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“With worse,” Johnny says. “Yes.”
“What’s worse than what he did to her?”
Johnny shakes his head. “Let’s hope you don’t find out.”
“We don’t know it was Bobby Holt,” I say.
“The hell we don’t. Everyone in this town knows it was him. And this is what—the third time something like this has happened?”
“Still.” I pull the last stitch through and tie it off. “You shouldn’t have gone after him alone.”
“I did okay.”
I tap the ice pack on his hand, causing him to wince. “You sure about that?”
Johnny clears his throat. “How’d you come to be involved?”
“I saw Kurt Latham across the street, and I jogged over to ask how the boat repair was coming.”
My brow raises. “He’s had it forever.”
“You know how Kurt is…”
Johnny cocks his head. “And?”
“Ashley was waiting for me across the street. By the courthouse. Said she wanted to read the plaque near the gazebo, and that’s when she stumbled on the situation…”
“So she saw Bobby Holt attacking the girl?”
His eyes narrow. “No, but he was near her. And she was crying.”
“And then what?” I say.
“I helped Ashley to her feet and checked her over and then I followed him. I hopped into my truck and followed him straight to his house.”
“Did you kill him?” Johnny asks.
“No. But he won’t be messing with any girls anytime soon. Let’s put it that way.”
Johnny rubs his jaw. “You should have killed him.”
“I don’t want to go to prison.”
“Yeah, well, what you have instead is a permanent target on your back.”
I don’t say it. But I don’t disagree.
Chapter Seven
Ruth
I don’t see Ashley Parker again until the following morning. I’m in the big house, known to guests as Magnolia House, but home to me, when I hear the screen door at the front of the house creak open and then slam shut.
I stare out the window over the kitchen sink, looking out into the garden. It feels like someone is watching me. Little hairs at the base of my neck stand on end, as though there’s an electric energy around, the kind that can be felt but not seen.
Outside, everything seems fine. Inside may be a different story, but out there, the sun is shining and the birds are chirping. I can’t deny it’s a beautiful morning, even if I’ve hardly slept and I’m hungover. Even if the events of last night are weighing heavy on my mind. Even if it feels like someone is watching me, waiting for…well, I don’t know what.
I’m aggressively scrubbing at a stain on my favorite coffee mug when I hear someone come in and slide a kitchen chair across the hardwood floor. I know it’s her without turning around. I can smell the fresh lilac scent of her shampoo. It smells like the rest of her looked last night on the courthouse lawn—expensive. My stomach flip-flops, the nausea building like tall waves that threaten to take me down. I felt like a drink last night after we got home from the emergency room. But then, one turned into two, which turned into I’m not sure how many.
