Carnal Innocence (7 page)

“Miss Waverly, I’m awfully sorry to have to ask you questions now, when you must be upset. But it’s best to get to all this quickly.”

“I understand.” How could she understand, she thought frantically. She’d never found a body before. “Do you know … do you know who she is?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The deputy—Johnson?” Her hand was up at her
throat, rubbing up and down as if she could stroke the words free. “He said she didn’t drown.”

“No, ma’am.” Burke took a notebook and pencil from his pocket. “I’m sorry. I have to tell you she was murdered.”

She only nodded. She wasn’t shocked. A part of her had known it from the moment she had looked into the wide, sightless eyes. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to tell me anything you saw, anything you heard in the last forty-eight hours.”

“But there’s nothing, really. I’ve only just arrived, and I’ve been trying to—to settle, to put things in order.”

“I understand that.” He tipped his hat back on his head, used his forearm to dab at sweat on his brow. “Maybe you could think back. You didn’t maybe hear a car pull into your lane at night, or anything that didn’t sound quite right to you?”

“No … that is, I’m used to city noises, so nothing really sounds right to me.” She dragged an unsteady hand through her hair. It was going to be all right, she told herself, now that they were down to the questions and answers, the mechanics of law and order.

“The quiet seems so loud, if you know what I mean. And the birds, and insects. The owls.” She stopped, and what was left of her color drained away. “The other night, the first night I was here … oh, God.”

“You just take your time, ma’am.”

“I thought I heard a woman scream. I’d been asleep, and it woke me. Frightened me. Then I remembered where I was, and about the owls. Those screech owls.” She closed her eyes on a flood of guilt. “I went back to sleep. It could have been her, calling for help. I just went back to sleep.”

“Or it could have been an owl. Even if it was her, Miss Waverly, you couldn’t have helped. Could you tell me what time it woke you up?”

“No, I’m sorry. I have no idea. I didn’t look.”

“Do you walk back there much?”

“I have a couple of times. My grandfather took me fishing back there once when I visited.”

“I’ve gotten some good cats back there myself,” he said conversationally. “Do you smoke?”

“No.” Manners rising again, she glanced around for an ashtray. “Please, go ahead.”

He pulled one out, but he was thinking about the single cigarette butt he’d found near the log. Edda Lou didn’t smoke either. “You haven’t noticed anyone poking around here? No one’s come by to see you?”

“As I said, I haven’t been here long. I did run into someone the first day. He said my grandmother let him come down to watch the water.”

Burke kept his face impassive, but his heart began to sink. “Do you know who that was?”

“His name was Longstreet. Tucker Longstreet.”

Tucker was back in the hammock holding a cold beer against his swollen eye and sulking. His body no longer felt like it had been trampled by horses. It felt like it had been dragged a few miles first. He was regretting, bitterly, his decision to face Austin. Far better to have slunk off to Greenville or even Vicksburg for a few days. What the hell had made him think that pride and honesty were worth a fist in the eye?

Worse yet was the fact that Edda Lou was probably off somewhere smirking at all the trouble she’d caused. The more he thought about it, the surer he was that Austin had battered him for no good reason. Edda Lou wasn’t about to have an abortion. Not that Tucker figured she’d turn from one on moral or maternal grounds. But if she wasn’t pregnant, she wouldn’t have any hold on him.

A hold, he thought miserably, that would last the rest of his life.

Nothing took hold of you like family, he thought. And his blood would mix with Edda Lou’s in the baby she was carrying. All the good and bad there was between them would stir around, leaving it up to God or
fate or maybe just timing to determine which traits endured.

He took a long swallow of beer, then rested the bottle against his eye again. It wasn’t any use thinking about something that wasn’t going to happen for months yet. He was better off worrying about the almighty present.

He hurt, and if he didn’t feel so damn stupid about the whole mess, he’d have called Doc Shays.

To lull himself, he let his thoughts drift to more pleasant matters.

Caroline Waverly. She was as pretty as one of those tall, glossy ice-cream parfaits. The kind that cooled you off and made you greedy for more. He grinned to himself as he remembered the snooty look she’d given him in Larsson’s that afternoon.

That queen-to-peasant look. Christ, it made him want to just scoop her right up.

