“What happened to Junie wasn’t your fault,” I said to his retreating back. Because even if he wasn’t saying it, I knew what this bender was really about.

Cal stopped, looked at me over his shoulder, gaze skating from me to the newspaper he’d left on the bar and back again. “I wasn’t talking about Junie,” he said. “I was talking about you and me, Eve. Turning out exactly how Mama raised us.”

SEVENTEEN

I was well aware that showing up at Jimmy Ray’s compound without an express invitation was something akin to suicide. But I had to find a way to speak to Matt alone, without the protective cover of the strip club, where he could have me tossed out or simply walk away. I’d spent the last couple of days trying to come up with alternative ideas, but I needed to catch him off guard if I had any hope of getting him to talk. I did think about calling Land, letting him know what I’d discovered. But I had a feeling the cops were already privy to my information and that there was a less-than-nothing chance they’d been able to get Matt to say a single word. I had serious doubts I could get him to talk, either. Would probably leave this encounter with a black eye or some broken fingers, if I was lucky. But I had to try.

I wasn’t so far gone, though, that I went in blind, with no hope of rescue if things went completely sideways. Cal sounded harried and exhausted when he answered the phone. We hadn’t talked since I’d driven him home from the bar two nights ago. I’d been waiting for him to contact me first. I wanted to give him a chance to decide how he’d play it, suspecting he’d prefer to pretend his moment of weakness had never happened. He wouldn’t want to be reminded that he’d needed me for a change. Or that memories of Mama still had such a hold on him after all these years.

“Hey,” I said, pinning the phone between my ear and shoulder. I rolled up my car window as I drove, silencing the roaring wind.

“Hey,” Cal said. “Everything okay?” He sounded a little surprised, and I realized I never called him anymore. Before Junie died, I’d talked to him at least twice a day, to shoot the shit, check in. But that lifelong routine had stopped along with my daughter’s beating heart. Truth was, I didn’t have anything to say and didn’t have the energy to pretend to care what anyone else said, either, unless they were telling me who’d killed my girl.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I lied, half my brain calculating how far I was from Jimmy Ray’s versus how long it might take Cal to get where I was going. “But listen, I got a lead on the guy Izzy was fooling around with and—”

“Eve,” Cal said, sharp and loud. “What are you doing?”

My teeth clattered together as my car jounced over the uneven ground toward Jimmy Ray’s compound. It was starting to get dark, and I felt spotlighted and vulnerable, my headlights and choppy engine announcing my arrival. “Don’t worry,” I told Cal, his disbelieving gust of breath telling me how likely that was. “I’m fine. I won’t do anything dumb.” The lies were rolling off my tongue like water now. “I wanted you to know I’m out at Jimmy Ray’s, in case anything happens.”