She placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward, her gaze so intent Bo felt as if she were somehow peering inside his soul.

“So, are you in for a little crime investigation?” The fresh, slightly floral scent of her perfume drifted across the table as her gaze continued to hold him captive. He had arrived at the high school not knowing what his decision was, whether he intended to try to find the real killer or get out of this town as fast as possible.

The light of her belief in him shone from her eyes. He bathed in it and realised he wanted this … his innocence restored among the people who had once been friends and neighbours.

“I’m in,” he finally said. He hoped in making that decision he hadn’t just made a mistake he would come to regret. Asking questions, talking to people and stirring up everything from the past also might stir up a killer’s rage.

Scene of the Crime:

Killer Cove

Carla Cassidy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CARLA CASSIDY is a New York Times bestselling author who has written more than one hundred books for Mills & Boon. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

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Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Bo McBride throttled down, the Harley responding by slowing as he passed the old, faded wooden sign that read Lost Lagoon, Population 705.

His stomach knotted painfully as the scent of the swamp not only surrounded him but invaded his lungs, making it difficult to breathe around the anxiety and anger the scent of home now brought.

As far as almost everyone in town was concerned, it had been two years since he’d been back to Lost Lagoon, Mississippi. Only two people knew about his monthly visits back here to his mother’s place, secret visits that had him arriving and leaving under the cover of darkness.

He wouldn’t be here now if his mother hadn’t passed away unexpectedly two days before. A massive heart attack. His best friend, Jimmy Tambor, who had moved into the house when Bo left town, had given him the grim news.

It had taken Bo an entire day to process the fact that his mother was gone and another day to make arrangements with his employees to leave. The funeral was to be held tomorrow. After that, he figured it would take a couple of days to put his mother’s things in order and then get the hell away from the town that had robbed him of the last two years of his mother’s life, among other things.

He’d been on the road for hours, leaving his place in Jackson before dawn that morning. He hadn’t stopped to eat except snacks picked up at gas station pit stops, and now decided before showing up at his childhood home that he’d grab a quick bite to eat at George’s Diner, located just inside the city limits.

George’s Diner was more glorified hamburger joint than true diner. Although there were a couple of booths inside, most people either drove through or sat at the wooden counter to be served as quickly as possible.

Bo parked his ride on the side of the building and then pulled off his helmet and hand-combed his thick, shaggy hair. He stretched and headed around the building to the front door, eager to escape the June heat and humidity.

It was after three and few people were inside. The prevalent scent was of fried onions, hot grease and the gamy odor of swamp fish and gator. There was a pretty blonde woman serving a couple at one of the tables.

Bo slid onto the first stool at the counter just as George stepped out of the kitchen. George King was a big man, both tall and weighing in at about three hundred pounds of muscle and fat. He was bald, with thick black eyebrows and dark brown eyes that narrowed the instant he saw Bo. He ambled over to Bo as he wiped his hands on his stained white apron.

“Burger, fries and a sweet tea,” Bo said.

“Move along, Bo. I don’t serve murderers here,” George replied, his deep voice filled with disgust.

His words aroused Bo’s anger—the anger of injustice, of things unchanged and memories of the isolation and despair he’d felt when he’d left town two years before.

He wanted to fight for the simple dignity of being served a burger, but instead he slid off the stool and left the building without saying a word.

He certainly hadn’t expected to be welcomed back to town with open arms, but he also hadn’t expected the same kind of intense animosity that had ultimately forced him to leave.

Sitting on his bike, he tried to school his emotions. Jimmy was meeting him at the house and he didn’t want to carry any more anger with him than what already burned in his soul. It had just been a hamburger and fries, after all, and everyone in town knew that George was an ass.

He pulled on his helmet and was just about to start his motorcycle when he heard somebody call out his name. From around the corner of the diner the curly-haired blonde waitress appeared. He had a quick impression of long, shapely legs, big blue eyes and a warm smile that was as surprising as a gator wearing a straw hat.