Not that he had any plans to. He was swearing off women awhile. Not only did his body hurt, but he figured his luck was a bit shaky. Still, it was pleasant to think about it. He liked the way her voice sounded, all soft and smoky, so different from her cool, hands-off look.

He wondered just what he’d have to do to convince her to let him get his hands on. Tucker fell asleep with a smile on his face.

“Tuck.”

He muttered and tried to shrug off the hand shaking his shoulder. The sudden movement brought pain back with a bang. He swore, opened his eyes.

“Jesus, can’t a man get any peace around here?” He blinked up at Burke. The shadows were lengthening, and his first thought was Della hadn’t called him in for supper. His second, as he swung around to sit, was that his stomach was so sore, it was just as well. “Remember when the Bonny brothers and their crazy cousin jumped us down at Spook Hollow?”

Burke kept his hands jammed in his pockets. “Yeah.”

“We were younger then.” Tucker flexed his swollen
knuckles. “I don’t recollect it hurt so damn much taking a licking then. Why don’t you go in, get us a couple beers?”

“I’m on duty, Tucker. I gotta talk to you.”

“Talk better with a beer.” But when he looked up and focused on Burke’s face, his quick grin faded. “What is it?”

“It’s bad. Real bad.”

And he knew, as if it had already been said. “It’s Edda Lou, isn’t it?” Before Burke could answer, Tucker was up and pacing, his hands dragging through his hair. “Oh, Jesus. Jesus Christ.”

“Tuck—”

“Give me a minute. Goddammit.” Sick, furious, he pounded a fist against the tree. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. It was like Arnette, and Francie.”

“Holy God.” He leaned his brow against the rough bark and struggled to keep the image out of his mind. He hadn’t loved her, had gotten to the point where he didn’t even like her, but he had touched her, tasted her, been inside her. He felt a well of grief rise up that was staggering, not only for her, but for the child he hadn’t even wanted.

“You ought to come on and sit down.”

“No.” He turned from the tree. His face had changed. It had taken on that hard, dangerous look so few were allowed to see. “Where did you find her?”

“McNair Pond, just a couple hours ago.”

“That’s less than a mile from here.” He thought first of his sister, of Della, of protection. Then he thought of Caroline. “She—Caroline—she shouldn’t be alone there.”

“Josie’s with her now, and Carl.” Burke rubbed a hand over his face. “Josie bullied her into drinking some of Miss Edith’s apple brandy. She’s—Caroline—she’s the one who found the body.”

“Fuck.” He sat on the hammock again, put his head in his hands. “What the hell are we going to do, Burke? What the hell’s going on here?”

“I gotta ask you some questions, Tuck, but before I do I want to tell
you I went to see Austin. I had to tell him.” He pulled out a cigarette. “You watch your back, son.”

Tucker took the cigarette. “He can’t believe I’d hurt Edda Lou. For chrissake.” He lit a match, then stared as it burned down toward his fingers. “You don’t believe …” He dropped the match and sprang to his feet. “Goddammit, Burke, you know me.”

Burke wished he’d taken the beer—or anything else to wash this nasty taste from his mouth. Tucker was his friend, the closest thing he had to a brother. And his most likely suspect. “Knowing you’s got nothing to do with it.”

Tucker felt a punch of panic worse than any fist to the gut. “The hell with that.”

“It’s my job, Tucker. I got a duty.” Sick at heart, he took out his notebook. “You and Edda Lou had a public argument only a couple days ago. She’s been missing nearly ever since.”

Tucker struck another match. This time he lighted the cigarette and drew and expelled smoke. “You going to read me my rights, put the cuffs on me? What?”

Burke’s hand fisted at his side. “Goddammit, Tucker, I just spent two hours looking at what someone did to that girl. This ain’t the time to push me.”

Tucker held out a hand, palm up, but there was too much sarcasm in the gesture for it to be taken as one of peace. “Go on, Burke, do your frigging job.”

“I want to know if you saw Edda, or talked to her, after you left the diner.”

“Didn’t I come in your office this afternoon and tell you I hadn’t?”

“Where’d you go after you left the diner?”

“I went to—” He broke off, paling. “Christ, I went to McNair Pond.” He started to bring the cigarette to his lips, then stopped. His tawny eyes glittered in the lowering light. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. But it helps you telling me yourself.”

“Fuck you.”

