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“What?”
She told him about his son cutting class and trouble with an older kid who was bullying him over some bet not being paid.
“I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“Good. Do that. I’d prefer not to have Marlene Walsh on speed dial.” When he didn’t respond, she clarified, “She’s the vice principal.”
“Got it.” He paused, sensing there was something more. Something she was holding back. “What?”
She opened her mouth, hesitated, then said, “I’m just upset. Everybody”—she motioned toward the big house and the people inside—“all of us knew Violet and . . . well, it’s a shock.”
“I know.” In the half-light she appeared vulnerable, the girl he’d fallen in love with. Hurting. He thought about pulling her close, but knew she’d reject him. Thankfully, the door flew open.
“Everything okay out here?” Lila asked, stepping outside.
“Just dandy,” Rachel said, and for a second he thought she was going to let things lie. But that wasn’t Rachel. She tilted her head and said, “You could’ve told me Lucas had a friend over.”
Lila shrugged. “I did. When you first got here. Xander goes to school at Oregon, but practically lives here when he’s not in Eugene. Uses the apartment Charles has for out-of-town clients. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Rachel shot back, then said, “Unless you mean everything.” And she swept into the house.
“Is she okay?” Lila whispered to Cade.
“Right as rain.” The lie was easy. He didn’t want anyone, especially not Stepmommy-Dearest, to know anything private about his kids or his ex-wife. Besides, he never
had trusted Lila, not when she was pretending to be Rachel’s good friend and certainly not as his father’s second wife. There was just something about her that made Cade wary.
“We’re all . . . you know. Unnerved. Upset. Freaked out. Whatever you want to call it. About Violet.”
Rachel returned and swept past them. “If the kids need me—”
“They’ll call,” he said, but his ex-wife, purse and laptop tucked under her arm, keys in hand, was already down the steps and hurrying across the damp grass to her Explorer.
Lila’s eyes narrowed and she was about to ask him another question when he spied from the lights of the house Mercedes Pope beelining toward him.
“Hey,” she called. “I wanted to talk to you. About the Violet Sperry homicide. That’s what it is, right? A murder?”
“Yeah.” That much was out. There had already been a press conference. “Not my jurisdiction. You’ll have to talk to someone at the sheriff’s department.”
“Who? And don’t tell me the public information officer. I know that.”
“Then the officer in charge. Detective Kayleigh O’Meara.”
CHAPTER 13
Rachel was still fuming when she pulled into the carport and cut the engine. Her whole life seemed to be unraveling. She was divorced, out of a job, her son in trouble at school, her daughter rebelling with a boy she sensed was trouble.
And then there was Violet.
Dead.
No, murdered.
She looked through the windshield to the fence that separated this covered area from the backyard. Listening to the engine cool and tick in the darkness, she said a silent prayer for the girl who had been one of the witnesses at her trial, the myopic eighteen-year-old who had sworn there was another shot that night.
And she’d been right. There had been tons of other guns going off, along with firecrackers and other fireworks. . . . It had all been so stupid.
But it couldn’t be changed.
