“Oh, Ellison. I’m so sorry. Why are you here?” She winced and held her hands up. “That came out wrong. It wasn’t meant to be critical. I just mean there must be a really good reason, because I know you, and I know you want to be with him.”

“He asked me to stay.”

“Here? Why?”

“She's solved murder cases before,” said Libba. “Without Anarchy.”

Liz wrung her hands. “I wish we'd never planned this weekend.”

“You had the best intentions.”

“I can’t stop thinking about how wrong things have gone. We started as sixteen. Now two people are dead, and one is in the hospital.”

Maybe I should have a bloody Mary.

A tall man with gray hair showing beneath his cowboy hat, a mustache drooping beneath his nose, and a star on his chest stepped under the gazebo.

“Liz, Libba, would you please excuse me?” I didn’t wait for their responses.

I cut a path to the man and held out my hand. “Sheriff Bascom, I’m Ellison Jones.”

He studied me with bright blue eyes.

I studied him, too. For a man in his sixties, he was gorgeous.

“Any updates on your husband, Mrs. Jones?”

“The doctors are keeping him in intensive care, but promise me he'll be fine.”

“They see plenty of snake bites. I’d believe them.” He took in the small crowd in the gazebo—every member staring at us. “Is there a place we can talk?”

“The clubhouse?”

He nodded his assent, and we walked the path together.

“This is a helluva thing,” he said.

“For everyone.”

“Does your husband have a lead suspect?”

Perry. "I’m not sure he'd ruled anyone out.”

"What about you? Who do you think killed your friends?”

He opened the clubhouse for me, and I led him to Randy's office.

“When it comes to Graham’s murder, my thoughts have changed.”

“Oh?”

“You may have heard, Buffy, the woman who was killed, lied about her whereabouts yesterday morning.”

“I heard.”

“It seems likely she saw the killer.”

He took off his cowboy hat and put it on Randy's desk. “Agreed.”

“I’ve known Buffy for years, and she wasn’t a stupid woman.”

He nodded, but said nothing.

“She knew who killed Graham, but didn’t say anything. Why not?”

“You tell me.”

I sank into one of the comfortable chairs facing Randy’s desk. “There are several possibilities. First, blackmail.”

“You don’t sound convinced of that.”

“I’m not. Like I said, she wasn’t stupid. If she’d decided on blackmail, she wouldn’t have met the killer by herself. Not when everyone else was asleep.”

He nodded.

“The second possibility—” I tapped one pointer finger against the other “—she was in league with the killer.”

“She killed Landingham?”