“I didn’t do nothing.”

“You went in the lake, trying, hoping to save someone. And when you saw he was past saving, you still brought him in. You’re a hero.”

As his eyes went damp, he shook his head. “I never liked the son of a bitch, that’s God’s truth. Liked him less since it got out he was hitting on Traci. But…”

“That only makes you more of a hero. Take your time.”

She went up to find her crew huddled together at a table, united in shock. And Brody sitting so close to Gabe they made a twin pack.

“Is he all right?” Hallie twisted her hands together, released them, twisted. “He’s hardly said a word since … since he pulled Clint Draper out of the lake.”

“He just needs some time.”

“Can you tell us what’s going on?” Ralph demanded. “I’d sure as hell like to know what’s going on.”

“Me, too, but I’ll tell you what I know.”

She didn’t sit, couldn’t. “Somebody—we have to assume Clint Draper—shot out the terrace doors to the bedroom upstairs.”

“Son of a bitch.” Ralph pounded a fist on the table, made Hallie jump, and sent his own glasses skipping down his nose. “That son of a bitch. Not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but hell with that.”

“Where’s Zane?” Brody demanded. “Is he hurt?”

“No, no. He went to get Traci’s sister. They’re going into Asheville to tell her. Before Clint came here, he painted a bunch of crap on Zane’s office building, on my place.”

“The Drapers are no good,” Hallie muttered. “Never have been, never will be. We’re going to help you fix it up, Darby, don’t you worry about that.”

“I’m in on that,” Brody said. “We’ll make it right. But … how’d he get in the lake?”

Darby let out a breath. “They found—well, Zane and Zod found where he shot from, and … You can see over there where the police tape is. There’s blood, too. He had to be with somebody, and whoever he was with must’ve hit him with a rock, then dragged him off, dumped him in the lake.”

“Don’t make a lick of sense,” Ralph added.

“No, it really doesn’t.”

“It kinda does,” Brody put in. “Could be two things that kinda do.”

Intrigued, Darby pulled up a chair, looked into Brody’s Walker-green eyes. “What two things?”

“He was probably drunk—they’ll do a tox screening and find out. But everybody knows he gets meaner and more stupid when he’s drinking. Dad’s had to lock him up a couple times for drunk and disorderly.”

Emily poured more tea. “And how would you know?”

“I’ve got ears, Mom,” he said, adding a teenage eye roll. “Anyway, whoever was mean and stupid enough to be with him when he shoots at the house was likely drunk, too, right? Could be he wanted a turn with the gun, and they tussled over it, and bam. Probably didn’t mean to kill him, but did, then what’re you gonna do, right? Dump the body. Should’ve just left it lay and took off, but drunk, stupid, and mean.”

“Put it that way,” Gabe considered, “it makes some sense. What’s the other way, Sherlock?”

Brody grinned, then shrugged. “Okay, so he’s going around tagging Zane’s office, then Darby’s house. Somebody sees him. Maybe somebody as mean as Clint Draper was, and they follow him right on up to here.”

“Why kill him?” Darby asked.

“Sometimes mean doesn’t need a reason, just opportunity. I heard Dad say that once. Either way, Dad, Silas, and the rest of them will figure it out. It’s what they do.”

“That’s right.” Standing behind her son, Emily squeezed his shoulders. “It’s what they do.”

“If it’s the second…” Gabe hesitated, drew a finger down the condensation on his glass of tea. “They’re even meaner than the Drapers. I don’t know anybody like that. Except … is Dad sure Zane’s—I mean, Graham Bigelow is still locked up?”

“He checked first thing.” Now Emily shifted a hand to Gabe’s shoulder. “He’s locked up good and tight, don’t you worry.”

But wasn’t the real worry, Darby thought, the possibility that someone in Lakeview was meaner than the Drapers?

And a killer.

* * *

After he took Stu’s clothes into evidence, Lee left him with an officer and gave him orders to shower, change, and wait in lockup. He’d be damned if he’d interview the idiot while said idiot was still stinking of sweat and stale beer and puke.

In any case, he had to notify the deceased’s family, and wouldn’t that be a goddamn picnic?

