“Apparently.”

“Did the text say anything about money?”

Cal’s brow furrowed. “Money? Like blackmail? What do you mean?”

I stood up, gathered a few dirty glasses from the coffee table. “I don’t know what I mean.” I walked toward the kitchen and set the glasses in the sink. “Someone mentioned maybe money was at the root of all this.” I concentrated on running some water, squirting a little dish soap.

“Who is someone?” Cal called, and I regretted saying anything because as soon as Jimmy Ray’s name left my lips, all rational conversation was going to end. “Who, Evie?” Cal asked again, getting up and looming in the doorway to the kitchen. When I didn’t answer, Cal smacked a hand against the doorjamb. “It was fucking Jimmy Ray, wasn’t it? That piece of shit. When did you talk to him?”

“He was here tonight, earlier.”

All the bluster went out of Cal, and he stepped closer, put a gentle hand on my arm. “Did he hurt you?”

I shrugged, looked away. “Not as much as he wanted to. I think I broke his nose.”

A long low whistle from Cal. “Holy shit, Eve. Good for you.”

I laughed, a short exhale. “Between the two of us, we’re giving Jimmy Ray’s face a whole new look.”

Cal’s grin lasted only a moment before it dropped away and something more serious took its place. “You know he’s probably screwing with you, right? Winding you up?”

“Why would he do that?” I asked, but it was a stupid question. Jimmy Ray loved playing with people, loved having the upper hand and watching everyone dance while he pulled the strings.

“Because he can,” Cal said, exasperated. “Because it’s fun. Because he likes feeling powerful. Do you need me to go on?”

I left the dirty dishes soaking in the sink and grabbed a towel from the counter to dry my hands. “You’re saying he’s totally off base, money had nothing to do with it?”

“I’m not saying that. Up until now, we haven’t found that connection, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. But if it is, it would be a lucky guess on Jimmy Ray’s part. He doesn’t know shit about what happened, Evie. He’s trying to get inside your head.”

What Cal was saying made perfect, logical sense. It was Jimmy Ray’s modus operandi from way back. But still, I couldn’t quite let the idea go. I kept thinking of Jimmy Ray’s face when he’d spoken to me, the swift flash of tenderness I almost hadn’t recognized because it was so unexpected. The light in his eyes that burned with something close to truth.

• • •

Grief hadn’t put a damper on Jenny Logan’s green thumb. The flower pots lining her front steps were a riot of early spring colors: Pink, white, and yellow burst forth, tiny faces tipped to the sun. I wondered if looking at the flowers made her pain more bearable, hope sealing up some of the cracks in her heart. Personally, I wanted to rip the flowers out of the dirt and grind them to dust under my heels. But I figured that might get our conversation off on the wrong foot.