith. We love our town. We fight for it. Fight to keep it going, no matter what. The three families have always been here for each other, taking care of each other, and helping each other. Not one of us would ever let another one falter or lack for anything. We did this, not because we always got along—we didn’t—but to maintain the strength of our town. Of our Gentle Juliana. And in return, she protects us from the world out there. She gives us shelter. She provides for us. But we have to do our part. We have to give her what she needs.” He was staring at Mere now with an intense gleam in his eye. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Mere—only a child but already understanding that this man, this patriarch, held all the answers and her only job was to parrot his opinions—hesitated a fraction of a second before she nodded. I held my tongue, but I was still trembling with anger.

“We have to love Gentle Juliana,” James said. “Love her with our whole heart, and soul, and body.” He stared at her expectantly. “So what do you say, little Meredith?”

She looked frozen. Confused.

“You say you love our town,” he instructed.

“I love your town,” Mere whispered.

“No, no. Say, ‘I love Gentle Juliana.’ ”

She gulped. “I love Gentle Juliana.”

“And then you give the charm a little kiss.”

She stared at him.

“Go on.”

She lifted her wrist and dropped a kiss on the bracelet. My heart was thumping so hard I felt breathless.

He seemed satisfied and turned to me. “Well, now. I hear you lost your car, Billie. You’re welcome to borrow the Chevy pickup. It’s a classic 1972, blue and white. I drove it for years, all over this farm, and it’s still in mint condition.”

I felt shaken by the sharp left turn of conversation. “Oh. Okay. Thank you.”

We all stood.

“Mama, I don’t know where Ramsey went.” Mere’s voice was a whisper. James Sr. had scared her, I could tell.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Jamie said. “He’s free to roam around, as long as your mom doesn’t mind.”

“It’s fine,” I said through clenched teeth. “We’ll find him later. Come on, Mere.”

“One more thing,” James said, behind us.

We turned.

“I’m having the guy down from University of Georgia, the aquatic biologist, to fine-tune some things in the lake. So you’ll want to stay away from it, all of you. No swimming or canoeing or fishing. Especially you, little one.” He tugged on Mere’s shirt then his eyes met mine. He was still smiling, but beneath the warmth, there was a layer of ice.

I felt encased in ice as well.

This man—or his son—had definitely killed Peter. Now I had no doubt.

What I was going to do about it was the question. I had to come up with some kind of plan, and quickly. I was running out of time, I could feel it.

“Yessir,” said Mere once again. She’d taken on a stiff, wooden appearance but slipped a hand in mine. I squeezed it reassuringly. She did not squeeze back.