Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 58727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
He squeezes my hand, and I smile.
Sort of.
Then he glances at Chance. “You either.”
“Ditto that.” From Austin, who squeezes Carly’s thigh.
“So what are we looking at here?” Chance asks. “There can’t be too—” He stops abruptly and looks at me.
I chew on my lower lip. “We all know who the body is. We know it’s my brother. We can’t keep tiptoeing around it.”
“I agree,” Carly says. “You can think you’re doing the right thing by not talking about stuff, but it’s never the right thing. I should know.”
A haunted look passes over her face, but Austin tips her chin toward him and he kisses her. She smiles and it’s gone.
“You’re right, Carly.” Chance gazes at me. “I’m sorry, Sadie. Your brother’s body—”
“Joey. Joseph Hopkins.” I look down at my lap. “That was his name. I think it’s important that we say his name.”
“Good point.” Chance nods. “Joey. We all know that it’s Joey.” He sighs. “Honestly, I never knew him. But either he was here on our property, or someone wants us to think he was.”
“Yes,” Mr. Shankle says. “The body could’ve been planted after he was killed.”
“That’s where our department comes in,” I offer. “We’ll do an investigation. I’m sure the coroner can tell by how he died, drowning or not.”
“Have you thought about recusing yourself from this case?” Mr. Shankle asks. “You are related to the deceased and clearly close to the Bridgers.”
My cheeks warm, and I choke back a sob.
“Shankle, come on.” Miles squeezes my hand again.
“She just told us she doesn’t want us tiptoeing around this,” the attorney says.
“You’re right.” I gulp back the sob. “I suppose I could recuse myself, and Miles pretty much told the lead detective I should be off the case because of all the conflict of interest. But it’s my brother and well, Peterson is an asshole. We’re the only two detectives here in this county and he’s going to need all the help he can get in solving this, no matter what he thinks.”
Mr. Shankle raises his eyebrows. “Only two detectives in the county?”
“It’s a rural county, Shankle.” Chance rubs his forehead. “How could you be our father’s attorney all these years and not know that?”
He purses his lips as if the lemonade is way too tart. “I’ve told you before. I was his personal attorney. I handled ranch business. I never interacted with law enforcement.”
“Maybe you should have.” Austin frowns. “Seems he was into some shady shit.”
“None of which came to light until his death,” Mr. Shankle replies.
“And you had no idea?” This from Austin again.
“I wasn’t paid to have ideas,” the attorney says. “I did my job.”
I clear my throat. I actually have something to add. “We’ve never needed more than two detectives before. We’ve got a sheriff, we’ve got several deputies, and we've got Peterson and myself. It’s not like Bayfield is crime central.”
Miles turns to me. “Maybe Shankle’s right, baby. Maybe you should step back. You’re too close to this.”
He’s right, of course, but for some reason I’m feeling argumentative. “Do you want Peterson—and only Peterson?—taking care of this?”
“Fuck no. Well, she’s got me there, Shankle,” Miles says. “Mark Peterson may be a good detective. I don’t know, because I haven’t lived here that long and all I’ve seen of him is when he’s being an ass. But he clearly hates us. He had beef with our father. Hell, who hasn’t?”
“Your father did have his faults.” Mr. Shankle clears his throat, this time sounding a lot like Rainey did this morning. The man’s clearly a chain smoker.
“You think?” Austin shakes his head.
“I was his attorney for twenty years,” Shankle replies. “The man had a good side too.”
This time Chance scoffs, raking his fingers through his auburn hair. “I lived with him my entire life. If he had a good side, I’d love to know about it.”
“He gave a lot to charity.”
“Right.” Austin lets out a sarcastic huff. “It took a lot out of him to write all those fat checks. Maybe he should have floated a little cash to my mother over the years. To Miles’s mom, too.”
“I don’t have any information on his relationships with any of your mothers,” Shankle says. “But he didn’t have to support charities the way he did. He gave millions of dollars to childrens’ hospitals.”
“You think he did it because he was altruistic?” Chance holds up his empty glass and stares at the ice in the bottom. “He did it for tax deductions. Or for virtue signaling. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t for charity.”
Silence reigns, and I guess it’s up to me to break it.
“So there’s no way to know, until tomorrow, whether Joey was working with EPA?” I ask.
“Nope. I can either be on the horn trying to find out that information, or I can be with you all in Peterson’s office.”