Gretchen wailed again, and the sound chilled Eli. It was primal, despair so heavy and so dark that it was crushing her.

“We can drive you to the funeral home,” Eli offered quietly. “Freddie’s there, if you want to see him.”

Gretchen’s agony was terrible to hear, and it was continuous.

Fred, Sr., held her against his side, though, paradoxically, he seemed entirely unaware of her existence. “Freddie wouldn’t have done that,” he said, with desperation. “He wouldn’t have killed himself!”

“I’m sorry,” Eli repeated. “There will be an investigation, as I said, but it doesn’t look as if there was foul play.”

“Get off my land,” Fred ordered, his eyes wild and covered in a sheen of tears. “Both of you! Just get off my land before I turn these dogs loose on you!”

Eli held out both hands. “Take it easy, Fred. We’re going.”

Melba made a beeline for the SUV, opened the passenger door and climbed inside the rig, shutting the door hard behind her.

Eli, backing slowly away from the two people glaring at him from their porch, lowered his hands. “If you need anything,” he said, “or if you have any questions, call me. I’ll help if I can.”

Neither Gretchen nor Fred, Sr., spoke.

Eli got behind the wheel, closed the door, fastened his seat belt.

“Damn,” Melba said, as he started the engine and backed the SUV into a three-point turn. “That was awful.”

Eli nodded, said nothing. He was bothered by something about the Lansings’ response to the news of their son’s death, though he couldn’t have said for the life of him what that something was.

CHAPTER TWELVE

ELI’S TEXT ARRIVED at ten thirty that night.

Still invited? No pressure. I know it’s late, and I’ll be okay with a no.

Brynne smiled at the message and replied immediately, Still invited.

The reply: Be there in five minutes.

He was right on time, pulling in behind the restaurant in his truck, with Festus riding in the passenger seat.

Brynne, standing on the small back porch, hugged herself against the cold.

When Eli had parked and shut off the engine, he stepped down and gave a low whistle, which prompted Festus to leap down after him, tail wagging, tongue lolling.

Clearly, Eli had been home and changed; he was wearing different clothes, jeans, a T-shirt and a long-sleeved wool shirt. His Western boots were well-worn but clean, and his hair was still damp from a recent shower.

Festus rushed Brynne and was overjoyed to receive a good reception—a warm laugh and a ruffling of his floppy ears. His mismatched eyes gleamed in the dim glow of the porch light.

Eli walked toward Brynne, stood looking up at her for a moment before mounting the steps.

“You look like an angel, complete with halo,” he said, and his voice was husky.