“I can’t ask him now . . . But it’ll have to be soon. I’ll see if he can’t find out who answered that ad about the John Deere.”

“Good a lead as any.” Better than some dark-colored truck, some tallish, vaguish description of a white guy in a ski mask and jeans.

“Not much, though,” Vince said grimly. “It’d take an idiot to reply to the ad with their actual e-mail address or leave a real phone number.”

Casey stole the final smoke from behind Vince’s ear and lit it for himself. It tasted like a thousand ancient memories. It tasted like ass, in all honesty, but the nicotine wasn’t unwelcome. He blew out a long jet of smoke and told his brother, “We better hope we’re dealing with a world-class fuckwit, then.”

•   •   •

The news everyone had been dreading came around dinnertime.

Casey heard it from Vince, who’d been in the kitchen with Miah and Christine when the mayor, of all people, had come by to break it to them, with Fortuity’s acting sheriff in tow, who also served as the county coroner.

Casey had gone into town to fill in Kim and Nita, then Raina and Duncan, and had pulled in just behind the sheriff’s cruiser. Freeman, he thought the new sheriff was called—Wes or Les Freeman. He was tanned and tall and lanky, far younger than Tremblay had been—may that motherfucker rot in hell. He wore the uniform’s matching khaki hat that Tremblay never had, and it made him look like a cartoon. Especially when Mayor Dooley joined the tableau, the squat little Napoleon in seersucker climbing out of the sheriff’s car, ivory bolo swinging. The mismatched men headed for the house, and Casey hung back, knowing it couldn’t be good. The mayor didn’t show up at the home of the most prominent family in town to hand out happy news.

Casey sat on his own hood for nearly half an hour before the men emerged. He nodded at Freeman, who’d come by the bar a couple times as a patron. Dooley he didn’t know aside from seeing his pompous face in the papers, and he didn’t offer him jack. That dick had brought the casino to town, after all. And the casino had gotten Alex killed. He couldn’t say he was much of a fan of the mayor, no.

Sheriff Freeman tipped his hat but didn’t smile, and then both men disappeared inside the cruiser. Casey waited until they’d hit the road, then headed to the farmhouse on legs made of lead.

The scene he found in the kitchen about tore him to shreds.

Miah was holding his mother. Her face was buried against his neck, her shoulders hitching uncontrollably. Miah was crying as well, his voice breaking as he spoke to her. Vince was standing by the sink with his arms crossed, and he motioned for Casey to follow him and strode for the door.

“They need space,” he said, heading for the den.

“They found the body?” Casey whispered, sitting on the coffee table when Vince took the couch.

He nodded. “Beside the tractor he’d been working on. One of the investigators said it started from diesel, and maybe Don had got caught up in it, if he’d spilled some on his clothes, or had grease on him or something. Nothing conclusive. That’s all they said about it.”

Spilled? Doused, more like. “Autopsy?”

“Still going on. They only came to say he’d passed.”

“Does anybody need to go downtown to ID him?”

“Thank fuck, no. I guess they had enough to go on.”

Casey nodded, and in a breath, the heft of the news came down on him. “Fucking shit. This can’t actually be happening, can it?”

Vince didn’t say anything, just stared ahead and exhaled slowly. A deep and cutting pang of guilt sank between Casey’s ribs, as he tried to imagine having been here when the news about Alex had broken. Fortuity had always been quiet. If somebody died, it was of old age or maybe cancer, or drunk driving, or some freak hunting accident. This place was no stranger to fights and domestic violence, but murder? Alex had been the first—or rather, technically the second, though the undocumented worker whose bones had caused so much trouble last year hadn’t been uncovered until a few months later. Sheriff Tremblay had been killed in his cell after his involvement in Alex’s death had come to light—number three. Now Don made four. Though Casey supposed this latest one couldn’t be blamed on the casino.

He was poised to ruminate on the thought, but Vince spoke. “The fire crews have all cleared out. Once it’s dark, we get to work. I’ll keep watch; you do your thing.”

Casey shook his head. Above them, he caught the far-off chime of Abilene’s phone. “I’ll go alone. It’s less conspicuous that way.”

Vince looked dubious, but nodded. “What will you need?”

“Not much.” Maybe a tarp to cut up and tape around his feet, to keep his treads covered. There wasn’t much he could do about clothing fibers on short notice, plus at least a dozen people had been tromping through the debris already. He’d draw his hood and don some gloves and call it good enough. His primary concern just now wasn’t covering his own ass, but finding out how this had happened, and more importantly, by whose hand.

“I have to get home soon,” Vince said, glancing at his phone. “I’ll check on Miah one more time; then I’m off. But if you change your mind and decide you want a lookout, call me. I could come out after midnight.”

“I won’t, but thanks.”

Vince frowned and pocketed his cell. “Lemme know if you find anything.”

“I will. And you better stop at the gas station and buy yourself some mints or something. You smell like an ashtray.”

“Call me,” Vince reiterated as he got up and headed for the kitchen. Casey listened as the voices there rose and mellowed, then to the footsteps, then the click and hush of the front doors as Vince saw himself out.

He glanced at the ceiling, wondering what Abilene was up to. Who had called her. But just then the guest room door popped open, and she emerged. She peered down into the den, eyebrows rising as their gazes met. He watched her make her way down the steps silently in her socks, the baby apparently left in her crib.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey. I have a favor to ask.”

“Okay.” Yes, please—any goddamn thing to keep him busy until late tonight.

“Raina called. She tried you first, but you didn’t answer.”

“I think my phone’s in my car. What’s going on?”

“She wanted to see if one of us could bartend with Duncan, so she could come see Miah.”

Of course. They might be exes, but they’d been friends far longer. “I can go in,” he offered. “I couldn’t stay until close, but until midnight or so.”

“She was just hoping for a couple hours. I could go, too. I’d like to, actually, if you could watch Mercy. Until ten, maybe?”

He nodded. “Sure.” The bar might be good for her, just now.

“She ate a half hour ago, and I just changed her, so she should be fine, apart from maybe wanting some attention.”

“I’m on it.”

“Thanks. And I’m sure Raina would say the same.”

He tailed her upstairs, hefting the baby from the crib while Abilene got her shoes on, then followed her back down to the den.

“Thanks again,” she said, finding her keys in her purse.

“Anytime. Have fun,” he added, though the sentiment sounded awful stupid the moment it left his lips.

She offered a weak smile and left him alone with Mercy. He struggled to imagine how on earth so many things could have happened in the past thirty hours. Two confessions—one of feelings, one of past crimes—then a breakup, an awkward breakfast, the eclipse, the fire. Soon, a night spent prowling around a dark murder scene.

He took a seat on the couch and got the baby comfortable, then switched on the TV and turned the volume down.

“You’re awful lucky you won’t remember any of this,” he told Mercy, passing over the news stations until he found a channel playing an old western.

She also won’t remember Don, he thought. He’d held her only once or twice, and somewhat reluctantly, but he’d also given her a home for a time, and the protection of his family.