Charlie slipped on a pair of latex gloves as the sheriff’s words tickled his ear, “Only one way to find out.” He hit a button on the phone and Sydney’s smiling face appeared with her two best friends next to her. “It’s her phone.”

Sheriff Huggins’s shoulders dropped an inch. He looked as sick as Charlie felt. The whole time the killer had been sitting under their noses. And now he was gone. Charlie assigned two deputies to drive the area between the house and town. Walton didn’t have a K-9 unit, but they could borrow one from Savannah Metro if necessary. They weren’t going to lose him.

Deputy Wilson walked into the house, carrying a painting in his latex-gloved hands. “Sir, the building out back appears to be a workshop. We found this out there.” He lifted the canvas.

Bright yellow streams of sunlight bathed large trees with thick green foliage. At the center was a sculpture carved out of a tree trunk, with birds flying upward from the base of it as though they had been set free.

“Did Sydney paint it?” Sheriff Huggins asked, looking over his shoulder.

Charlie took the canvas from the deputy and studied it. The scenery was peaceful, not like the other colorful abstract paintings. Like the others, there was no signature. Charlie ran a finger along the brush strokes. Yellow paint lifted. “It’s not hers. Paint’s still wet.”

“Follow protocol. No mistakes. I’m going to put out a BOLO,” Sheriff Huggins said as he stepped outside. Resignation was etched deep into the sheriff’s face.

Did the sheriff believe Miguel was incapable of murder? Or was the weight of finding out someone you thought you knew was capable of killing finally getting to him?

“Lynch.” Wilson held up a piece of paper with a crayon drawing of a dinosaur on it. Scribbled in the corner was Noah’s name.

Charlie’s jaw clenched as the acid rose up his throat. “I need to get back to Lane.”

Lane felt like one of those Disney princesses who drifted on fluffy white clouds after an encounter with their Prince Charming. Or was Prince Charming just for Snow White? Lane couldn’t remember and Noah wasn’t too keen on watching movies with sappy singing princesses in pink.

“Either you snuck the last of the éclairs or you’re falling in love.” Meagan leaned her elbows on the railing of the back porch. “Soooo?”

“Those éclairs are magical, aren’t they?” Lane tucked her chin, hiding the blush rushing to her cheeks. She picked up a soggy napkin and tossed it onto a pile with the others she had collected. Was she falling in love? The thought of using that word felt sudden and too intimate to share, but it also felt sort of right.