Burke grabbed him by the shirtfront. “Listen to me. I don’t like what I’ve got to do. But this is nothing
nothing
compared to what the FBI’ll do once they get here.
We’ve got three women dead, sliced up like catfish. Edda Lou threatened you in public, and she’s found dead not two days later. I’ve got a witness who puts you at the scene a day, maybe hours, before the murder.”

The first lick of fear joined the tension in Tucker’s stomach. “You know I’ve been over to McNair Pond hundreds of times. So’ve you.” He shoved Burke’s hands away. “And being pissed at Edda Lou doesn’t make me a killer. What about Arnette, Francie?”

Burke’s jaw set. “You dated them, all three of them.”

It wasn’t temper now, but simple shock. “Jesus, Burke.” He had to sit again, and do so slowly, feeling his way. “You can’t believe that. You can’t.”

“What I believe doesn’t have a damn to do with the questions I have to ask. I have to know where you were night before last.”

“Why, he was losing his shirt to me, playing gin rummy.” Josie strolled over to them. Her cheeks were pale, but there was a hard gleam in her eye. “You interrogating my brother, Burke? Why, I’m surprised at you.” She walked between them to lay a hand on Tucker’s shoulder.

“I’ve got a job to do, Josie.”

“Then you ought to be doing it. Why aren’t you out looking for someone who hates women rather than someone who has such a powerful affection for them like Tuck here?”

Tucker put a hand over hers. “I thought you were staying with Caroline.”

“Susie and Marvella came down to be with her.” She shrugged. “It gets to be too many women in one place, and she’s holding up just fine now anyway. You might want to run on home, Burke, make sure those boys of yours aren’t tearing up the house.”

He ignored the suggestion and the anger in Josie’s eyes. “You and Tucker played cards.”

“That’s not a crime or a sin in this county, is it?” She took Tucker’s cigarette from between his fingers and drew on it. “We sat up till two, maybe two-thirty. Tucker got a little bit drunk and I won thirty-eight dollars.”

A wave of relief thickened Burke voice. “That’s good. I’m sorry I had to ask, but when the federal boys get in, you’ll have to talk to them, too. Thought it’d be easier from me the first time.”

“It wasn’t.” Tucker got to his feet again. “What are they going to do with her?”

“Took her down to Palmer’s Funeral Parlor. Hold her there, overnight anyway, till the FBI gets here.” He stuffed the notebook back in his pocket, shuffled his feet. “Steer clear of Austin, long as you can.”

With a sour grin Tucker rubbed an absent hand on his bruised ribs. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Awkward, miserable, Burke stared off at a trio of rhododendrons. “I’ll be going, then. It might look better if you came on in tomorrow, talked to the feds right off.”

“Right.” Tucker let out a long breath as Burke walked away. “Hey.” When Burke turned around, he offered a half smile. “I still got that beer, if you want.”

The tension seeped out of Burke’s shoulders. “I appreciate it, but I best go see to my kids. Thanks.”

“I’m a sick person, Tucker,” Josie said with a sigh. “I’m as pissed off at that man as I can be, and I’d still like to get in his pants.”

With a half laugh Tucker laid his cheek on her head. “That’s just reflex, honey. The Longstreet reflex.” With an arm draped around her waist, he began to lead her toward the house. “Jose, not that I’m in any position to question your veracity, but we haven’t played gin in weeks.”

“That so?” She tucked her tongue in her cheek. “Well now, the days just seem to blur together, don’t they?” She pulled back to study him. “Seems better that way. Simpler.”

“Maybe.” Cautious, he took her face in his hands. He had a way of looking into a person when he had to—and he needed to see into Josie now. “You don’t think I killed her.”

“Sweetie pie, I’ve lived with you most of my life, and I know you just about choke with guilt if you have to squash a beetle. You’ve got too much heart, even when your temper’s up.” She kissed both his cheeks. “I know
you didn’t kill anybody. And if it makes it all go away quicker, what’s the harm in saying we were at cards that night? We were at cards some night or other anyway.”

He hesitated. It didn’t seem quite right. Then he shrugged. Right or wrong, it was easier than the truth, which was that he’d fallen asleep while reading Keats.

What the hell would the boys down at the Chat ’N Chew say if they found out he read poetry on purpose?

And who’d believe him?

L
ike fire through dry brush, news of Edda Lou Hatinger’s murder had spread like dust from the bayous to the levees, from town square to farm, all the way from Market Street down to Hog Maw Road, where Happy Fuller discussed the event with her dear friend and bingo partner, Birdie Shays.

