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  “Yes,” I said. She turned to me and I clarified. “Yes, that’s the guy Rafe fought with thirteen years ago. The same fight that landed him in prison.”

  “And now Mr. Scruggs is dead. In Mr.... Rafe’s mobile home.”

  I nodded.

  “What were you doing in the Bog?” Dix asked.

  I went through the explanation again. Mary Kelly, Stonegate Development, my curiosity. Finding Billy and calling the cops. “The sheriff asked about him. About Rafe. Whether he was still in Nashville.”

  “I hope you told him the truth,” Grimaldi said sternly.

  “Of course I did. I don’t lie to the police.” Unless it’s absolutely necessary. “And besides, Rafe is in Nashville. I spoke with him last night. I spoke with him again this afternoon.”

  “So he knows about the murder.”

  “Of course.”

  Neither of them spoke, and I added, defensively, “What? Was I going to keep it to myself and not tell him?”

  “Of course not, sis,” my brother said. “If Collier’s been in Nashville since yesterday, you don’t have to worry about him.”

  I always worry about him. I know he can take care of himself, but I still worry. “Sheriff Satterfield has always had it in for Rafe. He’ll probably try to find some way of implicating him in Billy Scruggs’s death.”

  And he wouldn’t have to look very hard. With Rafe’s and Billy’s history, and the location of the body, Rafe was the obvious suspect. I just hoped he could prove that he hadn’t left Nashville overnight.

  Grimaldi must be thinking along the same lines. “How long had the body been there?”

  “I didn’t wait for the crime scene crew,” I said. “I wouldn’t think it had been too long. The blood was still wet.”

  She arched her brows. “Runny? Or coagulated?”

  Gah. “Not sure,” I said, feeling my stomach flip over. “I stayed on the other side of the room. All I know is that it wasn’t dry. It reflected the light.” I pressed my hand against my belly.

  “Sorry,” Grimaldi said, without sounding it. She can get a little impatient with my vapors. “Sometime in the past twelve hours then, most likely. Let’s call it between midnight last night, and when you found him.”

  “I spoke to Rafe around ten.”

  “That would leave plenty of time for him to drive here and back.”

  I grimaced. I’d had my usual encounter with the porcelain ring this morning, but that didn’t mean something like this couldn’t set me off again. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

  “I’m a cop,” Grimaldi said calmly. “I’m on the side of the law.”

  Dix ducked his head to hide a smile, not too successfully.

  “Well, we didn’t talk about Billy Scruggs last night. We didn’t talk about anything that would make Rafe decide to jump on the bike and drive down here in the middle of the night.”

  Unless my mention of the development at the Bog had filled him with a desire to see his childhood home one last time before it was gone. He might even have planned to stop by the mansion to throw rocks at my window afterwards. But then he got to the Bog and encountered Billy in LaDonna’s room—why?—and one thing led to another. He did walk around armed these days, at least most of the time. And Billy had ended up dead. And of course Rafe couldn’t go to the mansion after that. The only thing he could do was drive back to Nashville and hope no one realized he’d been here.

  It had a horrible sort of likelihood to it. I could see it happening that way. If Billy had said something regrettable about LaDonna, for instance, Rafe might have lost his temper. He’d be more likely to punch Billy than pull out a gun and shoot him, but I suppose anything was possible. At the very least I could see the sheriff making a case for it happening that way.

  And that was why I needed to present him with another suspect.

  “I actually stopped by to ask whether Dix would be able to dig up any information on what Billy Scruggs has been up to in the past thirteen years. He must have upset someone badly enough that they wanted him dead. I’d like to know who.”

  Grimaldi stared at me. Just stared.

  “I’m not getting involved,” I said. “I swear. I just want some information. To nudge the sheriff in the right direction.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” my brother said. “I’ll make some inquiries.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Just make sure your boyfriend stays in Nashville for the duration,” Grimaldi added. “I have no authority here. If the sheriff decides to charge him, there’s nothing I can do to get him out.”

