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Percy.”
    “Yeah. Julia got over it after a day or so, even thought it was kind of funny. But Abby wouldn’t give it up. Finally, someone blabbed and outed Percy and she was pissed as hell.”
    “Well, I’m sure she’s gotten over it by now. I’ll invite him. Percy was her friend and Richard’s as well. I think he should be here.”
    “Suit yourself.”
    “Um-hmm. Who else? What about Julia? Was the skinny-dipping a onetime thing or were they close friends?”
    Manning eased out a sigh.
That’s
all
he needed
—
to have Julia there the first time he saw Abigale again
. “They were friends, but that was a long time ago, Mother. It’s not like they’ve kept in touch all these years.”
    “That doesn’t matter. I’ll invite Julia. Now, let’s see, that makes six. The table holds eight, so we can invite two more. Any other suggestions?”
    “Not really.”
    “Then I think I’ll invite Wendy, since she’ll be instrumental in assisting us with the funeral arrangements. Thompson would be a good one to round it out, don’t you think?”
    Manning didn’t respond. His mother knew exactly how he felt about Thompson.

CHAPTER
15

    M argaret refused the offer to take a seat in the reception area at the sheriff’s office. If she’d learned anything over the years, it was that sitting usually increased one’s wait time.
    “Sheriff Boling shouldn’t be too much longer,” the young woman at the front desk said. “Are you sure I can’t get you a cup of coffee?”
    “Nope. I’m just fine, thanks.” Margaret gave her a smile, then glanced at her wristwatch. “Is the sheriff in a meeting?”
    The woman’s brown curls jiggled as she jerked her head toward a closed door at the back of the room. “Big hubbub going on in his office.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I think it’s about that man they found shot dead at Longmeadow Park this morning. Couple of deputies came rushing in here about thirty minutes ago, been holed up back there with the sheriff ever since.”
    “And you think it’s about the murder?”
    “Well, when they went back there, before the sheriff closed the door, I heard one of them say, ‘We have us a suspect, Sheriff. And, get this, he’s a Hispanic.’” She rubbed her hands along the sleeves of the moss-green sweater that she’d probably purchased because of the way it accentuated her eyes. “That’s Sheriff Boling’s top priority, you know. Cracking down on gangs. They’ve been keeping the seriousness of the problem quiet, so as not to hurt tourism and all, but gangs have become a real problem in this county.”
    “Is that so?”
    “Yes, ma’am. Most folks figure the gang activity is in the eastern part of the county, closer to Washington. But it’s out here, too.”
    “Are you saying the shooting was gang-related?”
    The woman held both hands out in a balancing motion, as if weighing the evidence. “Hispanic. Gangs. They go hand in hand.”
    Margaret grunted in response, but she stopped short of disagreeing with the woman. No sense getting on her bad side. Never know when she might be useful.
    The door to the sheriff’s office screeched open and the receptionist wheeled around in her chair. She rose as Sheriff Boling strode through the doorway, ushering two deputies ahead of him. “Great work, fellas,” the sheriff said, clasping one of the men on the back as he wove his way around the receptionist’s desk. “Keep me in the loop.”
    “You bet, Sheriff.”
    The front door clanged shut behind the deputies and Sheriff Boling glanced at the receptionist. “Any calls come in for me while I was tied up, Charlotte?”
    Bright spots of color flushed the young woman’s cheeks and she ran her palms down the sides of her gray wool skirt. “No, Sheriff Boling, but this lady, Mrs. Southwell, has been waiting to see you.”
    The lines around the sheriff’s mouth drooped as his eyes settled on Margaret. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t notice you standing