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Owen remained silent.
“You’d think that Bexley would run far from organized control, and yet she’s got that boy in church, teaching him another patriarchal system that exploits women and steals your money in the form of tithes.”
Owen raised his eyebrows. “You actually think that?”
“You know I do.”
“It’s not true. What you think about God.” Owen sighed. “I gave my life to Jesus at church camp when I was fifteen.”
“Every teenager gives their life to Jesus at church camp. They condition you to do that.”
“No one conditions them.” He laughed. “I’m not one to preach even though my maternal grandfather was a pastor. Little Missionary Baptist Church in Greenwood, Mississippi, where I was born and raised.”
Ty peeled the paper from his water bottle. “I never knew that about you—the church thing, not the delta.”
“I don’t share it. Because...there’s some shame there. I think, I think maybe I was supposed to be a preacher. Ran from it. I get geographical locations down pat, but my heart is a bit directionally challenged, and I think yours is too, bruh. You’ve been given a compass. Maybe pay attention to where it’s pointing.”
Owen’s words burned in his heart, drilling into deep shadowy places, exposing what he’d hidden. Pain. Disappointment. Fear.
“Maybe I will. We ain’t gettin’ younger.”
Ty had a seventeen-, almost eighteen-year-old son. Life had changed overnight. His running around and vacations alone—gone. Not that he did much running around these days. O had been his weekend party pal, but he’d dialed his late-night activities way down, and now Ty understood why. He was in some kind of crisis of faith. Ty was having another kind of crisis. One that pitted him against a killer who had time working for him.
“I’m gonna tell you right now, I’ll risk everything because I have to find Ahnah and protect my son—and Bexley. She pulled some crummy stunts, but neither of us is innocent. And once this is over, I’m taking my son fishing.”
“After you tell him you’re his dad, that is. And hope he doesn’t lose his mind on you.” Owen picked up his coffee cup and stood.
“Well, I imagine he’ll be madder at his mother for keeping a secret. I didn’t know. I thought she was dead. That’s my saving grace.” Truth? He had no clue how Josiah would respond to the news. Could they make up for time lost? Would Josiah want to? Could Ty return to Memphis without him?
Owen grunted as a group text from Asa came through.
Ethan Lantrip has returned to the police station with new information. Meet me and Violet there ASAP.
“Guess he had a change of heart about cooperating,” Owen said.
“Maybe.” Ty wasn’t so sure. Ethan Lantrip gave him the selfish-piece-of-trash-who-wouldn’t-come-forward-with-squat-unless-it-was-advantageous-to-him vibe. “Guess we’ll find out.”
Manteo
Sheriff’s Office
Monday, September 3
12:23 p.m.
“Let me talk to him,” Ty said to Asa, who stood outside the interview room with Deputy Dorn. “I have a less intimidating approach than you.”
Asa rubbed the silvery scruff on his chin and cheeks, same silver streaking his dark hair and temples. Then his gunmetal-gray eyes met Ty’s. “Anything you want to tell me?”
Did Violet rat him out?
“No. But if this is the Fire & Ice Killer, I want lead. If it’s not, it’s someone using him, and it’s personal to me. I can’t stand behind the glass and watch.”
Asa finally nodded. “Okay. I’m going in with you though.”
“Fine.” He glanced back, and Violet and Owen headed for the room behind the glass to observe. Inside the small interview room, Ethan Lantrip perched on a metal chair with a can of Coke, a white captain’s hat on his head.
“Skipper,” Ty said, calling him by the personal nickname and trying to gain camaraderie. “What brings you in today?”