  “I will.” How hard could it be, after all? In twenty four hours, I’d be back in Nashville myself too, and this would all be behind us.

  Famous last words.

  Chapter Six

  The reunion was scheduled to take place in the ballroom of the nicest hotel in Columbia. When I walked in at a few minutes to six, things were off to a good start.

  We were kicking things off with dinner at six o’clock sharp, which was why I was on time. That and the fact that my mother considers punctuality a virtue and I’ve had it drummed into me from an early age that it’s rude to make people wait for you.

  So it was just before the waiters started passing out the food when I walked through the door, in my purple dress, chunky necklace, and silver sandals. My hair was fluffy and curling on my shoulders, and my makeup was—if I do say so myself—perfect. Not even Tina could have done a better job.

  Or maybe she could have, but I was happy with the way I looked.

  Charlotte—looking lovely in pale apple green—had saved me a seat, so maybe she wasn’t trying to distance herself from me after all.

  On the downside, we seemed to have ended up at the spinster table, sort of like the girls who couldn’t get a date for prom. Those of us without significant others, or whose significant others were elsewhere, were all grouped together.

  The table seated eight. In addition to Charlotte and me, there were Mary Kelly and Tina, the latter in a high-fashion-meets-goth-girl ensemble of skimpy black dress, black stockings, black shoes with crazy heels, heavy eye makeup, and a striped scarf with gold threads and fringe that was at least half a foot long wrapped around her shoulders.

  Mary Kelly was more conservatively dressed, in a red pseudo-business suit with a short skirt and—best as I could tell—no blouse. A touch of lace peeked out of her cleavage. If I hadn’t been as well brought up as I have been, I would have asked if she were hoping to get laid.

  Two of the other four seats were occupied. One of our tablemates was a black girl whose name I only remembered because it was so unusual. For some reason, her mother had named the poor thing Epiphany. I must admit I had always assumed it was because Epiphany’s mother didn’t know any better, although I suppose it’s possible she might have had a good reason.

  I’d never asked. I’d never had much to do with Epiphany in high school. She was from Columbia, not Sweetwater, so we hadn’t gone to elementary and middle school together. I simply didn’t know her well, and then there was the whole racial thing. I knew my mother would disapprove of Epiphany, being even more keenly aware of the difference between ‘us’ and ‘them’ than I’d been brought up to be.

  But I was older now, and a little bit wiser, and I no longer cared—much—what my mother thought.

  “Hello, Epiphany.” I greeted her with a smile so friendly it made her blink.

  She hesitated a second, and double-checked my nametag, before responding. Or maybe she just had no idea who I was. “Hi, Savannah.”

  “Good to see you,” I said warmly.

  “Um...” Epiphany said. “You, too.”

  “That’s a great dress.”

  And I wasn’t just saying that. It was beautiful. A lace and tulle confection with a scalloped neckline and tight waist. Not cheap. The stone around her neck looked like a real diamond, too. Obviously Epiphany had done well for herself in the past ten years.

  I turned my attention to the
last person seated with us.

  She was as fair as Epiphany was dark, and as round as Epiphany was slim, with doughy cheeks and an extra chin, dressed in a gauzy flower print that undulated when she moved.

  “Jan Emerson,” she told me. “Although I used to be Jan Cullen. I married Danny Emerson.”

  “Of course.” I had no idea who she was, or who she’d married, but that’s not something you can admit. “Nice to see you again.”

  “You, too,” Jan said.

  I smiled at Mary Kelly and Tina, and took my seat next to Charlotte. There was a water glass and a small plate full of limp lettuce at each place setting, with what looked like a basket of rolls in the middle of the table.

  My stomach registered approval at the sight of the rolls. It was a few hours since the nachos and lemonade at Dix’s house.

  No one had started eating yet, though, and I didn’t want to be the first. So I folded my hands in my lap and proceeded to be patient.

  I didn’t have to wait long. Not even two minutes passed before Jan reached for the basket. “I guess it’s OK if we start.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I said warmly. “I’ll join you.”

