“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Tiffany wasn’t convinced the woman was telling the truth. “Could I talk to Miles?”

Vera unclasped the case and stared at J.D., looking him up and down as he stood on the step behind Tiffany. “Miles isn’t here.”

Warning bells clanged in her mind. Both boys, known to get into trouble together, were missing. “Do you know where he is?”

“Miles?” She let out a throaty laugh. “Nope. That boy’s just like his old man. Never around when you need him. But I’ll let him know you dropped by.” She shook out a long, slim cigarette and held it between two fingers. “Anything else?”

“No. Just please have Miles call me when he gets in.”

“Will do.” She shut the door and Tiffany walked back to the car, convinced that the boy would never get the message.

“Friendly,” J.D. observed sarcastically.

“She doesn’t like me. Or Stephen.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Not that I know of, but I don’t take it personally. She doesn’t get along with many people. Her husband, Ray, is a guy who hires on at local ranches and he’s been in and out of jail since he was nineteen. Right now he’s out, but no one thinks it’ll last.”

“You know a lot for a newcomer to Bittersweet.”

“It’s a small town. Everyone has his nose in everyone else’s business. I hear it all day long—down at the insurance office or when I’m having coffee down at Millie’s or, if all else fails, from my renters.”

They drove toward town as the stars winked in the dark sky. Tiffany leaned her arm out the open window and tried to imagine where her son had gone. Was he with Miles, and more importantly, was he safe? Oh, dear God, she prayed, please, let him be all right.

“I have an idea,” J.D. ventured as he slid her a glance.

“About Stephen?”

“Mmm.” He drove through town, but didn’t head toward her house. “Remember this morning at breakfast? Stephen seemed pretty determined to go to the Cawthorne wedding.”

She felt her shoulders sag as she remembered the conversation about her father. “It was just talk.”

“Was it?” J.D. asked as they passed the post office.

“It’s his new thing—try to argue Mom into a corner.”

“Or he could have been serious.”

“Why?”

J.D. lifted a shoulder. “Curiosity. Or a need to connect with his mother’s family. Who knows?”

Tiffany didn’t want to believe that Stephen would openly defy her. Not this way. “He . . . he wouldn’t have gone to the wedding. No way. Same goes for the reception.”

“ A few days ago you were certain he knew nothing about Isaac Wells’s disappearance. Now you’re not so sure.”