She tossed him a brown paper bag that he caught with his hands. “Burger and fries. I couldn’t do anything about the sweet tea,” she said, and then before he could reply she disappeared back around the corner of the building.

Bo sat in stunned surprise for several moments. It had been an unexpected gesture of kindness. He opened the bag and ate the food. At the same time he wondered who the woman was and why she had gone to the trouble.

It was almost four o’clock when he drove slowly down the street that was an outer band. Several blocks over to his left was the business area of Lost Lagoon, and on his right was the swamp side of town with a few small, neat cabins intermixed among weather-faded, neglected shanties. The swamp was an overgrown, tangled bog about twenty feet from the back of these houses and continued until Bo made the left curve that would skirt the edges of the lagoon.

On the right side of the lagoon, the swamp ended and he was on higher ground with larger homes and an aura of better prosperity. He made two turns to take him into the neighborhood where he’d grown up.

It appeared as if nothing had changed in the time he’d been gone. Only when he noticed a lot of new construction at the top of a hill behind his neighborhood did he realize something was about to change in the tiny town.

At the sight of the neat white ranch house with black shutters and a butterfly wind chime hanging off the edge of the small porch, his heart fluttered with grief. He pulled into the driveway and parked and wished that the past two years had been different.

He didn’t bother taking anything from his saddlebags. He had plenty of time to unpack what few things he’d brought with him. He climbed off the bike, set his helmet on the seat and then headed for the front door.

As he stepped up on the porch the door swung open and Jimmy Tambor pulled him into a bro hug. “I’m sorry, Bo. I’m so damned sorry,” he said and released Bo.

“Thanks,” Bo said woodenly.

“If it’s any consolation at all, the doctor thinks it happened in her sleep,” Jimmy replied. “She just went to bed as usual and I found her in the morning. I don’t think she suffered.”

Bo hoped that was the case. His mother had suffered enough five years ago when his father had passed away in a car accident. At that time Bo had feared his mother would grieve herself to death.

Jimmy had moved into the house when Bo had left town. Bo had wanted somebody he trusted to be there for his mother while he couldn’t be.

“I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and for her since I left town,” Bo finally said.

“You know she was like a mother to me, too,” Jimmy replied, his brown eyes a perfect match for the thatch of unruly hair on his head. “Come on, let’s get out of the heat. I’ve got a couple of cold beers in the fridge with our names on them.”

Bo stepped into the house behind Jimmy, and the first thing he noticed was the lack of scent. Even on the day Bo had left town the house had smelled of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

His mother had loved to cook and bake, and never had Bo been in the house when the fragrance of her labors hadn’t filled the air. It was then that his true grief began.

The pain stabbed him through his heart, leaving him momentarily breathless. He’d felt pain this deep only once before in his life and that had been on the night two years ago that Shelly Sinclair had been found murdered, her body floating in the lagoon.

He sucked it up and stuffed it down, knowing the time to truly grieve would come later, when he was all alone. He followed Jimmy through the spotlessly clean living room and into the kitchen. Jimmy pulled two bottles of beer from the refrigerator and Bo sat at the round wooden table where he’d spent most of his life eating meals with his mother and father.

When his father died, Bo had moved from his apartment on the third floor of his business and back into the house with his mother. He hadn’t wanted her alone with her grief, and the return to his childhood home had gone seamlessly.

Jimmy set one bottle of beer in front of Bo and then sat with his own bottle across from his friend. They unscrewed lids and each took a drink. Jimmy set his bottle on the table and leaned back in his chair.

“There will be a simple graveside service tomorrow at three,” he said. “Your mother had all the arrangements already made. When I moved in here she told me where to find her important paperwork and that she’d left a will with Grey Davis. I’m sure he’ll want you to get in touch with him.”

Bo waved a hand and took another drink of his beer. “I’ll get in touch with him sometime after tomorrow’s service.”

“How long are you planning on staying?”

“As briefly as possible,” Bo replied. “I stopped by George’s place to get a burger on the way in. He refused to serve me.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“You want a sandwich? I’ve got some ham and cheese.” Jimmy started to rise from his chair but Bo waved him back down.