  My inclination was to stuff the roll into my mouth whole, but I restrained myself. I didn’t trust word not to get back to my mother. Not with this group of people. So instead, I nibbled daintily—if a bit quickly—on the buttery bread.

  As soon as someone had started, the rest followed suit, and soon we were all eating. Until a hand landed on the back of the chair across the table and a voice said, “Mind if we join you?”

  The hand was broad, with square nails. I looked up, and did a double take. I think we all did. “Darlene?”

  Darlene West grinned. “Savannah. Good to see you.”

  “You, too.” My answer was automatic. Not because I wasn’t happy to see her, but because I was a bit taken aback by her appearance.

  Darlene had grown up in Sweetwater with Charlotte and me, although we hadn’t been close. She’d always been a tomboy, pushing the boundaries of what Mother considered proper behavior for a girl, so she hadn’t been considered a suitable playmate for me. And I’m sure Darlene had been just fine with that, because she hadn’t been interested in anything I was interested in, anyway.

  I remembered her as a muscular girl with a blond ponytail, always running off to play soccer or softball or lacrosse.

  She was still muscular and blond, but the ponytail was gone. Her hair was cropped almost as short as Rafe’s, and she was dressed in what was practically a tuxedo, only missing the bowtie.

  I don’t want to judge anyone on appearance—I’m trying to stop doing that—but it looked like maybe Darlene had turned gay since graduation.

  That impression was obviously shared by the others, because Mary Kelly said, “Didn’t you used to go out with Ethan Underwood?”

  Darlene turned to her, and for a second it looked like the grin flickered. Something passed across Darlene’s eyes—too fast for me to tell whether it was anger, pain, or something else—but then she affixed the smile in place once more. “I and everyone else.”

  Maybe I had imagined that momentary expression, because she looked and sounded just like normal now.

  “Ethan was a dog,” Epiphany said, and Jan nodded, her mouth too full to speak. Tina opened her mouth, but closed it again without saying anything.

  I glanced at Charlotte. I hadn’t dated Ethan Underwood in high school. Or had a fling with him. Or paid him much attention at all. Between you and me, I could barely remember what he looked like.

  Charlotte hadn’t either, as far as I knew, although she looked slightly perturbed now. “Is he here?”

  “Somewhere,” Mary Kelly said. “He still lives in Columbia. I see him once in a while.”

  “Does he still look the same?” I had a vague recollection of brown hair and ruddy cheeks, and some sort of sports uniform. The kind with the shoulder pads. Football.

  “More or less,” Mary Kelly said.

  “This is my girlfriend, Rhonda.” Darlene tugged on the arm of another young woman, this one with brown hair and big, melting, brown eyes almost as dark as Rafe’s.

  Six months ago, I helped a young couple named Aislynn and Kylie buy a house in East Nashville, so I’m used to dealing with lesbians. “Hi, Rhonda,” I said, while next to me, Charlotte seemed to have swallowed her tongue. “Nice to meet you.”

  Rhonda murmured something. Darlene pulled out a chair and seated Rhonda, lovingly. Meanwhile, the conversation went back to where it had been a minute ago.

  “I don’t really remember Ethan Underwood,” I confessed. “Should I?”

  A couple of the others exchanged what I’m pretty sure were amused glances. “You being you,” Mary Kelly said, “probably not.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Me being me?”

  She smiled, and it might have been my imagination that infused the expression with a hint of maliciousness. “He wasn’t really your type.”

  The same way Rafe wasn’t really my type, I guess. I turned to Charlotte. “You seem to remember him.”

  She flushed and muttered something.

  “He was a jock,” Epiphany informed me. “And quite good-looking. Or at least we thought so at the time. But he knew it too well. And thought he could get away with murder because of it.”

  My ears pricked up, pointer-style. “He didn’t kill anyone, did he?”

  They all chuckled. All except Jan, who was busy chewing. And Tina, who maybe hadn’t gotten the memo from Mary Kelly.

