Lane pressed her lips together. She doubted Ian would face the same reprimanding for his absence that she was getting, but had she noted a tinge of sadness in Meagan’s voice? Her sister’s face remained stoic. Meagan was the younger reflection of their mother. Dark chestnut hair coiled around her shoulders, makeup perfectly in place. Her dress, probably designer, had no wrinkles. Nothing to indicate all was not well . . . or perfect. People always commented that Meagan and their mom could be sisters. Their mom basked in the compliment—Meagan not so much.

The gilded mirror on the wall reflected how different two sisters could be. If Lane stared long enough, she’d see the small lines around her mouth and at the sides of her green eyes. Meagan’s tamed hair, styled and perfectly in place, contrasted with Lane’s long, wavy tresses tucked into a bun at the base of her neck. She didn’t wear makeup and according to Meagan needed to see someone about her eyebrows. But who had time for that?

Meagan.

Meagan had time for that. Not only was she a doting wife, member of the Junior League, part of the PTA, and mom of two kids, but she somehow made time to take care of herself. To be presentable. Staring back at her own reflection, Lane almost laughed at herself. There was no need to worry about the deputy seeing LEGOs or laundry piled up—she was all the mess necessary to warn him off.

Lane tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. What made her think the handsome deputy would give her a passing glance? After seeing Meagan and her mom, it was apparent what a good night’s sleep could do for one’s skin. Dark circles beneath her own eyes revealed long nights, but getting more rest would do nothing to erase the etchings of her past. That would take a lifetime of sleep and Lane didn’t have time for that either—or foolish thoughts about a man.

“Someone said a body was found near the Ogeechee.”

Lane swung her gaze to her brother as the muscles in her stomach contracted. Had enough time passed for the morbid news to spread through their small town already?

“Think it might be suicide.” Wes took a big bite of chicken as if finding a dead body in Walton was commonplace.

“Seriously, Wes?” Meagan asked. “In front of the kids?”

“What? It’s what I heard,” Wes said. He was already scooping a spoonful of potato salad onto his plate. “Waiting to notify next of kin.”

“Is that true?” Her mother peeked over her glass of white wine, eyes wide.

“I don’t understand what could drive a person to do that. Life can’t be that hard,” Wes said between bites.

A slap in the face couldn’t have hurt worse. Her cheeks burned. What did her brother know about life being hard?