Page 126 of Timid (Lark Cove 2)

“Okay. I’ll take care of Ryder. You just stay strong.” Mom squeezed my shoulder, but before she could leave, I grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t tell him anything.”

She shook her head. “I won’t.”

Someone would have to explain to Ryder that his mother was dead and Jackson was being accused of her murder. That someone should be Jackson.

Or me, if he was going to be held in custody all night.

As Mom walked out the door, I pulled my coat further up my neck, burrowing inside. It was freezing in the little lobby where we were sitting, or maybe it was just me. Everyone else had taken their coats off and seemed fine with the room’s temperature.

But I couldn’t stay warm, even with the coffee cup that people kept refilling for me. The thought of Jackson being accused of murder chilled me to the bone. The thought of having to tell Ryder this was happening made me shake. I wanted to go back to this morning when Jackson and I had been snuggled warm in his bed.

The front door to the station opened—Hazel coming back inside from her smoke break.

“Anything?”

I shook my head as Thea did the same from the chair across from me.

Thea’s hands kept patting her stomach. You couldn’t tell she was pregnant—it was too soon for her to be showing—but that gesture gave it away. It was her nervous tell, whereas mine was my bouncing feet on the floor.

Thea and Hazel had walked into the sheriff’s station just seconds after I’d come in with Logan. Hazel had led the charge to the front desk, marching up to the deputy stationed there and demanding to see Jackson.

The deputy had politely but firmly told us it wasn’t possible. Jackson had to be “processed” and “questioned” before they could determine whether or not he could be released.

Hazel protested and she put up a good fight, but the deputy didn’t budge. So we’d all sat down in the lobby while Jackson was somewhere in the building. The nausea rolled again when I thought about him getting fingerprinted and having his mug shot taken.

He was not a criminal.

Hazel dropped her pack of cigarettes and lighter into her purse. “I’m going to go ask again.”

She stomped up to the desk and put her hands on her hips. Her back was blocking the view of the deputy’s face so I couldn’t make out what he told her. I didn’t need to. The way her shoulders sank and her arms fell to her sides said it all.

Hazel nodded to the deputy, then came back to her seat next to Thea.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “Do you know him?” she asked Thea, nodding backward at the deputy.

“No, he’s new. I think he lives up in Kalispell and commutes down here. He hasn’t been into the bar yet.”

Hazel frowned. “I used to know all of the deputies. I had them all on speed dial in case there was a problem at the bar.”

“I’ve got Sheriff Magee’s and Porter’s numbers both memorized.” Thea hung her head. “But I haven’t called either of them in ages. If there’s a problem, I call Jackson first.”

She looked up and met my eyes. We were both thinking the same thing.

What will I do without him?

Our stare was broken up when Logan walked over, tucking his phone into his jeans. He’d been on and off various calls since we’d walked into the station.

“They got ahold of her.” He sat on Thea’s other side and took her hand. “She’s getting off the ski hill and will be here as soon as possible.”

Logan’s first string of phone calls had been to attorneys up in Kalispell. There wasn’t a plethora of lawyers in rural Montana, especially those with experience in murder investigations. But after numerous calls, Logan had found one who had excellent references and adequate experience—or so he’d deemed.

The problem was that the lawyer Logan wanted for Jackson, a Rita Sperry, had taken the day off to go skiing. Her office had called her a thousand times, mostly after each one of Logan’s thousand calls to see if she’d checked in yet.

Finally, after we’d sat here all day feeling lost and hopeless, help was on the way.

I just hoped Jackson hadn’t said too much already without an attorney present.