“Actually, I was getting ready to pull away from George’s and some pretty blonde woman ran out with a burger and fries for me.” Bo thought of the warmth of her smile and figured she must be new to town and didn’t know that he was the prime suspect in his girlfriend’s murder.

“Curly hair?” Jimmy asked.

“And long legs,” Bo replied.

“That would be Claire Silver.”

“Is she new in town?”

Jimmy shook his head. “No, she’s been here all her life. She’s three or four years younger than us, so you probably just never noticed her.”

Bo took another sip of his beer, mentally acknowledging Jimmy’s words. From the time he was seventeen, he hadn’t noticed any other girl except Shelly Sinclair. Shelly had been his high school crush, then his girlfriend, then his lover and finally a murder victim.

“I’m assuming things are going well at the bar,” Bo said, needing to get thoughts of the past out of his head.

“Business is booming, but you should know that by the profits we’re turning. In fact, I should probably get out of here pretty quickly because the dinner rush usually starts soon. I just wanted to be here when you arrived. I didn’t want you walking into an empty house.”

“I appreciate that,” Bo replied.

“I’ve still got all my things in the guest bedroom. I plan to rent an apartment, but haven’t had a chance to get it done yet. If you could give me a couple of days...” Jimmy let his voice trail off.

“There’s no reason why you can’t continue to stay here. I’ll only be here maybe a week at the most. The house is paid for and at this point I don’t need to sell it.”

“We’ll see how you feel about it later,” Jimmy replied. He finished his beer and stood. “I’ll be back here around three or so. I’ll try to be quiet so I don’t wake you.”

Bo stood to walk his friend to the door. “Hope you have a good night.”

Jimmy flashed him a boyish grin. “Every night is a good night at Jimmy’s Place. We’ll talk more sometime tomorrow.” He gave Bo a clap on the shoulder and then left the house.

Bo went into the living room and slumped down on one end of the sofa. Jimmy’s Place. It had actually been Bo’s Place before the murder. During the late afternoons and early evenings, families had filled the dining room, drawn to the good food, the reasonable prices and the atmosphere of community and goodwill. At ten, the diners had mostly gone and the drinkers and partiers arrived.

It was only after Bo had been named as the number-one suspect in Shelly’s murder that the families stopped coming in and even the staunchest alcoholic refused to frequent the place.

Within a week Bo had become a pariah in town with only his mother and Jimmy sticking by his side. There had been no evidence to warrant Bo’s arrest, but in the eyes of Lost Lagoon he’d been deemed guilty and judged as such.

A month after Shelly’s murder it had been his mother who had urged him to get out of town, to start fresh someplace else.

With his life and business in shambles and the woman he’d loved dead, Bo had finally left Lost Lagoon.

Although he still owned what had once been Bo’s Place, as far as everyone in town knew, Jimmy had bought the place, and under the new name, business was once again booming.

Bo snagged a second beer from the refrigerator and then spent the next hour sipping his drink and wandering the house. Little had changed. The bedroom where he had stayed while he’d lived here looked as if he’d just stepped out for a meal rather than been gone for so long. The smaller guest bedroom held signs of Jimmy’s takeover. The closet door hung open, displaying a variety of clothing including half a dozen black shirts with the white lettering reading Jimmy’s Place on the pocket.

Finally he entered his mother’s room with its attached bathroom. Apparently Jimmy had worked hard to remove all traces of the death scene. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand over the patchwork quilt in shades of pink and rose, a lump the size of Mississippi in the back of his throat.

He and his mother had usually spoken on the phone at least once every couple of days. He’d talked to her days ago and while she’d sounded a bit frail and weak, she’d assured him she’d just picked up a bug of some kind and that Jimmy was feeding her chicken soup and she’d be fine.

Dammit, Bo should have been here. He should have taken her to the doctor, he should have eaten dinner with her the night of her death and every night in the last two years.

