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Pickup trucks and SUVs already jammed both sides of the road as well as the laneway curving through the property by the time Carrie and Luke arrived at the party.

“Lots of people,” she said.

As he parked, Luke could sense Carrie’s apprehension.

“We don’t have to go,” he said. “Because Emily’s fine with your dad.” He grinned. “We could sneak off to Whataburger.”

Thinking how she needed to take control, Carrie squeezed his hand. “Let’s go to the party.”

The Smiths had a sprawling bungalow on a couple of wooded acres of countryside at the edge of town. They had a lush lawn and thriving flower beds shaded by magnolia and willow oak trees. Clay greeted them at the door, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and holding a bottle of Lone Star.

“Well, hello!” He looked at Carrie, smiling, and hugged her before patting Luke’s shoulder. “Welcome. Come on in. Glad you could make it. Lacey’s in the kitchen. We’ll get you fixed with a drink, and there’s plenty of food.”

The house was filled with the hum of conversations from people scattered in knots in the foyer and the living room, which led to the patio doors. The crowd had spilled outside, more people gathered around the pool with its brilliant turquoise water. The aroma of barbecue wafted inside. Catering staff worked at the smoking grill and tended to more tables of food. Inside, the open kitchen area was also packed with guests, more food and drinks.

“Hey, Lace!” Clay called. “Look who’s here!”

Lacey emerged from the group clustered at the kitchen island. She was wearing a bright floral sundress, and she rushed over, embracing them.

“Carrie! Luke! You’ve come! So many people want to see you!”

Heads turned, Carrie and Luke’s arrival rippling through the party, creating whispers and stares.

“Can I get you a drink, Carrie?” Lacey asked.

“Maybe a little red wine? And thank you for having us.”

“All right. Clay, take care of Luke.” Lacey seized Carrie’s hand, pulling her into the kitchen crowd.

Clayton yanked a Lone Star from a tub of ice and handed it to Luke, saying: “This way.”

Inching through the crowd to the pool, they were continually intercepted by people, with Clay introducing Luke each time. In the whirl of handshakes and small talk, Luke scanned the party inside and out, recognizing deputies and staff from the sheriff’s office.

In the kitchen, Lacey passed a glass of wine to Carrie.

“You know, hon,” Lacey said, “they say on average, around 10 percent of people come back, or stay, where they grew up.”

“Is that right?”

“Mmm.” Lacey drank from the beer she was working on. “But in Clear River, it’s like a quarter of the people never left. And look at you—here you are! You might remember some folks from school. Oh, here’s Sarah, Sarah Curtis. Works at the salon with me.”

“Hi, Sarah.”

“Hi, Carrie. Lacey says you worked in Hollywood, in movies.”

“I create graphics for TV and film promotion, that kind of thing.”

“Ever meet anyone famous?”

Another woman moved closer to listen.

“A few times.”

“Who? What were they like?” Sarah asked.

“Well, Tom Hanks was warm, friendly. Emma Stone’s sharp, very funny. And Conan O’Brien’s down-to-earth. And tall.”

“That’s so cool,” Sarah said as the woman next to her touched Carrie’s shoulder.

“Hi, Carrie. Sofia Vera, from English lit.”

It took a second before Carrie recognized her former high school classmate.

“Yes, Sofia!” Carrie hugged her.

“I teach drama and fine arts at Clear River High.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I’m dying to hear all about LA and Hollywood. Maybe you could drop by the school sometime for coffee?”

“That would be nice, Sofia.”

“Lacey says you have a baby girl now?”

“Yes, her name is Emily. Dad’s watching her at home now.”

“That’s so sweet. Show us pictures.”

Setting down her wine and pulling out her phone, Carrie scrolled to photos of Emily, which drew more women closer. As they cooed, Carrie glimpsed two women across the room, shooting her icy stares.

Outside, the humid air carried loud laughter mingling with the smells of grilled meat and the pool. Some men, further along in their drinking, collected around Luke.

A man he didn’t know wearing a blue Texans T-shirt stepped up to him. “Clay says you were with the LAPD.”

“Yes.”

“He says you grew up here near Dixon but met Carrie in LA?”

“That’s right.”

“What are the odds?” The man glanced around for consensus, drinking his beer and shaking his head. “Two people grow up in East Texas but meet in California and get married.”

“Fate, I guess. I first set eyes on Carrie when she was still in high school working at the Whataburger here in town.”

“Damn, son. I think you have the start of a country song there.”

As the party progressed, Luke drank moderately, grabbing food when he could. The alcohol flowed, and so did the talk, moving from politics to football. Then Luke spotted Tom Beale, a Clear River detective who’d worked the case of the dead woman near the mini-mart. Luke reminded him how he’d helped.

“Right, I remember seeing you on scene,” Beale said.

“What’s the status?”

“It’s been cleared.”

“Cleared?”

