I can see why. Chief Hunt climbed the law enforcement ladder because of two things: the status that came with his wife’s wealth, and the strong-armed way he went about cleaning up Lake Crosby’s streets. He closed up all the meth labs, tossed the drug lords in jail. He patrolled the streets, pulled over anybody who even looked like they were thinking about a drink. People joke about having to drive all the way to Sapphire for some decent weed, but it’s the truth—and all thanks to Chief Hunt’s iron fist.

“Sienna suggested there were some new details in the case,” I say.

Jamie frowns. “What kind of new details?”

“That she didn’t say. But apparently she was planning to reveal them in a podcast. Have you heard anything about it from the police?”

“What, you think Chief Hunt’s coming over here to fill me in? That jackass don’t tell me jack. When those divers found Bobby, I learned it from the news. The news, Charlie. Chief didn’t even have the decency to come over here and tell me himself. It’s like he’s forgotten I even exist.”

Talk of Bobby has worked her up something good, turned her wheezing into something that pulses worry in my chest. I look around for a landline in case we need to call for an ambulance, wondering if the cell tucked in the pocket of my bag will do me any good on this side of the mountain, where service is spotty at best. I glance at Chet, and he looks worried, too.

I scoot to the edge of the couch. “Things are about to get ugly, Miss Jamie. I don’t know how much of it will be true and how much of it is gossip, but I remember what it did to you last time around. You stay strong, and call me anytime you need to talk, or if somebody shows up here looking to take advantage. I’ll send Chet here over to chase ’em off.”

He nods. “Gladly. And I’ll bring you some of that seven-layer dip you like so much, too.”

She pitches back in her recliner, tilting herself almost horizontal, looking up at us over her heaving belly. “You two turned out a whole lot nicer than your mama did. Anybody ever tell y’all that?”

“Only once or twice.” Chet grins, pausing to pat her ankle. “You take care of yourself, Miss Jamie. I’ll see you next week.”

I’m at the door when my curiosity gets the better of me. “Miss Jamie, who does your landscaping?”

“Huh?” Her head lolls my way, her eyes at half-mast. She waves a hand through the air, but it’s sloppy. She’s losing steam fast. “Oh, hell if I know. They come through here with their blowers and their weed whackers, and then they’re gone. Never ask me for a penny.”