His occasional visits had been short and bittersweet. He’d arrive in the middle of the night on a Saturday, park his motorcycle in her garage so the neighbors wouldn’t know he was there, and then leave again in the middle of the night on Sunday.

He’d known it would be easier on his mom if people in town didn’t know he was at her home. She’d carried the stigma of being a murderer’s mother although she’d never mentioned her own alienation from friends and neighbors.

Bo wasn’t sure how long he sat there. He had no more tears left, having spent them on the day he’d gotten the call from Jimmy that his mother was gone.

He was vaguely surprised that it was almost seven when he finally left his mother’s bedroom. He needed to get his things from the motorcycle and settle in for the night. If Jimmy continued to stay here, then all Bo needed to do was bury his mother, meet with the lawyer and pack up his mom’s clothing and shoes and other items to donate.

It was Wednesday night. He figured if things went smoothly and he used his time wisely, then by Sunday he could be back on the road to return to the life he’d been forced to build, a new life he’d never wanted.

* * *

BO MCBRIDE WAS BACK.

Nothing exciting ever happened in Lost Lagoon, not since Shelly Sinclair’s murder, and that had been tragic.

Claire Silver had heard about Bo’s mother’s death and assumed he’d come back to take care of whatever needed to be done. His presence here was sure to stir people up.

George had certainly been stirred up. He’d seen her toss the bag of food to Bo and had fired her. Claire had gone home and spent the late afternoon cleaning house, her thoughts whirling about Bo.

She’d never believed in his guilt. Nothing she’d heard had ever changed her mind about Bo’s innocence in Shelly’s death. She believed he’d been a victim of an overzealous sheriff with tunnel vision that had zeroed in on Bo as the perpetrator, to the exclusion of anyone else.

She hoped he was back not just to bury his mother, but also to clear his name, because if he was innocent, as Claire believed, then a killer was walking free in the town.

At six thirty she grabbed a can of pepper spray and stuck it in her back pocket. After unlocking her bicycle from the porch, she took off riding. She rode most nights, pedaling at a leisurely pace away from her “swamp home” and to the outer band that would take her around the lagoon.

This was her time to unwind from the day, to wave to neighbors and empty her mind of any stresses, which were few in her life at the moment.

Normally when she reached the edge of the lagoon she turned to head down Main Street, but instead this evening she continued around the outer road and then on impulse turned onto the roads that would take her to Bo McBride’s home.

When she reached his house she stopped and got off her bike, leaning it against the white picket fence along the boundary of the yard.

She had no idea what she was doing here. Had no indication of what her intentions might be. Did she want to officially welcome him to the town that had effectively driven him out two years ago? Did she want to extend her sympathies about his mother? She’d scarcely known his mother. She’d been a shy, retiring woman rarely seen around town.

Claire grabbed her bicycle and was about to get back on it when the front door of the house flew open and Bo walked out. His blue eyes narrowed as he slowed his steps. She leaned the bike against the fence one again.

“What are you? My new resident stalker? Are you one of those women who writes to serial murderers in prison? Buy sick memorabilia on the internet from crime scenes?” His voice was rife with distrust.

“Actually, I’m the woman who fed you this afternoon and lost my job in the process,” she replied evenly. “I suppose a simple thank-you is too much to ask for.”

Bo grimaced and raked a hand through his thick, unruly black hair. “Sorry, I was way out of line.” He motioned her closer and frowned. “You lost your job?”

“Don’t worry about it. George fires me at least once a week and besides, it’s just a job to alleviate some of my boredom during the summers. My real job is teaching second graders. By the way, my name is Claire Silver.”

“I’m sure you know who I am. Bo McBride, who, according to everyone in Lost Lagoon, is the man who got away with murder.”

“Not everyone,” Claire replied. She’d forgotten how utterly sexy Bo was with his broad shoulders and lean hips and long legs. She’d always thought him handsome and she’d always thought of him as belonging to Shelly.

He raised a dark brow at the same time he pulled a duffel from one of his saddlebags. “You think I’m innocent? That’s novel. There aren’t many in town who share your view.”