“Henry wouldn’t talk about it,” Birdie said as she cooled her face with a Church of Redemption paper fan. “Burke Truesdale called him on down to the McNair place ’bout two o’clock, and he didn’t get back till five.” The fierce-eyed Jesus painted on the fan blurred as she waved it. “He came home all pale and sweaty, told me Edda Lou Hatinger was dead and to cancel all the appointments this evening. Said she was murdered just like Arnette and Francie, and wouldn’t say another word.”

“Lord love us.” Happy looked out over her trim backyard, satisfied with the backwash of Birdie’s fan. “What’s the world coming to? A woman’s not safe walking the streets.”

“I passed by the diner before I came out.” Birdie gave a knowing nod. Her lacquered hair, which Earleen
Renfrew colored every six weeks with Bombshell Beige, sat still and stiff as a helmet with its two rigid curls like question marks on either side of her forehead. “Heard that Burke’s called for the FBI, and maybe the National Guard.”

“Hmph.” Happy made a sound between a snort and a grunt. She was fond of Birdie, mighty fond, but that didn’t stop her from seeing faults. Birdie had a tendency to be gullible, which in Happy’s opinion fell just behind laziness on the top ten list of sins. “We’ve got us a homicidal maniac, not a riot, Birdie. I don’t think we’re going to see soldiers marching down Market Street. Now, the FBI maybe, and I expect they’ll call my boy in to talk since he found poor Arnette back in February.”

Her handsome face set into thoughtful lines. She’d yet to forgive Bobby Lee fully for hooking school—and damn near flunking out again—but it was hard to resist the prestige of being the mama of the one who’d found the first body.

“Bobby Lee’s carried that sadness with him ever since,” Birdie put in. “Why, you can see it in his eyes. Just this morning when he filled up my tank down to Sonny’s, I thought to myself, that Bobby Lee, he’s never going to be the same.”

“Had nightmares for weeks,” Happy said with only the faintest trace of pride.

“Only natural. I know Henry’s heart’s about broke. And I’ll tell you, Happy, it’s worrisome. Why, it could’ve been my own sweet Carolanne—not that she’d be wandering around somewhere alone when she’s got a husband and two children to tend to. But it makes you worry. And there’s your own Darleen, and her being best friends with Edda. I tell you, I can barely stand to think on it.”

“I expect I’ll have to call Darleen, see how she’s bearing up.” Happy let out a sigh. It had been a great relief to her when Darleen had married Junior Talbot and settled down in town with her husband and brand new baby. But she knew Darleen’s wild ways were flaring again. “We’re going to have to get some of the
ladies together, Birdie, and go pay our respects to Mavis Hatinger.”

Birdie started to make an excuse, but the paper Jesus glared at her. “It’s the Christian thing to do. Do you think Austin’ll be there?”

“Don’t you worry about Austin.” Happy set her chin. “We’ll have the power of motherhood on our side.”

That night, doors were locked in Innocence, guns were loaded, and sleep came hard.

Come morning, Edda Lou was the first thought on many minds.

For Darleen Fuller Talbot, Happy’s third child and first great disappointment, grief was mixed with lethargy. Throughout her teenage years, Darleen had trailed along behind Edda Lou, thrilled by the risks they took together. Hitching clear to Greenville, swiping cosmetics from the counter at Larsson’s, hooking school with the Bonny boys to have sex down at Spook Hollow.

They’d worried together if their periods were late, talked frankly about their sexual encounters, and double-dated at the Sky View Drive-In Theater more times than she could count. Edda Lou had been her maid of honor when Darleen had married Junior, and Darleen was to have returned the favor when Edda Lou finally snagged Tucker Longstreet.

Now she was dead, and Darleen’s eyes were puffy from weeping. She barely had the energy to settle little Scooter in his playpen, wave her husband out the front door, and shuffle into the kitchen to let her lover, Billy T. Bonny, in through the back.

“Oh, now, darlin’.” Billy T., already sweaty in his athletic T-shirt and torn jeans, took the red-eyed Darleen into his tattooed arms. “You shouldn’t go on like this, sugar plum. I just hate to see you cry.”

