“The blood over there, the rock, the drag marks. You put it all together, Zane, and somebody killed him and dumped him in the lake. The questions are who and why.”

“They’ll be talking to one of his friends. They found a truck shortly before Gabe called. It’s got spilled paint, more cans of it, and blood. What it looks like is Stu Hubble came along with Clint on his spree, then they got into something, Stu smacked him with the rock. Probably didn’t mean to kill him, but did, panicked, dumped him. But things aren’t always what they look like, and that doesn’t explain why Stu would leave his truck sitting on the side of the lake road.

“We wait for the facts.”

“I need to talk to my crew.”

“I know.” He put a hand over hers. “Soon.”

* * *

The shadow had become a man, and the man stood outside with an excellent view of the activity on the lake. He’d watched the yahoo jump in, swim to the floater.

It had given him a chuckle along with his morning coffee.

He’d stood right there when the bumfuck cops had come across the truck he’d left where a blind moron could find it. He suspected one Stuart Hubble—according to the registration—was in for a bad day.

But the floater, the too-late lifeguard, the whole scene of chaos really topped it off.

Then the cops came screaming up—man, what a show! This was the most fun he’d had in weeks. At least since he’d beaten that two-bit whore he’d picked up somewhere in Dickwad, Virginia.

Best thing he’d done, he thought as he watched the show, had been following his gut—and following the asshole with the paint cans.

Like fucking divine intervention, that’s what it had been.

He hoped killing the stupid bastard brought some trouble down on Walker. Maybe it would, just maybe. Asshole vandalizes the shithead’s office, then vandalized the whore bitch he’s fucking—

He had to stop, take a breath there, unclench his fists.

Then what does he do, but sneak his drunk way right up to Walker’s place, pop a bunch of bullets through the glass.

Dead idiot could think of it this way. If he hadn’t done him the favor of bashing his brains in, he’d be spending a nice stretch in prison.

Better off dead.

“You’re welcome!” Snickering, he slipped back inside for another coffee, a croissant, some local jelly.

He brought it out on the porch, sat in the nice sturdy chair. And enjoyed his continental breakfast and show.

* * *

When Emily brought out the tea, she rubbed Zane’s shoulders. “I’m going to make a big pasta salad, get it chilling.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Darby began.

“Lee’s letting the crew go, and every one of them wants to come here, see the both of you. So I’m going to put together some food from what I can find in your poorly stocked pantry. I’ll be raiding your kitchen garden while I’m at it.”

Zane reached back to squeeze her hand. “Best pasta salad going. Is Gabe okay?”

“He seems to be. I want to see him for myself. I’m having Ralph go by and pick Brody up. I want both my boys where I can see them. Then you’ll have the lot of them to help you take down the rest of these canopies, and haul in the rest of the extra tables and chairs.”

She looked around. “Hard to believe it was just yesterday all of us were out here celebrating.” She lowered her head to kiss the top of Zane’s. “Lee’ll be a while yet. He’s got a lot to deal with.”

“Zane.” Darby reached for him when Emily went back inside. “Somebody has to tell Traci.”

“I want to do that, and in person. And as soon as I can,” he added. “Will you be okay if I go into Asheville?”

“Of course I will. Do you want me to go with you?”

“You stay here, help settle your crew. I’m going to check with Lee, get his go-ahead. He has the tougher one. He’ll have to notify the rest of the Drapers.”

Which he would, but Stu Hubble had to come first. Lee found him snoring on the couch in his hovel surrounded by empty beer bottles, a scatter of pills not yet consumed, ashtrays full of butts—tobacco and weed, and what looked like the remains of a meat-lovers pizza along with a couple empty bags of Doritos.

The good hard shove Lee gave him loosened an enormous fart, followed by a belch that smelled nearly as foul.

“Fukov,” Stu muttered, and attempted to roll over.

This time Lee used his foot, and helped Stu land on the floor.

“Sumbitch! What the—” He broke off when his bloodshot eyes focused on Lee. “Who the hell let you in? This here’s my place. You got no right—”

“This here’s your grandmother’s place. Get your sorry, stinking ass up. You’re under arrest.”