“I’ve never been much of a blind follower. I prefer to think for myself and come to my own conclusions,” she replied.

Bo pulled another duffel from the opposite saddlebag and dropped it to the concrete driveway. He gazed at her curiously, as if she might be an alien from another planet.

“So, how did you come to the conclusion that I’m innocent?”

A wave of unusual shyness suddenly swept through her. She didn’t want to tell him all the reasons she believed he wasn’t capable of killing Shelly. It would be like sharing a little piece of her soul, a portrait of a romance that would make her look strange.

“Let’s just say it’s a long story. I was sorry to hear about your mother,” she said in an attempt to change the topic of conversation.

The stark grief that swept over his face was there only a moment and then gone, but it was enough for Claire’s heart to respond. She had no memories of her own mother, and she couldn’t imagine the pain over the loss of his while he’d been virtually banished from his home...from his mother.

“Thanks. It came as quite a shock.” He picked up his duffel bags. “I’m sorry about your job and I appreciate your kindness this afternoon.”

“No big deal.” She grabbed her bike and got on it. Darkness came early around the lagoon and on the swamp side of town, and she liked to be inside by nightfall. “I guess I’ll see you around,” she said and with a wave, she pedaled away from his driveway.

She wasn’t sure what had driven her to go to his home and stop other than curiosity. There was no question that he was apparently wary of interacting with anyone, and why wouldn’t he be?

He’d always been handsome, but the past two years had added lines to his lean face that gave it new character that only enhanced his sexiness. Not that it mattered to her. In her mind he would always be Shelly’s man, part of a couple who for Claire had been a shining example of what love should look like.

She pedaled a little faster as she rounded the lagoon where the June twilight appeared darker, gloomier. As always, when her home came into view a sense of pride swelled up inside her.

Two years ago her home had looked a lot like so many of the other broken, faded shanties that lined the street. It had taken most of her first year’s salary as a teacher to almost completely rebuild the one-bedroom hellhole where she’d grown up into a pretty cottage with up-to-date plumbing and newly painted walls and a sense of permanence.

For so many years it had just been a place to survive. Now it was her sanctuary, a place that held no memories of her crummy childhood.

When she reached her porch she lifted her bike up the three stairs and chained it to the railing, at the same time noticing the small vase of flowers that sat just outside her front door.

So, her “secret admirer” had struck again. This was the third time in as many weeks she’d found flowers and a note on her doorstep.

The first time the flowers had appeared with a note that simply read, From your secret admirer. Claire had found it a little bit charming and a little bit silly. She’d assumed that the admirer would make himself known to her as she had no idea who it might be.

The second vase of flowers had appeared with a note that indicated he was thinking about her. She thought the flowers might be from Neil Sampson, a city councilman she’d dated for about two months and had broken up with about six months before. Neil hadn’t taken the breakup well, and she wondered if the little floral treats were an attempt to win her back.

She grabbed the new vase, unlocked her door and then stepped inside. She set the flowers and the folded note on the table and headed directly to the refrigerator for a cold bottle of water.

She unscrewed the lid and leaned against the nearby cabinet as she sipped the cold liquid. Thoughts of Bo instantly filled her mind. She’d heard rumors that he’d moved to Jackson and had opened a bar and grill there. Had he found love with some new woman?

Two years was a long time to mourn, and he was a healthy, vital twenty-eight-year-old male who would certainly not have any trouble gaining women’s interest.

She finished the water, tossed the bottle into the recycle bin in her pantry and then walked back to the table where the vase of flowers and the note awaited her.

The vase was a small clear white glass that could be picked up most places for a dollar or so, and the flowers weren’t from a floral shop but rather handpicked.

It would be difficult to try to track down where it had come from even if she was of the mind to conduct a little investigation, and she wasn’t inclined to do so. Whoever it was would eventually stop with the anonymous gestures and show himself.

She opened the note. You look so pretty in pink, it read. She glanced down at the pink tank top she wore and frowned, a niggle of unexpected anxiety rushing through her.

