Second Time's the Charm

“Who was she married to?” Jon asked.

“A man with a father with enough money to bury you if you hurt her,” the sheriff said. “And I hear—” Richards leaned in again “—that she’s quite close with the old man. Has breakfast with him every single Sunday morning.”

The sheriff got what he wanted. Jon felt beaten. He remembered Lillie’s Sunday morning absences. She’d never told him where she went, or with whom.

Lillie had money? Had lived in the same elite circles Kate came from?

If he’d known that, he would never, ever have trusted her in the first place. “Mark my words, Swartz. I don’t just serve this town, I love these people. And I will do whatever it takes to protect them.” Jon no longer cared.

“And you have no other suspects.” It was a statement, not a question. Because he had to keep up appearances and get out of there.

“One. He had an alibi.”

Jon gave one slow nod in acknowledgment. As Richards turned to leave, he said, “Sheriff?”

“Yeah?”

“Did Lillie say how Abraham was doing? If the procedure went as planned?” Abe was all that mattered now. All that would ever matter again.

“She didn’t tell me anything that I didn’t ask,” Richards’s answer was about what he’d expected. The man opened the door, stepped through it and ducked his head back in. “But Bonnie threatened me as only a sister can. I’m to tell you that he came through with flying colors. Woke up easily. Ate a good dinner and went to bed an hour early.”

The sheriff had to have known that the news would relieve Jon. And he’d given it to him, anyway.

Jon wasn’t sure what to make of that.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

LILLIE SPENT MUCH of the evening on the phone. She called Becca Parsons, Shelter Valley’s mayor, whose children she’d seen a time or two at the clinic. And who, along with her husband, Will, were Caro and John’s closest friends. Becca said she’d find out what she could and get back to her. Lillie answered calls from friends like Tory Sanders, Phyllis Sheffield and Ellen Billingsley, who’d called from Phoenix.

Some wanted to know what was going on. Others, those who knew Jon, expressed their shock and supported her standing by him.

All things considered, she was feeling pretty good when she opened the door to Sheriff Richards at a little past eight o’clock that evening.

“We’ll be quick and quiet,” Bonnie’s brother told Lillie as he and a tall, thin, bearded man entered the living room. “You take the kitchen and front half of the place, I’ll get the bedrooms,” Greg Richards told his deputy.

The officer, a man Lillie had never met, nodded and left, walking softly as he moved across the kitchen to the laundry closet.

Lillie followed Greg down the hall. “This is Abe’s room,” Lillie said, pointing at the closed door. “That’s Jon’s.”

“Let me do a quick search in here.” Pulling back on the door handle, Greg managed to get inside the room without making a sound. He was fairly quiet when it came to opening drawers, the closet and rifling through the toy shelf, too.

His search of Abe’s room was over in less than five minutes. And the boy hadn’t moved, other than to take long, steady breaths. Natural, normal breaths.

Abe was fine. And probably still feeling some residual from the anesthetic.

Jon’s room was next.

Lillie stood in the do

orway, taking in Jon’s things while trying not to intrude on his privacy. Not an easy feat when a man was going through Jon’s underwear drawer.

The briefs and T-shirts and socks were all neatly folded and stacked, the drawers not quite full but well organized. The sight didn’t surprise her, but it brought tears to her eyes. Jon was a good man. Careful and honest and hardworking.

“He doesn’t deserve this,” she said, keeping her voice low.

“He lied during the investigation, Lil. A man doesn’t do that unless he has something to hide.”

She didn’t have a response to that.