“Not if she doesn’t stay away from him,” Mead complained. “Any shit between her and Dawson floats back to me. That invariably unearths Lilith’s stench. Are folks talking about my credentials for governor? No. They’re gabbing about The Dirty Dish and Shannon’s sordid misadventures with the resident psychopath. I’ve got a fickle constituency and a drop in campaign contributions. All this, since that nutjob came back to town.”

Francine patted his hand. Her long, expressionless face gave evidence of recent Botox injections. “You worry too much.”

“Forget about my campaign.” Mead turned to me. Up to this point, I had put him on ignore. “Think of yourself, Shannon. Next they’ll be saying you’re taking Lilith’s sloppy seconds.”

Silence echoed as servants scurried to refill water glasses. Mead could wrap his constituents around his finger, but here, in the presence of relatives and under the influence of too many fingers of Scotch, he wore a different face.

Tall, blonde, and filthy rich, the mayor of New Dyer had the looks of a Calvin Klein model but the self-serving personality of a jackal.

I slammed my napkin on the table. “You’re a monster.”

“And here I thought you liked monsters,” he taunted. “Why else would you keep sniffing around one?”

I stared him down with as much contempt as I could bridle, then cut my gaze from one end of the table to the other, examining each person respectively. “I don’t suppose anyone knows about a letter to the parole board?”

Auntie tossed me a pained look.

“Someone sent a forged letter to the state board protesting Trace’s parole,” I said. “It destroyed his family.”

“Poor, poor, Butcher Boy.” Mead signaled for another Scotch by giving his glass a rude jiggle. A servant was by his side immediately with a refill. “My dear cousin, any one of us could have written our own letter. And we would’ve been justified.”

“Let’s get real here,” I said. “The intent was to hurt Trace. That’s why they did it. A letter from me has more impact. She was my mother after all.”

Mead slurped his drink. “Obviously. Except for the hair and eye color, you could be her double. And if you keep sniffing around Dawson, you’ll end up just like her. Dead and gutted.”

Francine’s botoxed face drooped. “I can’t believe you just went there.”

“Lord ‘a mercy,” Granny Mae muttered as Digger quietly snored beside her.

“Say what you want,” Mead drawled, “but y’all know I’m right.”

I hurled a fiery glower at him. “You soulless gnome. I have had it up to here with your constant—”

Auntie tapped her wine glass with her cobbler fork. “That’ll be enough, children. I’ll not have any more disunity in this house.” She split her attention between her son and me. “This bickering is getting us nowhere. You—” She stabbed a bony finger at Mead. “—leave her alone this instant. I don’t want to hear anything else about this sordid business. Do you understand?”

“But, Mom—”

“Shut it,” Hesta told him.

“And on that note, I’ll make my exit.” Uncle lowered the shroud of newsprint as one of the servers set his evening glass of Alka Seltzer before him. He wrinkled his nose at the fizzing liquid. Saluting the table, he lifted a silver brow and murmured, “Here’s to unity.” Then he drained his glass and without fanfare quit the room by way of the back stairs.

With a long-suffering sigh, Auntie made her excuses and followed after him.

I’d had enough. Ignoring Mead, I said a polite goodbye to Francine, kissed Granny Mae and a snoozing Digger, then threw the double doors open and stalked out. I’d almost reached the end of the hallway when shouts exploded from the foyer. It was two men. The echo reverberated in the house.

My stomach dropped like a brick once I recognized the deeper of the two voices.

TRACE

____________________________

“Leave now before I call the police.”

Anchoring a hand on the jamb, I leaned over the blonde tool at the door, using our height differences to my advantage. “Suit yourself, Jeeves, but I’m not going anywhere ’til—”

“What in the world?” Shannon squeezed between us and gave the blonde lackey a reassuring nod. “It’s okay, Gerard. I’ll handle this.” She tugged me to the other side of the porch. “What are you doing here?”

I shrugged her hand off. That its warmth lingered annoyed me. As did the fact that she looked damn good. Her hair was done up in one of those fancy French braid ponytail things. She wore suede knee boots and a silky blue dress that hugged every curve.

I tore my eyes away, focusing instead on the nervous little man scampering toward us. In the thirty seconds Shannon had been out here, the troll had somehow managed to fetch a shawl.

“I’m not gonna say it again, Jeeves,” I barked. “Go. Get. Him.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Bradford,” the servant sputtered as he draped the fluffy white afghan over her shoulders. His hands were shaking. After she thanked him, he said, “I told Mr. Dawson the family wasn’t receiving any more visitors today.”

“And I told you, I don’t need to see ‘the family.’” I sliced a glance at Shannon who’d swaddled her upper body wholesale. “I’m looking for Mead. His office said he’d be here. If he’s not available, Sears’ll do.”

She shivered. “But you still haven’t told me what this is about.”

As if on cue, Mead strolled onto the porch, his hands balled in the pockets of an expensive-looking suit. Malice gleamed in his blue eyes. “Well, so the Butcher Boy is a party crasher.”

“What was the plan, Bradford?” I marched right over to him. “Stir up so much hate that folks go rogue and run me and mine out of town?”

Shannon appeared at my side glaring daggers at Mead. Pink blotches stained her cheeks. “What’ve you done now?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Mead flashed a palm and took a step back. “I’ve no idea what this nut is ranting about.”

I gave a bitter chuckle. “Unfrickenbelievable—a lying politician. It wasn’t enough that you and your daddy are keeping Cholly’s club in limbo. Or that your cronies told Jerome Dillon he wouldn’t get that contract if he hired me—”

“Seriously?” Shannon gaped at Mead in genuine surprise, if not horror. “I knew you were a reptile, but this…this is—my God. What is wrong with you?”

He pressed his hand to his chest. “Wrong with me? Hey, I’m innocent here!”

“Bullshit!” I growled. “Now the town’s following your lead. Not only did they vandalize my sister’s salon, they desecrated my mama’s grave.”

Color drained from Shannon’s pink cheeks.

“That’s right.” I gave my head a sharp nod. “Somebody tossed a bunch of dog shit on my mama’s cemetery plot. Pissed on it too. Then they spray painted MOTHER OF SATAN on her headstone in red. Wrote somethin’ similar on Bev’s nail salon.”

“Oh, my God,” Shannon wheezed behind her hand.

Mead’s face deadpanned. “What does any of this have to do with me?”

“You and your daddy are the puppet masters, that’s what. Y’all were plotting and scheming even before I left the joint, and this is the fallout.”

Mead whistled soft and slow. “Looks like we can add paranoid delusions to your growing list of mental issues.”

“Paranoid? Naw. Try awakened.” I eyed him up and down, contempt churning in my stomach. “I answered a ton of local want ads months before I got out, but everybody turned me down, including folks who used to support me. Now I know why.”

“You give us too much credit, Dawson.”

Shannon’s narrowed eyes sharpened on Mead. “Did you do it or not?”

“No,” he said with an arrogant shrug. “But we’re not the only ones who want him gone.”

“You lying snake.” I fought with my temper and barely won. “Folks wonder why prison reform doesn’t work. It’s ‘cause of assholes like you. A con can get trained and certified up the yin yang, but when he gets out, he’s gotta deal with you fuckers. What’s your endgame, Bradford?”