“Supper is tempting me.” Dad scratched the back of his neck . . . like always when he was indecisive.

His response staggered my emotions. When he’d arrived, I assumed he’d stand on the porch, ask for Aria, and the two would be gone in a matter of thirty seconds.

“Aria and Shelby can share my bed,” Denton said. “You can have the guest bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Dad raised his brows. “I’ll help with the food and take the couch. You need to stretch out so your leg will heal.”

“My mamaw would slap me sideways for being inhospitable. In fact, so would my mother.”

“That’s my condition, and I cook breakfast.”

“My job,” I said.

A heavy, pin-drop pause sent me scrambling for an escape.

“You and I can cook breakfast together.” His raspy voice and watery eyes told me how difficult it was to make his offer of reconciliation.

I swallowed my gratitude. “I accept.”

Within an hour, the four of us crowded around Denton’s table. Strange and yet wonderful to be surrounded by Dad, Aria, and Denton, enjoying way too much of the chicken and dumplings from my childhood. Dad struggled with his words and mannerisms. We all did, but we’d taken a giant step forward. Conversations, thanks to Denton, were easy topics.

Midway through our second helping, my phone on the kitchen counter summoned me. Not the burner. I captured Denton’s attention. It rang a second time. He left the table and gazed at the caller’s number.

“Best answer it.” He handed me the phone.

I saw the number and escaped to the porch with Denton on my heels. He bent forward to listen to the conversation.

“Took you long enough,” the familiar distorted voice said. “Where are you?”

“None of your business. Why don’t you tell me what this is all about? Good people are hurt, and two of your men are dead. I’m tired of it.”

“You’ve seen the results of your idiocy.”

“What do I have or know that scares you?” Only one person in the world had reason to be afraid of me . . . and the thought bored a hole through my heart. “Tell me where and when to meet, and let’s work this out.”

“Who’s next, Shelby?” The caller hung up.

I held the phone in my hand as though it contained answers to the tragedies unfolding around me. “Dad can’t find out about this. It would only worry him.”

“But he needs to be cautious. I’ll tell him later on after you and Aria are in bed. In the meantime, I’ll contact Sheriff Wendall to arrange surveillance.”

“Thanks. I doubt I’ll go to bed.”

“Aria will be suspicious. I’ll keep watch.”

“I’m so sorry. I was hoping we were past all this. We don’t have a choice but to implement my original plan. How soon can we fake my suicide?”

“Tomorrow night when you’re home. I’ll help you stage it.”

Sheriff Wendall’s words after he’d overheard a phone conversation from the same caller swept back to haunt me.