Adam said, leaning back in that old leather chair now, his legs crossed at his ankles, his fingers steepled, the tips lightly tapping together, “Now, wait a minute. You’re saying that Jacob Marley never left his house?”

“Not that I remember,” Tyler said. “He even had his groceries delivered. Of course, I was gone four years when I was in college. Maybe he used to be different, went out more.”

“Two things were always true about old Jacob,” Sheriff Gaffney said slowly. “Two things you could always count on. He was here and he was mean.” He heaved himself from his seat. He froze when the button right above his wide leather belt up and popped off. He watched, paralyzed, as the damned button rolled across the polished oak floor to stop at the big toe of Carruthers’s right boot. He sucked in his belly, but he still felt that wide leather belt of his continue to cut him something fierce. He didn’t say anything, just held out his hand.

Adam Carruthers tossed him the button. He didn’t smile. The sheriff clutched that damned button close. Jesus, maybe he should think about that diet Maude was always nagging him about.

Becca pretended not to see anything. She rose and stuck out her hand to the sheriff. “Thank you for coming and telling us in person. Please let us know when you find out who that poor girl is.”

“Was, ma’am, was. I will. I’m glad I called them. I had to worm it out of them, but I finally got to speak to the main guy, a hardnose named Jarvis, and he finally coughed up the info.” He nodded to Tyler McBride, who looked hollow-cheeked, as if he’d been put through a wringer, and then to Adam Carruthers, a cocky bastard who hadn’t laughed when his button had popped off.

“I’ll see you out, Sheriff,” Becca said and walked beside him out of the living room.

Adam said to Tyler, “Becca told me what was going on. I’m glad I was nearby and could get here to help.”

Tyler eyed the man. There hadn’t been time to question him before the sheriff had arrived. He said slowly, suspicion a sharp thread in his voice, “I didn’t know Becca had a cousin. Who the hell are you?”

10

Adam said easily, “Becca’s mom was my aunt. She died of cancer, you know, very recently. My mom lives in Baltimore with my stepdad. A great guy, loves to fish for bass.”

Thank God she heard that before she came back into the living room. The man was quick and smooth. He was a very good liar. She would have believed him herself if she hadn’t known better. Actually, her mother was an only child, both her parents long dead. Her father had been an only child as well. His parents were also dead. Who was Adam, anyway?

Tyler turned toward Becca and said in a warm voice that was far too intimate, “Well, just maybe Sam can have a stepmom, just like you got yourself a stepdad, Adam.”

Becca felt a jolt that landed a lump in her throat. She couldn’t breathe for a minute. Tyler was looking at her like that? A future stepmom for Sam? She cleared her throat twice before she could speak. Well, she’d known him forever and he hadn’t killed his wife, but he was a friend, nothing more than a very good friend, which was quite enough, given what her life was right now. “It’s getting late. Adam, how about—”

He interrupted her smoothly, standing, stretching a bit. “I know, Becca. I’ll be back over in a little while. I’ve got to get my stuff from Errol Flynn’s Hammock. It’s a great B and B. That guy Scottie is a hoot. You want to eat out tonight?”

“Becca and I were going to go to Errol Flynn’s Barbecue this evening,” Tyler said, and now he was standing perfectly still, his shoulders back, his chin up, ready for a fight, Adam thought, like a cock ready to defend the henhouse against the fox.

Adam grinned. “Sounds good to me. I like barbecue. You bringing Sam? I’d like to meet him.”

“Of course Sam’s coming,” Becca said, her voice firm as that of a den mother faced with a dozen misbehaving ten-year-olds. “What street is Errol Flynn’s Barbecue on, Tyler?”

“Foxglove Avenue, just across from Sherry’s Lingerie Boutique. I hear that Mrs. Ella loves Sherry’s lingerie, always in there on her lunch hour.” He shook his head. “It’s rather a scary thought.”

“I haven’t met Mrs. Ella yet,” Becca said, then to Adam, “She’s the sheriff’s dispatcher, assistant, protector, screener, whatever—but I know about every one of her pets for the last fifty years. Her job was to save me from hysteria while I was waiting for the sheriff to come.”