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The past two days had moved as slowly as turgid swamp water. Savannah had tried to keep busy by working on her résumé and not worry when Hez answered texts with one-word responses. On paper she looked like a wonderful candidate, but she feared finding another job wasn’t going to be easy.

Before she stepped into Petit Charms, she shot a glance up at Hez’s balcony, but there was no sign he was home. Just as well. If he had time to think it through, surely he’d see her suggestion made sense. Wouldn’t he? She shook off her worry and stepped into the sweet aroma of powdered sugar and sweet dough.

Her order of six beignets was ready, and she paid for them and a coffee. As she turned to leave, she spotted Helen Willard and two men at a round iron table. Helen always looked like an approachable grandmother with white hair curling around her face. She was barely five feet tall and turned a smile on everyone—except a Legare. Savannah recognized Helen’s sons, David and Michael.

Though her last conversation with Helen had turned sour, she approached the three of them with a smile. “Good morning. I wanted to let you know my book was accepted for publication, and I’d love to give you a copy. I think you’ll like it. I made sure to recognize the huge contributions to TGU made by Willards over the years.”

Helen squared her narrow shoulders. “Why would I be interested in the words of a con artist? You tricked me to get access to the Willard letters for your own purposes. The least you could have done was to be honest with me. Legares have cheated us through generations. I have nothing to say to you.”

David lumbered to his feet. His gut strained at the constraints of a too-tight belt as he leaned over to help his mother up. “She’s not herself today. I’m sorry for her harsh words. I know you were trying to be kind.”

He offered his mother a beefy arm.

Michael rose as well and took his mother’s other hand. He was about the same height as his brother, though his fine-boned but muscular build contrasted with the burly David. His blond hair was going gray at the temples, but Savannah had seen plenty of women give him an appreciative glance or two.

Savannah sent an apologetic smile at the group and exited first, practically running for her car. She should have known better than to approach the elderly woman. Her hatred of the Legare family wasn’t misplaced. Political winds of change at TGU had blown the old lady right out of her home, and she now lived in a run-down bungalow.

Anticipating a sweet treat to soothe the morning’s confrontation, she sped along the short drive to her office. Her phone rang as she shut her door behind her and set her coffee and beignets on the desk. Her gut clenched when she glanced at the screen.

He rarely called, but maybe he’d heard the news. “Hey, Dad.”

“Savannah, the presidential search committee wants to talk to you. Are you free right now?”

“Sure. I don’t have class for another hour.”

“We’ll be right there.”

He hung up without saying goodbye.

She didn’t have the bandwidth to wonder what the committee wanted. Maybe they were considering Jess as a possible candidate. Jess would be an excellent president.

Savannah scarfed down a beignet, then slipped down the hall to the bathroom, where she washed the powdered sugar from her hands and made sure her face didn’t have a dusting of white. After she got back to her office and took a sip of coffee, her father bustled into the room with two other committee members in tow.

Her head was a blur as her father introduced the trustees, Harry Winslow and Ira Duncan. She’d never had a need to meet the trustees, though she was sure Jess would know them. They refused her offer of beignets, and Savannah pulled chairs into a circle and gestured for them to be seated. Her dad wasn’t one to sit. Standing was his way of maintaining control.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. The university has always done best with a Legare at the helm. We didn’t want to contact you while you were up for tenure, but now that you’ve been turned loose, you’re free to consider what’s best for TGU. We want you to take the vacant president’s seat.”

“Me? I’ve never had a management position like that.”

“You and Hez cracked that ring robbing us blind. If not for the two of you, we could be bankrupt soon. You showed wisdom and strength in your dogged search.”

“And you solved two murders.”

Ira Duncan appeared as ancient as one of the artifacts, and his voice was faint and shaky. “You dug hard. You and Jess would make an outstanding team. Two Legares at the top. It couldn’t be a better situation to transform TGU. Would you consider taking the job?”

“I—I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.”

“I’m sure if you think about it, you’ll see it makes perfect sense,”

her dad said.

“What about my classes?”

Her father waved his hand as if to shoo away gnats. “We can spread out the load with the other faculty.”

The trustees rose and moved toward the door with her father. “We have an excellent package for you, but your dad assured us money isn’t a major motivator for you.”

