“It’s just that I thought you might have known the daughter, Angel Beaumont. She would have been younger than you...”

“Did someone tell you I knew her?” he demanded.

“No, I just—”

“Just heard that my stepfather was the ranch manager on the Atkinson place across the creek,” he said angrily. “Well, he got fired because of Laura Beaumont, okay? We had to move to a run-down old place and my mother...” He shook his head, clearly agitated now. “I don’t know what some busybodies have been telling you—”

“No one’s been telling me anything.”

He glared at her. “Why are you digging up this old crap after all this time?”

She shook her head, at a loss since she couldn’t tell him about the murder story, especially now. “I’m sorry. I—”

“Oh, that’s right, you’ve got Mace in your class.”

Mace Carpenter? Now she really was confused. “Wait a minute, Ben Carpenter is your stepfather?”

“As if you didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t. I swear.” Ronda Carpenter was Tinker’s mother?

He looked away and when his gaze returned to her, there was a coldness to it. “I knew Angel, okay? I felt sorry for her. Her mother was a tramp who didn’t pay any attention to her. I’d already lived through my mother’s divorce and her remarrying Ben. I could relate so I tried to watch out for the kid.”

She didn’t know what to say. Tinker was the friend from the murder story?

“Angel was a sweet little girl. She didn’t stand a chance though. I wasn’t surprised when her mother got herself murdered and Angel...” He shook his head again. “I don’t like talking about any of this.”

“I’m sorry. I really had no idea.” She should have, though, given how small the community was.

He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go.”

“Thanks for supper.”

“Sure.” He started to step away, but turned back. “I wouldn’t go talking to anyone else about this if I were you. People around here don’t like you digging up bad memories.” He left her standing beside her car, feeling awful for spoiling their evening out.

But at least now she knew. Tinker had to be the friend in the murder story. He would have been nine, Angel four or five. Why else would he have been so upset?

Still she couldn’t help but feel strange about him telling her not to talk to anyone else about it.

First the Whitehorse Sewing Circle, then Midge, now Tinker. Her conspiracy theory raised its ugly head again. Who were they all trying to protect?

Russell walked Dulcie to her motel-room door under a canopy of starlight and just a sliver of a moon. There was no one around, the hot night breathlessly silent.

She made the mistake of looking over at him, their gazes locking. “Thank you, Russell, for—”