Stunned by the truth that had just left his mouth, Nic continued with her defense. “What does that matter? If I had some drinks? It doesn’t change the facts—four cops came to the scene. He was just one of them. They were waiting for the SWAT team but the kid kept pointing the gun at them, and then at the glass windows of the school. Three of the four opened fire. It just happened to be Reyes’s bullet that caught him in the chest.”

“I know the story.”

“It was suicide by cop. It wasn’t his fault, but it messed him up.”

“And there was the chief, coming in for the save.”

“No—that’s not what happened. At least, not how Reyes told it.”

“Look,” Kurt said, leaning on the counter so he could get closer to her. “I know all of it. He needed a new start. Applied for the job. The chief took a chance on him, got him all straightened out in his head. But that’s the point. That’s why Reyes has his back, whatever the hell he does.”

Nic had a flash of Chief Watkins with that prostitute, pushing her out of the truck. Calling her a cheap whore.

The dark gray pickup truck.

“And what is it he does?” Nic asked.

Kurt stepped back, threw his hands in the air. “Doesn’t matter. He helps kids, right? He helped Reyes. They run the town. The cops with their authority. And Roger Booth with his money. People like me working two, three jobs. I just left the Gas n’ Go after an all-nighter—and now I’m here. It’s all a fucking joke. Because this town’s a fucking joke.”

Nic didn’t respond. These were relationships that went back many years. Kurt had wanted to get out but got stuck here. Booth lost the love of his life. Reyes lost his future to a horrible misfortune and now had to be grateful for the scraps Watkins threw his way. And Watkins—Nic couldn’t even begin to unravel him.

Her phone rang.

“Excuse me a second.”

It was her father’s number. She closed her eyes, shook her head. She didn’t want to deal with this now.

“Hey, Dad,” she said.

He did not return the greeting.

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

“Back at the inn. I was about to go upstairs,” she lied. She didn’t want to explain why she was at the bar at eleven a.m. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sending you a photo. It’s from Mark.”

Mark—the PI her father had hired.

“Did he find her?” The world stopped for one short moment.

“No, no—I’m sorry, I should have explained this better. I had him look into that woman, Edith Moore. It’s just too strange that she waited this long to come forward.”