“Am not. Didn’t do nothing.”

Considering, Lee narrowed his eyes. “Where’s Clint Draper?”

“How the hell am I…” Stu blinked, got slowly to his feet.

He was a big guy with a big gut of hard fat. He had little eyes and bad teeth.

“Around, maybe in the can. We’ve been hanging out. Was gonna go camping, but it got too hot, so we come back yesterday, hung out. Ain’t illegal.”

“Defacing property is. And you were stupid enough to use your truck when you painted obscenities on Zane Walker’s office, on Darby McCray’s house.”

“Did no such thing. Been right here. You ask my gramma.”

“Paint’s still in your truck, smeared all over the steering wheel.”

But none, Lee noticed, on Stu, who obviously hadn’t changed or showered in several days.

“Your paintbrushes, Stu. Your paint cans, your truck.”

“Nuh-uh. Less’n somebody must’ve stole it. You ask Gramma, you ask Clint.”

“I asked your grandmother, who’s deaf as a post and hasn’t been down those steps for six months or more. I can’t ask Clint Draper.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because we fished him out of the lake this morning, not a quarter mile from where we found your truck. He’s dead.”

“Is not.” Stu pushed around to see if any of the empty bottles had anything left. “Back in the can’s where he is. We’ve been hanging out right here ’cause it’s too hot for camping.”

Lee pulled out his phone, brought up the crime scene photo of Clint Draper, eyes wide, face gray. And shoved it under Stu’s nose.

He yanked back the phone, and himself, when Stu bent over and puked on his own shoes.

The stench, Lee thought, would wake a decomposed corpse.

“Did you have a falling-out, Stu, up at Zane’s place when you were shooting at the house?”

“It ain’t Clint, no way. You’re tricking me.”

“We fished him out of the lake this morning. He’s got a fist-sized hole in the back of his skull. I expect he was dead before you dumped him in the lake.”

“I never did that.” Stu’s tree-trunk legs wobbled until he thudded back on the couch. “I never done killed nobody in my life. Clint’s a friend of mine. I never done killed nobody.”

“Get your sorry ass up or I’ll haul you up. You’re coming to the station, and you’d better start telling the truth or I’ll see you do some real time behind bars. You’re up shit creek, Stu, and every lie takes you farther from shore.”

“I never done killed nobody! I swear on my life.” Tears began to leak. “Clint just came by yesterday—we never went camping, he just asked me to say so. He came by after he heard Traci took off and you was looking for him. I was just helping out a bud, that’s all it was, and anybody’d do the same.”

“You reckon anybody’d hide and lie for a man who beat his wife black-and-blue?”

“I don’t know nothing about that. Clint, he was here, that’s what I know. We had some beer and such, and I passed out, I guess. I don’t know nothing about the paint or nothing. Jesus, he’s dead? For real?”

A moron, Lee thought, a lazy, bullying bastard, but an unlikely killer.

“Get up. You’re coming in, telling it all. If you don’t want me to cuff you, get up. You got another pair of shoes?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Well, change them. I’m not having your puke in my house. Get a shirt and pants, too. I’m taking what you’re wearing into evidence. They find any paint, any of Clint’s blood on you, you’re fucked good.”

“I was just covering for a bud, like anybody would. I didn’t do nothing. I never killed nobody.”

Lee believed him, right down the line. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t squeeze him first. If Stu knew anything, anything at all, he’d damn well squeeze it out drop by drop.

* * *

By the time the crew arrived with Brody in tow, Emily had the pasta salad in the fridge and a second pitcher of tea steeping. Darby went straight to Roy.

“I’m still wet,” he began, but she hugged him close. After a second’s hesitation, he clamped hard around her.

“Holy God, Miss Darby. Holy God. I’ve never seen—never gonna stop seeing. When I—when I got to him, grabbed on, he turned over. And his face…”

“Come on, sit down.”

“I—I got some dry clothes in the truck. Any place I can change outta these?”

“Sure.”

She waited while he got them, then led him in and to the lower level, past Zane’s home gym, the home theater and into a full bath.

“Take a hot shower, take your time,” Darby told him, then gripped his hand. “Roy, you’re a hero.”