Her support? Lane was here hoping to get their support, but maybe this could work to her advantage. If her father believed she was here to support his bid for Senate, then maybe it would make what she was about to tell him easier. If he could see she was trying, then just maybe—

“I picked up some barbecue sandwiches from the Smoking Hog. There’ll be enough to share.”

Lane followed her mother back into her father’s office. A mahogany desk sat in the center and gold baroque curtains framed the large picture window overlooking Walton’s park and memorial garden. A wall of shelves lined with law books filled the other half of the room, along with a long conference table. Her mother began unpacking the foam to-go containers, releasing the smoked aroma of barbecue into the room.

Helping her mother put the food onto plates and set the table, Lane heard her father’s voice answer the last question from the reporters. The press conference was over and Lane’s stomach twisted into a knot of dread. Could she do this?

The door behind Lane closed and it felt like the air in the room evaporated along with her courage.

“Honey, you did great.” Her mother’s voice was soothing. “Right, Lane?”

Lane spun to face her father. His eyes settled on her. She nodded. Hesitantly at first and then a little more assuredly, hoping it conveyed her agreement and not so much her fear of upsetting him. This wasn’t a good idea.

“Remind me to call Huggins.” Her father strode across his office, loosening his tie. “If I’m feeling the pressure, he’s going to feel it too.”

A trace of indignation spurred Lane’s gut. Did her father really believe the sheriff and his deputies weren’t feeling the pressure of the case? Lane wasn’t the only one who had noticed that the sheriff’s normally jovial expression was quickly replaced with deep lines of exhaustion. Customers often asked Ms. Byrdie how her husband was doing, not always out of concern for the case but because they cared. And Lane was only slightly embarrassed that she had found herself searching Charlie’s driveway for his truck the last several days only to find it empty from the break of dawn until she turned her lights off at night.

“I think they’re feeling the pressure more than most.”

Her father’s forehead wrinkled at Lane’s harsh tone. “Pressure produces results.”

“Who’s hungry?” Lane’s mother pulled out a chair at the conference table and sat, expectation on her face for Lane and her father to do the same.

Lane had no appetite but sat anyway. Her father removed his suit jacket and sat in the chair at the head of the table.

“It was nice of Lane to show up, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was.”