Once the back of the hearse was closed, Chris took several breaths. Byron doubted that the sheriff had ever dealt with a murder investigation. Claysville, for all of its eccentricities, was the safest town Byron had ever known. Growing up, he hadn’t realized how rare that was.
“Chris? I know some people I could call if you wanted to call in help.”
The sheriff nodded, but he refused to look at Byron. “Tell your father that—” Chris’ voice broke. He cleared his throat and continued, “Tell him that I’ll call Cissy and the girls.”
“I will,” Byron assured him.
Chris took several steps away. He stopped outside the same side door where they’d exited, but he didn’t look back as he said, “I suspect someone will need to tell Rebekkah. Cissy isn’t likely to call her, and she’ll be needing to come home now.”
Chapter 2
REBEKKAH HAD SPENT THE BETTER PART OF THE DAY OUT WALKING around the Gas Light District with a sketchpad. She didn’t have any projects right now, but she wasn’t feeling the inspiration to create anything on her own either. Some people worked well with daily discipline, but she’d always been more of a need-a-deadline or consumed-by-vision artist. Unfortunately, that meant that she had nowhere to direct the restless energy she’d been feeling, so she went wandering with a sketchpad and an old SLR. When neither sketching nor photography had helped, she’d come back to the apartment only to find more than a dozen missed calls from an unknown number—and no messages.
“Restless day and random calls. Hmm. What do you think, Cherub?” Rebekkah stared out the window as she ran a hand over her cat’s back.
She’d only been in San Diego three months, but the itch was back. She had almost two months before Steven returned and reclaimed his apartment, but she was ready to take off now.