“ ’Course,” Jeremy said. He’d even dressed for the occasion in a long-sleeved striped shirt and slacks that could’ve stood a pressing, but hey, a vast improvement over his sweats or jeans and sloppy football jersey. He’d found an old suit coat of his father’s that was a little short in the sleeves and slightly faded, but at least he’d taken the time to appear presentable. Bianca, starting to think of herself as a fashionista, was dressed in a short charcoal gray dress with matching leggings and a black coat that hit her at the knees, just an inch above her boots.
“Are you comin
g to the cemetery?” Pescoli asked them.
“No,” Bianca said quickly.
“Yes, we are,” Jeremy disagreed. He shot his sister a look that suggested she not argue.
“I don’t see why.” Bianca started to go into her petulant routine.
“Because Mom worked for him, and so did I and like, duh”—Jeremy motioned toward Sturgis—“we’ve got his dog.” He was firm as he strode to the driver’s side of his truck. “We’re going, Bianca. Get in.”
Bianca’s shoulders slumped as if she were an eight-year-old being punished and sent to her room.
Pescoli said, “I think it’s a good idea. Respectful. Dan Grayson was good to all of us.”
“Let’s go,” Jeremy yelled from behind the wheel and fired the engine before slamming his door shut.
“Great,” Bianca grumbled but climbed into her brother’s rig as Pescoli made her way to her own Jeep.
Santana was waiting for her. “Trouble in paradise?” he asked, hitching his chin toward Jeremy’s truck as it wheeled out of the lot.
“Nothing serious.” She didn’t want to go into it.
Santana picked up on it. “You want to ride to the cemetery together?”
“Yes. Please. That would be great.” It felt good to let someone else take charge, if only for a little while. “But there’s three of us,” she said, indicating Sturgis.
Santana’s dark eyes sparkled in the sun. “I’m used to that. Come on.” He walked her to the passenger side. She handed him her keys and slid into the Jeep. Sturgis hopped inside.
They drove to the cemetery in a long procession and Pescoli stared out the window. Once they were through the city with its plowed streets and piles of graying snow, they passed by broad fields spangled beneath the bright sun. The cemetery was located on a hill outside the city limits that angled softly upward and offered a view of the valley and the town sprawled below. Tombstones half buried in snow sprouted from the frozen ground and two roads bisected the graves. Ahead was a fresh plot—dark earth turned over in the snow, an oblong hole in the ground surrounded by several floral sprays, a small tent, and fake grass.
Fewer people had made the trek to the cemetery, though a bevy of vehicles were parked and mourners trudged through six inches of frigid powder to stand at Dan Grayson’s final resting spot. The chaplain said a few more words and led another prayer. The Grayson family sat in a sober group near the grave.
Pescoli’s stomach knotted at the finality of it all. When the guns were fired in salute, she fought a fresh spate of tears. Sturgis didn’t so much as whimper as the rifles blasted and afterward the dog, head down, followed Pescoli obediently to Santana’s truck.
It was over.
For everyone.
Sheriff Dan Grayson had been laid to rest.
Jessica woke Sunday morning feeling tired all over, and at work, the diner was a madhouse. While Saturday had been a little slow, the crowd had returned for Sunday breakfast, brunch, lunch, and then later for dinner.
Nell was beside herself, delighted that the receipts were keeping the register busy. “This is just what we needed,” she said, grinning.
Misty was quick on her feet, and obviously thrilled with the tips. “Maybe I will take that winter vacation to Puerto Vallarta after all. My cousin’s got a place down there, ya know. Always asking me to come down, but the airfare’s out of my league. However, with a couple more days like this, I can see myself sitting on a beach and sipping a margarita from some hottie in a Speedo.”
Armando rolled his eyes and muttered something in Spanish under his breath. He and Denise had worked harder than ever getting the orders cooked and plated at a breakneck pace. Though Denise was handling the extra work effortlessly, Armando was at his rope’s end, griping that they were running out of staples and that too many of the orders came in with changes. Jessica, grateful for the fast pace, didn’t have time to think about the fact that she’d promised herself to go to the sheriff’s office the next morning.
But as the shift wound down and the last customers drifted out of the diner, her stomach once again knotted. Could she go through with it?
It was a little before eleven when Misty said, “You run on home. I’ll close.”
Jessica nodded. She was dead tired and told herself to get a decent night’s sleep, then face the music. When she drove out of the lot, she found the city streets nearly deserted, the town of Grizzly Falls seemingly folded in on itself and closed up for the cold winter’s night.
She told herself again that she wasn’t being followed, that the headlights she’d seen in her rearview mirror weren’t zeroed in on her. As she had before, she considered all of her options. She could wait for the bastard to find her, stand her ground, and try to blow him away herself, but then she’d end up in a trial and possibly prison or the mental hospital. Again.