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eighty. He might not be around in another five years. “I can move appointments around and leave Tuesday.”
    He picked up his tea, and she realized she was holding her breath. Waiting like always. Waiting for him to show her a sign, a word or touch . . . anything, anything at all that he cared what she did. “No need to do that,” he said, and took a drink. Then in typical Hollowell fashion, he changed the subject away from anything that might touch on important. “How was your drive?”
    “Great.” She took a bite and chewed. Small talk. They were good at small talk. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. She suddenly wasn’t very hungry and set her rib on the plate. “There’s a black truck on the side of the road,” she said, and wiped her fingers on a napkin.
    “Could be one of Snooks’s.”
    “He wasn’t from around here and I dumped him off at the Gas and Go.”
    Her dad’s shaggy white brows lowered. “Lovett isn’t the same small town as when you were growing up. You have to be careful.”
    Lovett was almost exactly the same. “I was careful.” She told her father about taking the guy’s information. “And I threatened him with a stun gun.”
    “Do you have a stun gun?”
    “No.”
    “I’ll get your twenty-two out of the safe.” Which she supposed was her daddy’s way of saying he cared if a serial killer hacked her up.
    “Thanks.” She thought of Vince and his light green eyes, looking at her from the shadow of his ball cap. She didn’t know what had gotten into her when she’d asked him to take her to her cousin’s wedding. Her mother’s people were very conservative, and she didn’t know anything about him. For all she knew, he really could be a serial killer. Some sort of homicidal maniac, or worse.
    A Democrat.
    Thank God he’d turned her down, and thank God she’d never have to see Vincent Haven again.

Chapter Four
    S adie pulled the Saab into the Gas and Go and stopped beneath the bright lights of the gas pumps. A dull thump pounded her temples. The rehearsal dinner hadn’t been the complete hell she’d feared. Just a warm-up version for the following night.
    She got out of the car and pumped premium into her tank. She’d been right about one thing. All the other wedding attendants were about ten years younger than Sadie, and they all had boyfriends or were married. Some had children.
    The groomsman she walked down the aisle with was Boner Henderson’s cousin Rusty. She wasn’t sure if Rusty was his real name or a nickname. The only thing that was for sure was that the name fit him. He had red hair and freckles and was pale as a baby’s butt. He was about four inches shorter than Sadie and mentioned that maybe she should wear “flat shoes” to the wedding.
    As if.
    She leaned against the car and crossed her arms over her beige trench coat. A cool night breeze played with her high ponytail and she hugged herself against the chill. Her aunt Bess and uncle Jim had seemed genuinely happy to see her. During dessert, Uncle Jim stood and gave a really long speech about Tally Lynn. He began with the day his daughter was born and finished with how happy they all were that she was marrying her high school sweetheart, an all-around “great guy,” Hardy Steagall.
    For the most part, Sadie had evaded questions about her love life. It wasn’t until the dessert plates were cleared that her uncle Frasier’s wife, Pansy Jean, warmed to the topic. Thank God it had been several hours after cocktail time and Uncle Frasier had been tanked and talkative and he’d interrupted Pansy Jean with his stupid jokes. It was no secret that Frasier controlled his drinking by waiting until after five to tank up. It had been past eight when he’d unwittingly saved Sadie from Aunt Pansy Jean’s interrogation.
    The gas shut off and Sadie returned the nozzle to the pump. She couldn’t imagine getting married so young and to someone from high school. She hadn’t had a high school