I clasped my hands in my lap and tried not to think of Buffy’s lifeless body, or the utter lack of concern in Thatch’s voice.

“Do you often spend weekends away with your wife's friends?” asked the sheriff.

“No. But Willa and Liz thought this would be fun.” Thatch offered a women-there's-no-pleasing-them shrug.

“Who decided who'd be invited?”

"Willa and Liz." Thatch glanced my way. “Who asked you, Ellison?”

“Liz.” Although it was Libba who’d pressured me to come.

Thatch grinned as if I’d proved his point. “Eight couples, with the cost of the weekend split eight ways.”

Sheriff Bascom tilted his head. “The cost?

“Extra staff at the club, the caterer, the cabin rentals.”

“I see. Why come here?”

Thatch tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“It’s the hottest time of year. Your wife could easily have planned a weekend at the Lake of the Ozarks.”

The sheriff made an excellent point. If we’d gone to the lake, we could have gone waterskiing or tubing. The fishing would be better, and I was certain we could have found a stable for those who wanted to ride.

“You’d have to ask her.”

“It seems to me she selected a remote location.” Sheriff Bascom glanced at me. “When did Mrs. Brandt invite you and Detective Jones?”

“Liz called me Tuesday morning.” Tuesday. And we’d arrived on Friday. The weekend wasn’t a sudden whim. The catering, the staff, readying the cabins—they’d required planning. With all that work, Liz and Willa would have filled the eight cabins long before Tuesday. “I think there was a cancellation. Anarchy and I were a last-minute addition.”

“Is that true, Mr. Cooke?”

The smirk was back. “You'd have to ask my wife.”

Sheriff Bascom nodded as if he planned on doing just that. “Were you and Graham Landingham friends?”

“We worked together.”

A small frown pulled at the sheriff’s lips. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“No. We weren’t friends.”

Sheriff Bascom frowned as if Thatch’s answer confused him. “But your wife put the weekend together?”

“Yes. With Liz.”

“Then why did they include Sumner and Graham Landingham?”

Thatch shifted in his chair. “Graham and I were colleagues. It was important for us to get along.”

“And you thought a weekend in the country would help with that?”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“Except Mr. Landingham is dead.”

“Are you suggesting I killed him?” Thatch’s tone was itching for a fight.

“I’m not suggesting anything.” The sheriff’s reply was mild. “Where were you early this morning?”

Thatch rolled his shoulders. “Asleep in my cabin with my wife.”

“No insomnia?”

“No. I slept like a baby.”

“You didn’t hear the commotion when my deputies and the ambulance arrived?”

“I’m a deep sleeper.”

“What will happen to Mr. Landingham's clients?”

“Other partners will take them on, or we'll withdraw as counsel.”