“I can’t believe she’s gone.” Darleen sniffed against his shoulder and comforted herself by squeezing his butt. “She was my dearest, closest friend, Billy T.”

“I know.” He moved his full, ready mouth down to
hers, sliding his tongue in and around in sympathy. “She was a great girl, and we’re all going to miss her.”

“She was like my sister.” Darleen drew back so he could slip his hands under her nylon nightie and find her breasts. “More a sister than Belle or Starita ever were.”

“They’re just jealous ’cause you’re the prettiest.” He pinched her hardened nipples while he backed her up against the counter.

“I’d rather it’d been one of them instead of Edda Lou.” Tears sparkling in her eyes, she unzipped his jeans. “I don’t care if they are my blood kin, I could always talk to Edda Lou, you know. Just talk about anything. Even us.” She sighed as he pulled her nightie down far enough to nip at her breasts. “She was always happy for me. She was a little jealous when I married Junior and had Scooter, but that was only natural, don’t you think?”

“Mmmm.”

“I was going to be her maid of honor when she married Tucker Longstreet.” She tugged his jockeys down. “I can’t hardly stand to think about how she was killed.”

“Don’t think about it, honey.” His breath was coming quick and hard. “Let Billy T. help you forget all about it.” He brought his hands down to push her thighs apart. “Edda Lou would’ve wanted it that way.”

“Yeah.” She sighed and snuggled against his hand. With a shiver she shoved a bowl of Cherrios aside to brace herself on the counter. “She’ll always have a place in my heart.” When she wrapped her fingers around him, she opened her eyes, love shining. He was already wearing a condom. “You’re just so good to me, honey.” She guided him in and he began to grind. “So much more fun than Junior. Why, since we got married, we don’t do it anywhere but in bed.”

Highly flattered, Billy T. hitched up her hips, rapping her head against an open cupboard door. Since she was already coming, Darleen didn’t notice.

Caroline was surprised she’d slept so well. Maybe it was her mind’s way of escaping, or the security of having
Susie Truesdale and her daughter tucked into the next bedroom. Or maybe it was just that she felt safe in her grandparents’ bed. Whatever it was, she awakened to sunlight and the smell of coffee and bacon.

Her first reaction was embarrassment, that she should have slept while her guests fixed breakfast. That reaction struck her as so feeble after the horror of the day before, she was tempted to roll over and will herself back to sleep.

Instead, she took a long cool shower and dressed.

By the time she came downstairs, Susie and Marvella were already seated at the table, talking in hushed tones over coffee and scrambled eggs.

There was enough resemblance between mother and daughter to make Caroline want to smile. Two pretty women with mink-colored hair and big blue eyes, they whispered together like children in the back pew of a church service. They both had bow-shaped mouths like kewpie dolls, that curved into sympathetic smiles when they spotted her.

There was a closeness between them, a simple understanding and respect that Caroline had never enjoyed with her own mother. Seeing it, feeling it, she felt herself struck by a hard, unexpected wave of envy.

“We hoped you’d sleep awhile longer.” Susie was already up pouring another cup of coffee.

“I feel like I slept a week. Thanks.” She took the cup Susie offered. “It was so kind of you to stay, I—”

“That’s what neighbors are for. Marvella, fix Caroline a plate.”

“Oh, really, I—”

“You have to eat.” Susie nudged her into a chair. “When you’ve had a shock like that, you need fuel.”

“Mom makes great eggs,” Marvella offered. She tried not to stare at Caroline as she served. She wanted to ask her where she’d gotten her hair cut—though Bobby Lee would just about shit bricks if she had her own shoulder-length curls whacked like that. “You always feel better if you eat. Last time I broke up with Bobby Lee, Mom and I had great big chocolate sundaes.”

“It’s hard to feel blue when you’re full of chocolate.” Susie smiled and served up a plate of toast. “I got some of your grandma’s wild raspberry jam out of the cupboard. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No.” Fascinated, Caroline picked up the hand-labeled jelly jar. “I didn’t realize this was around.”

“Oh, my, Miss Edith put by every year. Nobody had a hand like hers for jams and jellies. She won the blue ribbon at the fair the last six years running.” Bending, Susie opened a bottom cupboard and gestured toward the lines of jars. “You’ve got a good year’s supply here.”

“I didn’t know.” All those pretty, colorful jars, so carefully labeled, so lovingly aligned. The sense of loss and shame closed her throat. “I wasn’t able to see her often.”