“Yep. Not suspicious. She argued with her boyfriend at the party, ingested a lot of drugs and took off. Cause of death was an overdose.”

“I heard blunt force.”

“That was the original thought, but the trauma was all superficial. She must have fallen a couple times before she ended up at the scene.”

“That’s sad.”

“Yeah.”

Luke gave it a moment as relief washed over him, but only temporarily because his uncertainty of what really happened that night gnawed at him. Suddenly, someone nudged his shoulder. Turning, he saw Garth Reeger, who started poking him with a finger extended from his beer-holding hand.

“I forgot to ask you something, Luke.”

“Sure.”

“My sister-in-law Annie’s a nurse at Memorial and she told me that not too long ago you called, searching for a victim.”

Luke’s pulse picked up. A couple other people from the sheriff’s office, including Clay, listened as Reeger went on.

“Annie said you were asking about a white female—you had the time and date.” Reeger paused to drink some beer. “I also heard you wanted dispatch to give you a call history for East Division covering the same time period as your hospital call.”

Reeger let that sink in, then asked, “What’re you up to in my division, partner?”

Luke felt everyone’s eyes on him.

Stay calm, stay with the facts , he told himself.

“A few weeks back, I was driving home from The Old Stirrup—” Luke nodded to the deputies listening, Lonnie Welch and Shelby Slade. “You were there. It was storming. I thought I saw someone stumbling, hurt, near the road. I stopped, searched around, didn’t see anyone. That’s why I was asking. Nothing came of it. I figure it was trash, an animal, maybe. It was a bad storm—I hit some branches on my way home.”

Lonnie nodded. “I saw your Blazer dinged up in our lot.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to get it fixed.”

“You got a dashcam?” Shelby said.

Luke shook his head. “It broke on my drive from California.”

“That was a helluva storm,” Shelby said. “It took my shed door. What about you, Clay? Any damage?” Shelby pointed his chin to the trees, the lane to a garage and outbuildings where Clay worked on his cars.

“No, no damage, just a lot of crap in the pool,” Clay said.

Luke thought that might be the end of it, but Reeger’s attention remained welded to him. And whatever was behind his intoxicated eyes was not friendly.

“Know what else we all heard about you?” Reeger finger-poked Luke again. “You got into some kind of trouble while on duty in LA and that’s why you had to leave the LAPD.”

A moment passed.

“It’s complicated, Garth. I don’t like talking about it.”

“I bet.” Reeger gulped more beer.

“That was investigated and he was cleared,” Clay said. “Maybe you should back off, Garth.”

Ignoring him, Reeger went on. “And we all know how Vern Hamilton’s still tight with Bob Ellerd and most everyone else. Guess being married to Vern’s daughter didn’t hurt with getting you on with Clear River.”

Luke remained silent.

“And she comes home, after all these years, Carrie Hamilton, the sole survivor with memory loss.” Reeger took another swallow of beer. “Maybe there’s a streak runnin’ in the family.”

“Knock it off!” Clay said.

“What do you mean, ‘a streak runnin’ in the family’?” Luke asked.

“You ain’t heard the rumors about Vern?” Reeger shook his head, smirking. “You’re one helluva investigator, there, partner. And, you know—” Reeger turned to the others from the sheriff’s office “—y’all know that Barlow Botner from Polk and Neil Vance from Angelina were up for Luke’s job here, until the great Vern Hamilton pulled strings.”

“That’s it. You’re cut off, Garth. Let’s get Jill to drive you home.”

“Whatever,” Reeger said as Clay wrangled him away to another group.

“Don’t pay any mind to him, Luke,” Shelby said. “Garth shoots off his mouth when he’s lubricated.”

“Most folks know about Vern being ill, and they get that he wanted his family here,” Lonnie said.

At that moment, Clay made his way back to the group, clasping his hand on Luke’s shoulder.

“Don’t think twice about Garth. A while back, contractors reported theft of building materials from the construction sites at Fawn Ridge. So far, Garth’s investigation has gone nowhere. It’s likely why he got territorial about your queries.”

Luke hadn’t known about the theft, but something more pressing was on his mind.

“I want to talk to you,” he told Clay.

They went to a corner of the yard offering privacy.

“What are the rumors about Vern?”

Clay’s brow creased, and he glanced around, not wanting anyone to hear them over the din of the party.

“When Doreen died, the medical examiner, a friend of Vern’s, concluded that she’d had a brain seizure and her neck was broken from falling down the stairs. But the talk was that Vern had a temper and thought Doreen was stepping out on him. So maybe her death was suspicious.”

“Really?”

Clay nodded.

This was a revelation to Luke. He stared at Clay, who added: “Luke, nothing came of it. It’s just a nasty rumor.”

Luke’s gaze scanned the guests, searching the kitchen, and he finally spotted Carrie, his heart breaking for her.

Clay said, “Come on, I’ll show you guys my cars.”