  “No,” Epiphany said. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember him. You dated Todd Satterfield, didn’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Did you end up marrying him?”

  I shook my head. “I married his near-twin. Bradley Ferguson from Natchez, Mississippi. And then divorced him again two years later.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “What about you?”

  She shook her head. “No time.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Professor of Economics at Rutgers University,” Epiphany said.

  Of the eight of us, only Charlotte and Jan were married. I was divorced, while Mary Kelly, Tina, Epiphany, and Darlene had never tied the knot. Epiphany because she was too busy, and Darlene for obvious reasons: same sex marriage was still illegal in Tennessee, and in Alabama, where Rhonda was from. Tina didn’t volunteer her reasons for staying single, but maybe she just enjoyed playing the field. Either that, or she didn’t want to admit that she couldn’t get a guy. And Mary Kelly claimed to be married to Stonegate Development.

  By the time the main course arrived—pecan-crusted chicken with sweet potato mousse and roasted broccoli with sea salt—we had established that Epiphany was not only unmarried, but too busy to date, while Darlene and Rhonda—“Call me Rhon”—had been together three years, and lived in Birmingham, a couple hours south of us. Rhonda was a school librarian, while Darlene taught gym.

  “That’s funny,” Tina said, and we all turned to look at her.

  She flushed under the makeup. “That’s what Ethan does, too. Ethan Underwood. Teaches gym.”

  Mary Kelly nodded. “At Columbia High.”

  Charlotte and Jan were both stay-at-home moms. Jan had had four kids in six years and had resigned herself to never getting her pre-pregnancy figure back.

  “Where’s Danny tonight?” Mary Kelly asked, and Jan stopped chewing for long enough to convey that he’d stayed home with the kids so she could go to the reunion.

  “Why didn’t he want to come?”

  Jan’s face darkened, but before she could swallow and answer, Mary Kelly had gone on. “We’re his classmates too.”

  “Someone had to stay with the kids,” Jan said.

  “Sure, but... don’t you have family in town? Couldn’t your mother, or his, have stayed with the kids so both of you could have been here?”

  “He doesn’t mind,” Jan said, and turned to me. “What
about you, Savannah?”

  “I live in Nashville. Do real estate. Divorced. No kids.” And before anyone could ask for more information—like, who was I involved with?—I turned to Mary Kelly. “Did you hear about the murder?”

  There was a beat while she glanced at Tina and back at me. Jan stopped chewing. “Murder?”

  “A guy named Billy Scruggs. The police found him in the Bog this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon?” Mary Kelly said.

  I nodded. “Technically, I guess Charlotte and I found him. But we called the police.”

  Mary Kelly turned to Charlotte. Maybe I had rendered her speechless. Or maybe she thought she could get more accurate information from Charlotte.

  “It’s true,” Charlotte said. “We went down there after lunch, to see about the development. We were curious.”

  “What development?” Epiphany asked.

  “The company I work for is developing the Bog into a cluster of affordable homes.” Mary Kelly didn’t look at Epiphany as she explained, just turned back to me. “You found him? Another dead body?”

  “Another?” Epiphany said.

  “We’ve had some problems,” Mary Kelly answered.

  “What kind of problems?”

  “People kept dying.”

  Everyone around the table blinked at that. I didn’t, because I already knew what she was talking about.

  “Dying?” Darlene asked blankly. “In the Bog, you mean? Who died?”

  Mary Kelly sighed. “First, there was LaDonna Collier. She lived there, in one of the trailers. That was last summer sometime. She was the last person left, and we were waiting for her to move out so we could get started on the work before the weather changed. When we didn’t hear anything, someone went over to check and found her dead.”

  “Goodness,” Darlene said. She tilted her head. “LaDonna Collier... wasn’t she the one who got herself in the family way by the colored boy?”

  I glanced at Epiphany, whose face was carefully blank.

  “Yes,” I told Darlene. “She was.”

  Darlene couldn’t help it, after all. We’d all heard the story, in those exact words, from childhood. The horrible example of what could happen to girls who weren’t careful.