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Truman shuddered and snuggled close to me. “I can’t imagine closing the shop. Besides, he’s independently wealthy. His parents own some important company somewhere, and he grew up rich. So maybe he would want a househusband, but that’s definitely not me.”
I didn’t particularly want to talk about Barney Balderson in the middle of the night while in bed with Truman, so I was about to change the subject. But his stomach rumbled loudly before I had a chance to say anything.
“You must be starving,” I said instead. “How do you feel?”
He took a minute to think about it before nodding. “So much better, but yeah. I’m hungry.”
We got up and made our way out to the kitchen to forage, pulling out eggs and bread for toast and pouring large glasses of ice water. I wanted to make sure Truman was staying hydrated, and I returned to his bedroom to retrieve a sweatshirt once I realized how chilly it was in the kitchen.
I urged him to sit down while I scrambled some eggs for us. “It makes sense it was Gene all along,” I said. “You recognized his truck last year when Mikey and Pim were hit. You recognized it again this week with me on the mountain. And thanks to the nurse, we know his alibi wasn’t as tight as it could have been the night of the fire. Now all we need to do is find someone willing to arrest him.”
“Mikey’s going to never want to speak to me again,” Truman said miserably before laying his head down on the kitchen table. “I’ve ruined everything.” He pulled his head up again and met my eye. “You’re his best friend. Tell me how to make this right.”
I knew he was referring to keeping the identity of the vehicle secret from Pim, Bill, and Mikey last December, and honestly, I wasn’t sure how to counsel him on it.
“I think you need to sit down with Tiller and Mikey and tell them what you saw and explain why you didn’t speak up. You need to describe the fear you felt and the years of harassment. It’s probably not necessary to remind them that reporting the identity to the sheriff would have resulted in your witness statement being deliberately downplayed or ignored, and it certainly would have meant the sheriff finding a way to protect his own brother from legal trouble.” I shrugged and stirred the eggs in the pan. “Mikey and Tiller really care about you, Truman. I think they’ll understand even if they’re disappointed.”
“So you do think they’ll be disappointed in me.”
“I think they’ll be disappointed you didn’t feel you could trust them to help you fight the Stanners sooner. But it’s understandable considering you didn’t know them very well at the time. They also were simply tourists back then. They were going to be in and out of town whereas you’re the one who had to live here under the Stanners’ thumb.”
Truman took a minute to think it through before nodding decisively. “I want to tell them. I want to go over in the morning and tell them before I chicken out.”
“Good man,” I said, turning the stove off and plating our meal. “Voilà. First breakfast is served. It’s not nearly as good as second breakfast will be, but it’ll at least get you started with something easy on your stomach.”
As we ate, I decided to lighten the mood a little in an effort to distract him.
“Little-known fact about Samson Rigby,” I said. “I was once a bartender at a place called Bum Shakers.”
Truman’s eyes widened, quickly followed by his lips. “No kidding?”
I shook my head. “A dancing bartender, actually. It’s a huge club in Houston with scantily clad servers. It’s actually called Rum Shakers, but no one calls it that. I wore cutoff jean shorts with enough holes in them to necessitate waxing. Never again, Truman Sweet. Never again will I have a perfectly friendly stranger rip the hair off my junk to make a quick buck.”
He started giggling, and I wondered what I could possibly do to keep him that happy for the rest of his life. I felt my entire chest warm with satisfaction that I’d made him forget all about the fire, the hit-and-run, and everything else bad that had ever happened to him.
“Pretty sure Mikey has pictures,” I added. “Every time the DJ played the sound of ice in a cocktail shaker, we had to stop what we were doing and perform a little dance number.”
His laughter made his eyes water. “Do it for me. Please. I’ll pay you whatever it takes. Shake your booty for me, Sam.”
I shook my head and took a bite of eggs. “Hell no. I don’t even remember how it goes.”
Which was a lie, of course.
“Aw. Who knew such a stoic tough guy could be such a terrible liar? Hm. Weird.”
