“We're all the heroes of our own stories. Killers feel wronged or trapped. They may see taking a life as their only option.”

Thatch smirked. “You speak from vast experience?”

“I’ve found a few bodies.” So many I’d lost track.

“Murder is evil,” said Mel. “Always. A killer knows what they’re doing is wrong, and they do it anyway.

I wasn’t about to argue the killer's side.

“No, no.” Thatch wagged a pork rib. “Ellison makes a good point. No one wakes up and decides to be evil.”

“What about people who plan murders down to the last detail?” said Merit.

Thatch frowned at her. “We’re not in a Hitchcock movie or a Christie novel. Most murders are crimes of passion.”

Merit curled her upper lip. “You mean a broken heart.”

“I mean someone who’s so angry, they act without thinking.”

“Whoever killed Graham woke up this morning and decided to kill him,” I said. “They had a night to sleep on their decision.”

Thatch shook his head. “Maybe they didn’t sleep. Maybe the stewed. They got more and more angry. They went to the cabin. They saw Sumner leave on her run. And they grabbed the opportunity to end Graham’s life.”

For a long second, I imagined the killer lurking in the woods. Waiting. And then common sense took over. “After they had the foresight to steal Perry’s gun?”

“That’s assuming Perry’s gun was actually stolen.” Thatch smirked at his law partner. “Did Graham do anything to tick you off last night?”

“No more so than usual.”

“What do you think, Ellison. You’re the one with all the experience.” His tone was mocking. “Cold, calculated murder or crime of passion?”

“Does it have to be either or?”

Thatch folded his hands and rested them on the table’s edge. “I believe it does.”

“I don’t. What if the killer had been thinking of killing Graham?” My gaze swept the table. “Nearly everyone had a reason to want him dead. They’d been thinking, but had no plans to actually commit murder. Then, something Graham did or said set them off. The killer was furious and already had a plan in place.”

Thatch clapped slowly. “So, who among us is angry enough to kill?” He held my gaze and I felt like I was staring into the eyes of a snake.

“I don’t know. But Anarchy will find them.”

“Your faith is adorable.”

“Anarchy has the best clear rate in the department.”

“Domestic disputes. Drug deals gone wrong. Unneighborly neighbors. Solving those murders does not make him Hercule Poirot.”

I tapped my napkin against my lips. “Being a suspect doesn’t bother you?”

“Not in the least. Mark my words. This crime will never be solved.”

Mel’s breath caught. “We’ll live under an umbrella of suspicion for the rest of our days?”