Then the lawyer and Diane moved toward the exit. Jennifer took a moment to give Sheriff James a hug. He accepted it readily, but his stare remained troubled as it followed Diane’s progress out the door. After a few words were exchanged, Jennifer turned to catch up with her mother, which was my cue to leave.
Catching his eye, I nodded to the sheriff. He nodded in return, his stare inscrutable but sharp. The man then turned and retreated into the station. He’d been right last night to reprimand me for riling up Kip, and I didn’t fault him for it. But I didn’t regret it either. I had my reasons.
Nevertheless, the sheriff was a good man. A conscientious, smart man. Him being good, conscientious, and smart was liable to be a problem. Point was, I had nothing with which to blackmail Sheriff James, and that was an inconvenience.
What about Jessica James’s true paternity? Hmm. There’s a thought. I didn’t like it, but it was a thought, one I’d have to contemplate later.
Tangentially, pushing out the door to follow Jenn, I wondered what it would’ve been like—how different all our lives would’ve been—if my mother had settled down with a man like Jeffrey James, if she’d chosen different, better than Darrell. Someone who couldn’t easily be manipulated or blackmailed because he had nothing to hide.
You wouldn’t be here, for a start.
I placed a hand on Jenn’s back as I drew even with her and caught the tail end of the lawyer’s spiel, “ . . . under no circumstances, you understand?”
Diane nodded, her gaze downcast. “I promise, I will not speak to anyone about last night. And I will not speak to law enforcement—friend or otherwise—at all unless you or one of your associates are present.”
I lifted an eyebrow at this version of Diane Donner. I’d never seen her meek before, not even when she’d been married to Kip. She’d always been in possession of grit, even when Kip had patronized her in public.
The lawyer turned to me and Jenn. “Ms. Sylvester, Mr. Winston, that goes for you too. None of you are to speak to law enforcement, the press, no one. If any of you are brought in for questioning, you call our office immediately. Immediately. Do you understand?”
I endeavored not to take it personally that her voice reminded me of Charlotte Henderson’s when she spoke to her children about not asking for candy at the Piggly Wiggly checkout line. I reckoned, this woman being a lawyer, the tone was an occupational hazard.
Jenn and I nodded dutifully.
“Good. We’ll get time on my calendar this week for us to meet. If at all possible, please don’t discuss the events even with each other. I’d like for each of you to meet with me first before comparing notes. Got it?”
The lawyer, apparently satisfied, retrieved her cell, said her goodbyes while tapping out something on her phone, and dashed to her Audi like she had a hot tip on an underground debate meetup—like a fight club, except all they did was argue.
“Here, Momma. Cletus brought one of the Buicks. Do you want to sit in the front?” Jenn escorted her mother toward my car, and I followed a bit behind, ready to open whichever door Diane picked—except the driver’s side. I wasn’t going to let her drive, not in her state.
“The back, if you don’t mind.”
I moved around the women to make this happen and that’s when, upon opening the back door and moving out of the way so Diane could slide in, I spotted a familiar face watching us, peeking around the corner of the station, still straddling his motorcycle. Though his helmet was on his head and the visor covered his face, I knew he had blond hair and eyes that were just like Jennifer’s.
Isaac Sylvester.
Well, at least he wasn’t skulking around the homestead anymore.
I let my gaze linger, hoping he saw me, and narrowed my eyes in warning. The last thing Jenn or her mother needed right now was Motorcycle Club Ken Doll and his misogynistic hypocrisy using the death of Kip to exhort holier-than-thou bullshit while they tried to grieve . . . assuming grieving was the right word for what Jenn and Diane were trying to do.
Anyway. He must’ve seen me looking and read the threat. In the very next moment, he brought his motorcycle to life and took off. Neither Diane nor Jennifer had seemed to notice his presence. Good.
Diane settled, I opened the passenger door for Jenn and scanned the road, parking lot, and tree line for additional assholes. I found none. That done, we were on our way.
“I know what your lawyer said, but do you want to talk about it? About last night?” It was Jenn who broke the silence, turning around in the front bench seat to face her momma. “Do you, um, want to tell us where you were?”
“No, baby.”
“Are you sure?”
“It's just anything I say right now would come out as complete nonsense.”
I glanced at Diane’s reflection in the rearview mirror and tried not to be bothered by how colorless and drawn she looked. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“Be a good man, Cletus.” Diane leaned her elbow along the windowsill, her voice unsteady. “But you're already a good man. So just keeping being you.”
I fought a grimace. I was not acquainted with this version of Diane Donner. She was—to use a technical term—acting super weird. On the one hand, I understood why. But on the other hand, her level and severity of weirdness alarmed me. Was she acting weird simply because Kip was dead and she’d found him and ran from the law? Or was she acting super weird because she’d been the one to kill him?
Hmm. What to do, what to do . . .
If anything would serve as a catalyst for knocking Diane Donner out of her stupor, it was me being high-handed and bossy.
I cleared my throat. “Okay. Well. In that case, let me tell you what I have planned.”
“What you have planned?” Jenn faced me.
“Yes,” I confirmed for Jenn, but then addressed Diane, “We’re driving you home. Then I’ll be making you some tea, and I’m going to put alcohol in it. Not a medicinal amount, just enough to help your muscles ease and help you sleep.”
Diane nodded.
I continued, “I will also be calling your assistant to ensure he has things handled at the lodge and ask him to see about the window repair at the bakery.” I then rattled off various tasks, concerns, suggestions, and opinions, as though using the opportunity of having Ms. Donner trapped in the back seat to bend her ear and explain her own business to her.
Jenn must’ve known or realized what I was doing because she sat quietly, glancing between me and her momma at intervals. As well, throughout my spiel, I examined Diane’s reflection in the rearview mirror, looking for some sign of a spark.
Diane only nodded quietly, her eyes closed.
When I finished, pulling into her driveway, Diane said, “That all sounds fine, Cletus. Thank you,” her subdued tone ringing hollow in the car as I brought us to a stop.
I squirmed in my seat. This is not good.
Jenn glanced at me and I glanced at Jenn and, just like before in the station after Flo McClure’s uncouth comments, I got the sense we were both having the same thought at precisely the same time.
“Cletus, we need to talk.”
I put down the invoices I’d been reconciling and slowly rotated in the office chair to face Drew. He stood in the doorway, attired in his game warden regalia, hat in his hand, and a concerned expression on his face.