Ira paused and looked her in the eye. “We know you care about TGU. It’s in your blood, and that deep love can turn things around for us. We’ll await your decision.”

Savannah saw them out with her head stuffed full of conflicting thoughts. They weren’t wrong. She did love the university, and she’d hate to see it fail. Besides, Hez’s plans for the legal clinic could move forward. She envisioned buying a house near Jess’s where she could watch Simon grow up. Saying yes felt like a no-brainer, but she’d talk to Hez and seek his opinion. Maybe her life wasn’t about to be upended.

* * *

Half a year had passed since Hez last set foot in Jimmy Little’s office, but it felt like much longer. A lot had changed—at least for Hez. Jimmy looked exactly the same—he even wore the same ratty Crimson Tide sweatshirt he had on the last time Hez visited the office on a Saturday.

Jimmy was an enormous man who had struck terror into SEC quarterbacks on the gridiron until a knee injury ended his football career twenty-five years ago. Now he dominated courtrooms the way he used to dominate the line of scrimmage. He had a successful firm, Little & Associates, where Hez had worked before going down to TGU. Jimmy still kept an office with Hez’s name on the door in case he decided to come back. Jimmy was also Hez’s Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor, which was the main reason Hez had made the four-hour drive from Pelican Harbor to Birmingham. Jimmy would understand what it meant to have the love of your life find an empty wine bottle in your trash.

“I’m sorry to hear about Savannah’s tenure situation.”

Jimmy shook his massive head. “There are lots of good schools in Birmingham. I’m sure one of them would snap her up.”

“Fingers crossed. She’s working on her résumé now, and I wouldn’t mind coming back up here.”

A hopeful gleam came into Jimmy’s brown eyes. “I could let you have some office space for the Justice Chamber. I’d even make it rent free if you’d take a few cases for me.”

That got Hez’s attention. Little & Associates occupied the ideal spot for a law office—right between Birmingham’s two main courthouses. It even had a nice view. “Wow, that’s very generous, Jimmy. I’ll let you know what we decide to do.”

“Let me help you decide. I know lots of people at all the top schools in town. I’d be happy to make some calls for Savannah.”

Jimmy’s leather chair groaned as he leaned forward. “Hey, let me take you guys to dinner tonight! I’ve known you for two years, but I’ve never met Savannah.”

Hez squirmed at the reminder of their long separation and the divorce that followed. Had they finally overcome the dark chasm between them—or had the last few months been an illusion? “Actually, she’s not here. I came up by myself.”

Jimmy’s bushy salt-and-pepper brows shot up. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“Partially because I wanted to eyeball possible office space for the Justice Chamber and she’s not ready to visit schools yet. But also . . . well, it’s kind of a weird story.”

Hez told Jimmy about the mystery bottle, ending with Savannah’s suggestion that he see a neurologist.

Jimmy let out a long whistle and leaned back behind his hand-carved walnut desk. “That’s crazy, man.”

“I know, right? It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know what to do next.”

“I do.”

Hez sat up straight. “You do? What?”

“See your neurologist.”

The bottom fell out of Hez’s stomach. Even Jimmy doubted him. “I thought you’d understand.”

“I do understand—and I believe you.”

Hez’s temper flared. “So why are you literally telling me to get my head examined?”

“Because she asked you to, and it’s not a crazy request. You just said this doesn’t make any sense to you. Why should it make any sense to her?”

“She should trust me.”

“It sounds like she’s trying hard to do exactly that. Look at it from her perspective: she can either assume you’re lying or assume you’re being as honest as you can, but you took a hard shot to the head a couple of months ago.”

“Or she could believe me when I say someone must have planted the bottle.”

“Which you just said doesn’t make any sense,”

Jimmy shot back. “So you’re saying she should believe something that doesn’t make any sense. Listen to yourself!”

Hez was cornered, but he didn’t want to admit it. He sat in silence and looked at the national championship ring in a case on Jimmy’s desk. The thing looked as heavy as a paperweight and as wide as a napkin ring.

Jimmy sighed and continued more gently. “Look, this thing may make sense after you’ve done some more digging. It probably will—no one hunts down evidence better than you. But for now, you’ve got to ask yourself: Would you rather be right or be with her?”