Flowers on her porch was one thing, but somebody watching her while she went about her daily business was something else. A chill threatened to walk up her spine as she went to her living room window and peered outside.

She flipped the blinds closed and then chided herself for being silly. She’d had on the pink tank top and had been around town all day. There was no reason to believe there was anything ominous about flowers on her porch or the sender’s knowing she’d worn pink.

Still, as she moved away from the window she wondered if there was somebody out there now.

Watching her.

Chapter Two

It was an appropriate day for death and funerals. Bo woke just after eight to gloomy dark clouds obscuring any morning sunshine.

Although he’d been in bed and trying to find sleep, he was still awake when Jimmy came in just after three in the morning. Bo remained in bed, his brain whirling and refusing to shut off.

Memories of his mother had plagued him, and he dreaded both the service that day and the final act of packing up her things and giving them away. At least he didn’t have to worry about what to do with the house right away. Jimmy had grown up on the swamp side of town, in one of the shanties that threatened to tumble down beneath a stiff breeze.

He and Bo had become best friends in third grade and Jimmy had spent much of his time at the McBride house, eating meals, staying as long as he could before he had to return to the shanty where his brutal alcoholic father lived with his verbally and mentally abusive wife.

As soon as Bo had opened Bo’s Place, he’d hired Jimmy to be his manager and Jimmy had finally escaped the swamp, moving into a small apartment in the back of a liquor store in the center of town.

When Bo realized his only chance to survive financially and emotionally was to get out of town, it was only natural that he turned to his best friend to move into the house Jimmy had always thought of as his real home. The benefit to Bo was that he knew Jimmy would take care of his mother so she wouldn’t be all alone.

It had been a win-win situation for both of them and Bo was in no hurry to toss out the man who had played the role of son when he couldn’t be here.

He now rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans, and then padded into the kitchen where he made coffee. As he waited for it to brew he remembered that just before he’d finally fallen asleep his thoughts had been filled with Claire Silver.

She’d been the first woman in two years who had caught his attention in any way, who had filled him with a touch of curiosity and an unexpected attraction.

She had eyes the color he’d always imagined the waters of the Caribbean might look like, an azure blue that appeared too beautiful to be real. They also had held a spirit that he wasn’t quite sure was confidence or craziness.

He dismissed thoughts of her as he poured himself a cup of coffee and sat at the table. In the distance, through the gloom he could see the top of the ridge where new construction was taking place.

Large equipment had been brought in, indicating that whatever was going to be built up there was going to be big. Bo couldn’t imagine what would stand on that property, but it didn’t matter to him. He definitely wouldn’t be here to see whatever it was completed.

He drank two cups of coffee, disappointed that apparently the sun didn’t have the energy to burn off the dark clouds overhead. He only hoped that if it rained, it would wait until after the service that afternoon.

He returned to his bedroom where he made his bed and pulled his black suit from the closet. The last time he’d worn it had been to his father’s funeral, and it was still encased in dry-cleaner plastic.

He removed the plastic and wondered how many people would show up at the cemetery. Brenda McBride had been well liked among her peers in the small town. But that had been before Shelly’s murder. He’d hoped that by him leaving town she’d been able to keep her friends and hadn’t been stigmatized by his presumed guilt.

By the time he’d laid the suit on the bed, he smelled the scent of bacon frying coming from the kitchen. He returned to the kitchen to find Jimmy standing in front of the stove, clad in a pair of khaki shorts, a white T-shirt and a pair of worn sandals.

“I didn’t expect you to be awake yet,” Bo said as he sat at the table.

Jimmy flashed him a quick smile. “I’m usually up just before eleven. I guess I don’t require as much sleep as most people.” He flipped the bacon strips. “Scrambled eggs okay?”

“Since you’re cooking, whatever works for you,” Bo replied. “I’m really not that hungry anyway.”

“It’s going to be a stressful day. You need to eat something,” Jimmy said.

Bo didn’t reply. Within ten minutes Jimmy set a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs and toast in front of him and then sat across from him with a plate of his own.

