Thatch rolled his eyes. Again. “Don’t be so dramatic, Mel. No one thinks you have the nerve to commit murder.”

That Thatch—making friends left and right.

Chapter Ten

Anarchy and I sat on the porch at the back of our cabin and night pressed against the screens. An owl hooted. An animal trotted past the edge of the clearing.

“Under different circumstances, I’d love this.” He meant if I hadn’t found a body.

We’d turned off the air-conditioner so we could have an actual conversation.

“It is beautiful out here.” If one could get over the heat and the snakes and the murder.

He nodded. “How was dinner at your end of the table?”

“Just shy of litigious.”

He chuckled. “You did get both lawyers.”

“How about your end?”

“Willa and Liz are talkers.”

“And?”

“When it comes to Graham, there’s shock and horror, but not grief.”

I nodded. “The only person I've seen show much emotion is Misty.”

“Oh?”

“When I talked to her earlier today, she'd been crying.”

Anarchy stared into darkness that seemed thicker and…darker than in the city.

“What are your theories?” I asked.

He reached across the small distance that separated us, and his fingers laced with mine. “You go first.”

Or, we could forget about murder, go inside, and lose ourselves in each other.

“Ellison?”

“Right. Almost everyone has a motive. Almost no one has an alibi.”

Anarchy held a glass of scotch in his free hand. He lifted the drink to his lips and took a sip. “So far, we're on the same page.”

“Libba and Charlie are cleared.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I am. If Libba were to commit murder, it would be to protect someone.”

“Maybe she's protecting Charlie?”

“She wouldn’t risk everything for a man—no matter how giddy she seems.” I shook my head. "Besides, Thatch called the lawsuit a nuisance filing. Neither Libba nor Charlie would kill over that.”

“What about Charlie’s kids?”

“Charlie may not have been the best husband, but he adores his children. If there were an issue, he’d hire a tougher, meaner lawyer than his ex-wife. No way would he lose visitation rights.”

“Noted.”

“But you don’t agree?”

“Time will tell.”

“Moving on.” I didn’t want to debate Libba and Charlie with him. “I think Merit and Tommy are in the clear.”

“Oh?”

“Merit, because she'd rather talk than act. And Tommy was too drunk.”

“Drunks kill people.”

“Not with one shot straight through the heart.”

“You paid attention at the crime scene.”

That sounded like praise, and not the you’re-pretty kind (which was all well and good), but the you’re-competent-and-smart-and-observant kind (which was so much better). Warmth bloomed in my chest, but I kept my tone nonchalant. “Not my first shooting. That leaves Liz and Perry, Willa and Thatch, Mel and Fred, Buffy and Bill, and Sumner.”

“Add Misty.”

“Oh?”