“Okay.” When Lane turned, he saw the photo on the counter. A family of three—Lane, a man, and a little boy who was the perfect combination of the smiling faces holding him. Lane glanced back at the photo and then up to him. “I, um, got your message from earlier. About the statement.”

Charlie straightened. He moved here to prove himself and he had a job to do. Lane was reminding him of that. “Right. Yes, ma’am. About the events from today.”

Lane flinched. “Lane, please.”

“I know it must be difficult to think about, but we really need the facts to be fresh in your mind. Is it okay if I stop by tomorrow?”

“Um, yeah, sure.” Lane bit her bottom lip. “I do have an event tomorrow afternoon, but you can stop by in the morning.”

“Tomorrow then.” Charlie stood. “I’ll just tell my aunt good night.”

“Right.”

“Have a good night, Mrs. Kent.”

FOUR

CHARLIE TAPPED THE MICROPHONE and listened as a thud broke the hushed air outside the sheriff’s station. He stepped back and gave a nod to Sheriff Huggins. “It’s ready.”

“Yesterday afternoon a body was discovered near the Ogeechee River—”

“Have you identified the body?” a nice-looking reporter with long blonde hair cut in. Her gaze was sharp and focused on Sheriff Huggins.

“That’s what we’re hoping the citizens of Walton can help us with.” Sheriff Huggins gripped the podium with both hands. Alone, his presence demanded attention, but coupled with the dreadful truth he was sharing, there was little chance anyone would turn away. “Right now, we’re looking for help in identifying the victim—”

“Has this been declared a homicide investigation?” The question came from an older man in a white linen suit reminiscent of something he imagined Mark Twain would wear. An affiliate lanyard for the Walton Gazette hung around his neck.

“We’re still investigating initial reports from the medical examiner, but it appears we’re dealing with a homicide,” Sheriff Huggins confirmed, heaviness in his tone.

“Do you have any suspects or does the killer still remain at large?” This question came from a beefy man in a mustard-yellow sport coat that should’ve disappeared with disco decades ago.

“A killer?” An older woman gasped, clutching her hands to her chest. A wave of murmuring rippled through the crowd.

Last night the deputies waited for someone to call in a missing persons report, but almost twenty hours later the body was still a Jane Doe. Sheriff Huggins hoped a small press conference would give them a lead, but it only seemed to be stirring up questions they couldn’t answer.

Charlie shifted under the unpleasant morning humidity and the expressions of those standing in front of him. They were expressing more than shock—it was almost disbelief that something like this could happen in their town. Even the church bells ringing in the distance seemed to be crying foul.