“I wish we’d looked around more when we were over there.”

“That Cole person needs a harder look.”

“You think he’ll come Wednesday morning?”

“No telling,” he said, then asked, “What are you doing tonight?”

“Why?”

“Wanna go to the Pink Kitty?”

“The titty bar on Highway Sixteen?”

“The strip joint,” he corrected, as if she had offended him. Driving with one hand, he rooted around in his pocket and pulled out a book of matches. He tossed them to her and she recognized the Pink Kitty’s logo on the front. They had a huge neon sign outside the bar that could be seen for miles.

“Tell me,” he said, turning onto the highway, “why a naïve twenty-one-year-old would take a book of matches from a strip club and shove it up the ass of her favorite stuffed animal.”

That was why he had been so interested in the stuffed Snoopy on Abby’s bed. She had hidden the matchbook inside. “Good question,” she told him, opening the cover. None of the matches had been used.

“I’ll pick you up at ten thirty.”

When T essa opened the front door, Sara was lying on the couch with a wet rag over her face.

“Sissy?” Tessa called. “You home?”

“In here,” Sara managed around the cloth.

“Oh, Christ,” Tessa said. Sara felt her hovering near the end of the couch. “What did Jeffrey do now?”

“Why are you blaming Jeffrey?”

Tessa turned off the CD player mid-harmony. “You only listen to Dolly Parton when you’re upset with him.”

Sara slid the rag up to her forehead so she could see her sister. Tessa was reading the back of the CD case. “It’s a cover album.”

“I guess you skipped the sixth track?” Tessa asked, dropping it into the pile Sara had made as she rummaged for something to listen to. “God, you look horrible.”

“I feel horrible,” she admitted. Watching the autopsy of Abigail Bennett had been one of the most difficult things Sara had done in recent memory. The girl had not passed gently. Her systems had shut down one by one, until all that remained was her brain. Abby had known what was happening, had felt every single second of the death, right up until the painful end.

Sara had been so upset that she had actually used the cell phone to call Jeffrey. Instead of pouring out her heart to him, she had been drilled for details on the autopsy. Jeffrey had been in such a rush to get off the phone that he hadn’t even told her good-bye.

“That’s better,” Tessa said as Steely Dan whispered through the speakers.

Sara looked out the windows, surprised that the sun had already gone down. “What time is it?”

“Almost seven,” Tessa told her, adjusting the volume on the player. “Mama sent y’all something.”

Sara sighed as she sat up, letting the rag drop. She saw a brown paper bag at Tessa’s feet. “What?”

“Beef stew and chocolate cake.”

Sara felt her stomach rumble, hungry for the first time that day. As if on cue, the dogs sauntered in. Sara had rescued the greyhounds several years ago and, in return for the favor, they tried to eat her out of house and home.

“Get,” Tessa warned Bob, the taller of the two, as he sniffed the bag. Billy went in for his turn, but she shooed him away as she asked Sara, “Do you ever feed them?”

“Sometimes.”

Tessa picked up the bag and put it on the kitchen counter beside the bottle of wine Sara had opened as soon as she got home. Sara hadn’t even bothered to change her clothes, just poured the wine, drank a healthy swig and wet a washrag before collapsing onto the couch.

“Did Dad drop you off?” Sara asked, wondering why she had not heard a car. Tessa wasn’t supposed to drive while she was taking her antiseizure medication, a rule that seemed destined to be broken.

“I brought my bike,” she answered, staring at the bottle of wine as Sara poured herself another glass. “I would kill for some of that.”

Sara opened her mouth, then closed it. Tessa wasn’t supposed to drink alcohol with her medication, but she was an adult, and Sara was not her mother.

“I know,” Tessa said, reading Sara’s expression. “I can still want things, can’t I?” She opened the bag, taking out a stack of mail. “I got this for you,” she said. “Do you ever check your mail? There’s about a gazillion catalogues in there.”

There was something brown on one of the envelopes, and Sara sniffed it suspiciously. She was relieved to find it was gravy.

“Sorry,” Tessa apologized, taking out a paper plate covered in tinfoil, sliding it over to Sara. “I guess it leaked.”

“Oh, yes.” Sara practically moaned as she removed the foil. Cathy Linton made a mean chocolate cake, the recipe going back through three generations of Earnshaws. “This is too much,” Sara said, noting the slice was big enough for two.

“Here,” Tessa said, taking two more Tupperware containers out of the bag. “You’re supposed to share with Jeffrey.”

“Right.” Sara grabbed a fork from the drawer before sitting on the bar stool under the kitchen island.

“You’re not going to eat the roast?” Tessa asked.

Sara put a forkful of cake in her mouth and washed it down with some wine. “Mama always said when I could pay to put a roof over my own head I could eat what I wanted for supper.”

“I wish I could pay for my own roof,” Tessa mumbled, using her finger to scoop some chocolate off of Sara’s plate. “I’m so sick of not doing anything.”

“You’re still working.”

“As Dad’s tool bitch.”

Sara ate another bite of cake. “Depression is a side effect of your medication.”

“Let me add that to the list.”

“Are you having other problems?”

Tessa shrugged, wiping crumbs off the counter. “I miss Devon,” she said, referring to her ex, the father of her dead child. “I miss having a man around.”

Sara picked at the cake, wishing not for the first time that she had killed Devon Lockwood when she’d had the chance.

“So,” Tessa said, abruptly changing the subject. “Tell me what Jeffrey did this time.”

Sara groaned, returning to the cake.

“Tell me.”

After letting a few seconds pass, Sara relented. “He might have hepatitis.”

“Which kind?”

“Good question.”

Tessa furrowed her brows. “Is he showing any symptoms?”

“Other than aggravated stupidity and acute denial?” Sara asked. “No.”

“How was he exposed?”

“How do you think?”

“Ah.” Tessa pulled out the stool next to Sara and sat. “This was a long time ago, though, right?”

“Does it matter?” She corrected herself, “I mean, yes, it matters. It’s from before. That one time before.”

Tessa pursed her lips. She had not made it a secret that she didn’t think there was any way in hell Jeffrey had slept with Jolene just once. Sara thought she was going to renew her theory, but instead Tessa asked, “What are y’all doing about it?”

“Arguing,” Sara admitted. “I just can’t stop thinking about her. What he did with her.” She took another bite of cake, chewing slowly, making herself swallow. “He didn’t just…” Sara tried to think of a word that summed up her disgust. “He didn’t just screw her. He wooed her. Called her on the phone. Laughed with her. Maybe sent her flowers.” She stared at the chocolate running off the side of the plate. Had he spread chocolate on her thighs and licked it off? How many intimate moments had they shared leading up to that final day? How many came after?

Everything Jeffrey had done to make Sara feel special, to make her think he was the man she wanted to share the rest of her life with, had been a technique easily employed on another woman. Hell, probably more than just one other woman. Jeffrey had a sexual history that would give Hugh Hefner pause. How could the man who could be so kind also be the same bastard who had made her feel like a dog kicked to the curb? Was this some new routine Jeffrey had come up with to win her back? As soon as she was settled, was he going to use it on someone else?