“You’ve always said that telling someone not to worry is like telling them not to breathe.”

Despite everything, I laughed. “I hate it when you use my advice against me.”

“Are you sure I shouldn’t come home? It feels like the right thing to do.”

“Yes, I’m sure, honey.” My phone beeped, and I saw I had an incoming call from an unfamiliar number. It was probably just something to do with the party, but some instinct told me I should answer it. “I have a call coming in. I’ll call you later tonight, okay?”

“Okay. Love you, Mom. But I am coming home.”

“Love you, too. And no, you’re not. I’ll talk to you later.”

I hit the button to take the incoming call.

“This is Maggie Cabot.”

“Hello, Mrs. Cabot.” It was a cool female voice I didn’t recognize. “This is Natalie Clarke. I’m your husband’s defense attorney.”

“Oh, right. How can I help you?”

“Unfortunately, I’m calling with bad news. Your husband has been arrested.”

Chapter Twelve

I drove to the jail in a panic. I didn’t even know where the jail was in our small town, and my fingers shook as I typed the address into my phone for directions.

I expected that when I saw James, it would be like in the movies, with the two of us sitting opposite one another, a plexiglass wall between us, talking on old-fashioned phone sets. But after I went through security, I was escorted by a uniformed officer to one of the pods where pre-trial prisoners were housed. Natalie had explained on the phone that, for safety reasons, pre-trial detainees were kept apart from those who’d actually been convicted of a crime. I think she had meant to calm me with this information, but if so, it had the exact opposite effect.

Another officer buzzed us through a locked metal door.

“Wait here.” The officer who’d brought me back gestured toward a common room inside the pod that was furnished with industrial tables and chairs, all bolted to the floor. It smelled overwhelmingly like bleach. There were prisoners scattered throughout the space, wearing light-blue scrubs that looked almost exactly like the ones James wore at work, sitting and talking quietly with visitors.

“Here?” I asked. I didn’t want to be left alone, even if there was an officer at one end of the room, watching carefully from behind a glass window. A wave of nausea rose up inside of me.

“Yep.” The officer looked bored. I supposed this was all routine to him, but I couldn’t imagine how. This was a place where people were locked up, taken away from their loved ones by force, their lives forever changed . . . and this Sheriff’s deputy, who looked barely older than Paige, was trying to stifle a yawn. When he saw me staring at him, he smiled ruefully.