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“She did have a marriage license, and the marriage was legal. But she was seventeen. Bobby eighteen. Which meant a legal guardian or parent had to sign for her. Since her mom passed when she was little and they had no idea where the father was, the preacher was her guardian. He signed it. Either he didn’t know Bobby was abusive or didn’t care. And I don’t know about you, but last I checked preachers were supposed to love their neighbor, and she was more than a neighbor. She was his sister. You protect...” Asa’s voice choked up. “You protect your family,” he said through a thin voice. “At least, you certainly try.”
John was familiar with Asa’s past, but he didn’t feel words needed to be spoken at the moment and remained silent as they approached the sheriff’s office. Clouds had rolled in, coloring the sky chalky gray. Heavy with rain, the wind picked up and rocked his car. He parked at the front of the SO and noticed the SCU vehicle in the same parking row.
Violet was inside.
His stomach corkscrewed, and he frowned at the physical reaction she drew from him. He followed Asa into the sheriff’s office, the smell of old coffee and cologne permeating the small station. The woman at the front desk eyed them warily. He dipped his chin and she returned it, but no one spoke. They made their way into the conference room they were using as a command center. Violet sat at the head of the table, the tip of a pen between her lips and her hair falling like a curtain around her face, touching the table. Fiona sat beside her with case files open before her, and Owen Barkley was holding a box of push pins and scowling at the map on the wall.
Tiberius Granger sat at the opposite end of the table, feet up and hands cocked behind his neck. Eyes closed.
Violet raised her head as they entered the room. “You catch him?”
Asa arched an eyebrow. “Are you kidding?”
It was hard to tell, John had to admit, but there was the most miniscule amount of mischief in Violet’s blue-green eyes, which were more green than blue today with the soft green sweater under her gray blazer.
Asa threw a glance over his shoulder into the empty hallway then closed the glass door. “Atta Atwater was married at seventeen to a man named Bobby—”
“McGee,” Tiberius offered as smugness pulled at the corner of his lip.
“No. Stay away from Selah by the way. She’s adopting your horrible habit of bringing songs into everything.”
“Janis Joplin could wail. You should thank me for introducing Selah to her.”
Owen seemed to perk up at that statement and gave Tiberius a dark eye. Tiberius shrugged.
Some kind of interplay with the computer analyst it seemed. But nothing causing tension. This team had an intriguing dynamic. He’d been on task forces and within different law enforcement ranks, but this group was unique in many ways. From personalities to the way they worked with one another, spoke with each other. Like family. John hoped one of them never lost their life in the line of duty. It’d cause a chasm of grief they might not ever recover from. He shrugged the thought away and focused on Violet, who caught his eye but refrained from acknowledging him or that he was staring at her.
Asa finished briefing them on Landra’s statement.
“You think Regis Owsley is the cousin?” Fiona asked and pushed away the case files.
“I do.”
“I’d like a crack at him,” Violet said and stood.
“Have at it,” Asa said.
“John? You want in on this?” she asked.
Asa and Fiona exchanged a glance, and Tiberius scowled. “How come you never ask me to come along on interviews?”
“You’re annoying, and you make me want to shoot you. Which I know you know I’m not afraid to do.”
“Valid points.” Tiberius thumbed toward John. “Don’t annoy her, John. Chick’s a crack shot.”
“Don’t call women chicks, Ty,” Asa said.
“Yeah, he doesn’t need any more paperwork to file.” Fiona snickered. “He’s grouchy enough.”
“I’m not grouchy.”
“You’re a little cranky,” Owen offered.
Violet huffed. “I’m outta here. You’re all wasting time.” She motioned for John to come with her, and he wasted zero time. Violet wasn’t one to ride a clock or piddle.
“How do they solve cases when they horse around so much?” John asked in the hall.
“They’re good at their jobs. And between us, the comic morale motivates their performance. I can only deal with it for a minute though, you know? I’m not a real kidder. We didn’t joke around in my family.” She shrugged. “When I joke, most of the time no one knows I’ve made a wisecrack.”