“She was so proud of you. Used to talk about her little Caro traveling all around the world, and how you played music for royalty and presidents and all. Showed around the postcards you sent her.”

“There was one of Paris, France,” Marvella put in. “With the Eiffel Tower off in the back. Miss Edith let me use it for a report.”

“Marvella took two years of French.” Susie sent her daughter a pleased look. She herself had had to quit school four months before graduation, when she’d begun to show. It never failed to delight her that her daughter already held a high school diploma. She glanced at her watch. “Honey, hadn’t you better get on to work?”

“Oh, lordy.” Marvella popped out of her seat. “Look at the time.”

“Marvella works up in Rosedale as a legal secretary. They said she could come in late today, considering.” She glanced over as Marvella freshened her lipstick in the reflection of the toaster. “You go on and take my car, honey. I’ll call your daddy to come get me.” Rising, she rested her hands on Marvella’s shoulders. “You don’t stop for anybody, even if you know them.”

“I’m not stupid.”

Susie pinched her chin. “No, but you’re my only
girl. I want you to call me if you’re going to be later than five-thirty.”

“I will.”

“And you tell that Bobby Lee there’s to be no more parking down on Dog Street Road. If the two of you have to get romantic, you’ll do it down in the family room.”

“Mom….” A slow flush worked its way up her throat to her cheeks.

“You tell him, or I will.” She kissed Marvella’s pouty lips. “Now, get.”

“Yes’m.” She smiled at Caroline. “Don’t let her bully you, Miss Waverly. Once she starts, she never stops.”

“Sassy.” Susie chuckled after the front screen door slammed. “Hard to believe she’s grown up on me.”

“She’s a lovely girl.”

“Yes, she is that. Hardheaded and sure of what she wants, though. She’s wanted Bobby Lee Fuller for the best part of two years, so I guess she’ll get him all right.” She gave a wistful smile before she picked up her cooling coffee. “Once I set my sights on Burke, he didn’t have a prayer. She’s the same. Only you worry, because they always seem so much younger than you were at the same age.” She frowned at Caroline’s plate. “You didn’t eat much.”

“I’m sorry.” With effort, Caroline took another bite. “It all seems so strange—I didn’t even know that girl, but it’s dreadful just thinking about her.” Resigned, she pushed her plate aside. “Susie, I didn’t want to ask too many questions with Marvella here, but do I understand this right? This girl was the third murdered?”

“Since February,” Susie said with a nod. “They were all three stabbed.”

“God.”

“Burke won’t say much, but I know it’s bad, really bad. Some kind of mutilation.” She rose to clear the table. “As a mother—as a woman—it scares me. And I worry about Burke, too. He’s taking this all on himself, like it was his fault somehow. God knows nobody around
here was prepared for this kind of thing, but Burke thinks he should have been able to stop it.”

The way, Susie remembered, he’d thought he should have been able to stop his father from putting a noose around his neck.

Caroline filled the sink with soapy water. “No suspects?”

“If so, he’s not saying. With Arnette, it seemed like it had to’ve been a drifter. I mean, when you’ve got eight or nine hundred people in a town, you get so you know damn near everybody. It just didn’t seem possible it could have been one of us. Then when Francie was killed the same way, people began to look around a little. And still, when it came right down to it, none of us wanted to believe it could have been a neighbor, or a friend. But now …”

“Now you have to look among your own.”

“We do.” She picked up a tea towel as Caroline began to wash the breakfast dishes. “Though I think it’s more likely we’ve got some psycho living in the swamp, hiding in there.”

Caroline looked out the window toward the trees. Trees that seemed so much closer to the house than before. “Well, that’s a comfort.”

“I don’t mean to scare you, but if you’re living out here alone, you need to be careful.”

Caroline pressed her lips together. “I heard that Tucker Longstreet and Edda Lou had a fight. That she was pressuring him into marriage.”

“Trying to, more like.” Susie polished a plate clean, then laughed. “Lordy, you don’t know Tucker, or else you wouldn’t have that look on your face. The idea of him killing someone, well, it’s just laughable. First place, it would take too much effort and emotion. Tucker tends to be lacking in both departments.”

Caroline remembered the look on his face when she’d come across him by the pond. There’d been plenty of emotion then. The dangerous kind. “Still …”