“The caller is certain you have vital information of some kind. And while the person doesn’t have a problem hurting others, they . . . draw the line when it comes to killing you.”

“No blood on his hands,” I’d whispered.

“And I think you know who it is.”

Who feared and despised me at the same time? Had I been too blind to see the obvious?

55

DENTON

My leg and body throbbed like I’d been attacked by a rabid animal, and I had little worry about falling asleep and missing Randy’s retribution. Or whoever else decided to invade my cabin.

My mind spun with conversations and happenings. Tonight I’d witnessed the beginnings of a reunion between father and daughter. But the unspoken bothered me more than the spoken.

A comment Shelby had made to me on the way to meet Isaac and Aaron struck me differently than before.

“Would you do anything for your sister?”

“Absolutely.”

Other things poured into my brain, like how the missing inhaler from Shelby’s purse had been dumped at the Pearce home. The FBI’s money-laundering lead to Sharp’s Creek. Aria’s insistence that her mother didn’t want her. Had I stumbled onto something since Marissa had worked with Eli Chandler at the bakery?

If my hunch was right, Marissa might have taken the five hundred thousand dollars, then used it as seed money to fund her own operation. I pulled up photos and videos taken during the trial. Marissa’s victim status had given the media plenty of stories, and a hint of a book and movie contract had surfaced, but neither materialized. Other reports spoke of her deteriorating emotions and mental breakdown—her husband murdered, her sister charged, the fate of her unborn child, her parents’ grief, and an uncertain future.

Over the next hour I zoomed in on pics to read Marissa’s body language. Visible tears, and she often touched her nose and dabbed beneath her eyes. The video of the scene outside the courthouse after Shelby’s conviction drew me to the wounded sister. Something I’d ignored previously. Her parents walked on both sides of her. With the camera on Marissa, she averted her gaze to the sidewalk. Her rounded shoulders indicated a broken heart. Nothing unexpected considering the enormity of the situation.

I searched through more images, and the majority focused on Shelby. In the background of one photo, I zoomed in on Marissa, who’d faded into the shadows with the camera lens on Shelby. Instead of a grieving young pregnant woman, a hint of smugness met me. I wouldn’t have seen it if not for a closer view. Did she feel self-satisfaction in the verdict? Who could blame her? Or had she planned a better life at the expense of her sister’s conviction?

The quandary about Shelby’s dislike of weapons mystified me. How angry had Travis Stover made her the day she shot him?

Suspicions mounted against Marissa. First chance I had this morning after Clay and Aria left, I’d call Mike.