Knowing the Drapers, he took both Silas and Ginny as backup.

Horace Draper answered his knock, stood sneering with his thin gray hair buzzed to his scalp, a home-rolled cigarette tucked tight in the corner of his mouth.

The air inside, barely stirred by a couple of standing fans, still smelled of breakfast grease.

“Y’all come out here looking for my boy, I’m gonna tell you again, he’s off camping. You ain’t stepping in without a warrant.”

“We found Clint, Mr. Draper.”

Something shifted in the old man’s eyes. “All right, then you know he wasn’t nowhere around when that lying bitch he married says he smacked her. Never smacked that lazy woman in his life. Might be she coulda used it.”

He jabbed a nicotine-stained finger at Lee. “You got my boy locked up, I’m gonna have your badge for it this time.”

Lee ignored the finger, ignored the threat. “Mr. Draper, I regret to inform you, your son Clint is dead. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“That’s a stinkin’ lie!”

“His body was recovered earlier this morning from Reflection Lake.”

From behind Horace, Bea Draper began to wail, “Not my boy! Not my boy! Not my boy!”

“You hush up, woman. They’s lying!”

Lee took out his phone, brought up the crime scene photo. “Is this your son Clint, Mr. Draper?”

He saw it then, the moment when reality and the grief that came with it overtook belligerence. Draper stumbled out the door, dropped into one of the chairs on the rickety porch.

“My boy’s gone?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

Grief snapped into a wild rage that shoved Draper to his feet. “You done it!”

Before he could lunge at Lee, Silas had his arms yanked behind his back. The old man had plenty of ropy muscle with that rage fueling them. Ginny had to step in, help hold him back.

“We don’t want to put you on the ground, Mr. Draper,” she said. “We don’t want to cuff you.”

“We didn’t find him alive.” Lee spoke calmly. “The Lakeview Police Department didn’t cause his death.”

“Then who done it! My boy can swim like a shark. He didn’t fall into the cursed lake and drown. Who done it!”

“We’re investigating.”

“Investigating, my ass! Cops is nothing but corrupt all the way up to the FBI. You don’t give one good shit about me or my blood. Never have.”

“I’ll do my job. It’s best you sit down, get yourself under control. It won’t do your family any good if I have to take you in for assaulting an officer.”

“I’ll tell you who done it. That pissant Bigelow boy goes by Walker. The one who stole my boy’s woman, got her to say lies about him. You best put him in a cell right quick, ya hear? Before me and mine find him.”

“Be careful who you threaten. Now sit down before I put you down.” Lee jerked his head to Ginny, signaling her to go inside where Bea Draper continued to wail and sob.

“Zane never hurt your boy.”

“You’d say that.”

“I know that. When your boy was killed, Zane was busy protecting Darby McCray and himself from the bullets Clint shot through the exterior doors of his bedroom, and calling the police.”

“Bullshit. My boy did no such thing. That Bigelow scum, he’d lie and you’d swear to it.”

“We found Clint’s rifle, recently fired, in the truck he took from Stu Hubble, and we dug bullets out of Zane’s bedroom walls. They’re going to match. We found Clint’s prints on the steering wheel, smeared with the paint he used to deface Zane’s office building, Darby’s house shortly before he fired the rifle. The paint was still wet. Seeing as Zane had a half dozen cops in his house about the time Clint was dumped in the lake, he’s got a damn good alibi.”

“You’d lie, they’d swear to it. Every one of those useless police.”

“You know that’s bullshit. Even you know. We have the time logged on the nine-one-one. I’ve got Stu Hubble in lockup now, and from the looks of his place when I picked him up, he and Clint got good and drunk, smoked some weed, popped some pills before Stu passed out, before Clint took it into his head to grab some paint cans, his gun, and go on his vendetta.”

He crouched down now, looked into Draper’s eyes. “You think about this. If you and yours hadn’t lied to me yesterday, your boy would be alive right now. He’d’ve had his day in court. He might’ve done some time, but he’d be alive.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah.” Lee straightened. “That’s what I thought.”