“What’s going on up there?” Bo asked and gestured out the window to the top of the ridge.

Jimmy took a bite of toast and chased it with a swallow of coffee before replying. “Mayor Frank Kean was unseated in the last election and our new mayor is on a mission for Lost Lagoon to be found. The town sold the land on the ridge to some corporation that is putting in an amusement park.”

Bo stared at him in surprise. First he was stunned to learn that Frank Kean had been voted out after serving as mayor for the past ten years or so. “An amusement park?” he finally said incredulously.

Jimmy nodded. “Jim Burns was voted in as mayor and you know what a hotshot he’s always been. Once he was in office he surrounded himself with like-minded councilmen and then rallied the business owners to push through the sale of the land. There was one heated town meeting before the final vote. As you can imagine most of the old-timers didn’t want to see the town overrun with tourists and the like, but there were enough who believed Lost Lagoon is a dying town and the amusement park was the opportunity to get it prosperous and thriving.”

Bo stared at his friend for a long moment, trying to digest what he’d just learned. “Why would anyone choose this place to put in an amusement park?”

Jimmy shrugged. “Rumor is it will be pirate themed to play off the legends of pirates once roaming the area.”

Many of the businesses in town had already embraced the pirate theme years ago. There was the Pirate’s Inn, rumored to be haunted by pirates who couldn’t find their ship; the Treasure Trove sold pirate T-shirts and fake swords along with elaborate costume jewelry and gold-wrapped chocolate coins. On Main Street you couldn’t walk ten feet and not see something pirate-related.

“Frank Kean must have been devastated to lose the election,” he said.

“Actually, I think he was ready to step down. Besides, he’s on a small committee that’s working closely both with the city council and the people building the park. There are still some people disgruntled about the whole thing, but it’s a done deal and life will definitely change around here when the park is done.”

As they finished their breakfast Jimmy continued to fill him in on the happenings in town, who had gotten married and who had gotten divorced and all the rest of the local gossip.

Bo encouraged the conversation, knowing it was much easier to talk about things and people he didn’t care about anymore than think about the service for his mother that afternoon.

After cleaning up the kitchen, it seemed all too soon that it was time to shower and get dressed for his final goodbye to his mother.

As he dressed in a white short-sleeved dress shirt and his suit pants, he thought about the fact that he hadn’t mentioned to Jimmy his unexpected interaction with Claire Silver the night before.

Maybe he was afraid that Jimmy would tell him that Claire was nice, but was also the town’s nutcase, and Bo liked her. He didn’t want to hear anything negative about her. Right now she and Jimmy were the only two people in this godforsaken town he liked.

He doubted he’d see her again. Tonight he’d have Jimmy bring home some sturdy boxes from the bar, and tomorrow Bo would pack his mother’s things, catch up with the lawyer, and by Saturday or Sunday be back on the road with Lost Lagoon just a distant memory.

Oh, he would forever be bound to this place because of his nearly lifelong friendship with Jimmy and his secret ownership of Jimmy’s Place, but there would be no reason to ever come here again.

He carried his suit jacket into the kitchen and placed it across the back of a chair, and then walked to the window and stared outside as he waited for Jimmy.

It was two o’clock and outside the window the dreariness of the day remained unchanged, as if a reflection of Bo’s somber mood. He already knew his mother had requested a closed casket and a short grave site service performed by Pastor Ralph Kimmel from the Methodist church she had attended for years.

The cemetery was only a ten-minute drive and Bo didn’t see any reason to arrive too early. There was nobody he wanted to visit with and he suspected that few people would attend.

Jimmy walked into the kitchen, clad in a dark gray suit that Bo vaguely remembered once had belonged to him. Thankfully the two were about the same size, and many times over the years Jimmy had been given clothes from Bo.

“Maybe we should go ahead and head out. If we get there early you could at least have a few minutes alone before anyone else arrives,” Jimmy suggested.

Bo nodded and grabbed his suit jacket and pulled it on, dread, grief and anxiety all boiling inside his stomach. His mother had grieved long and hard following the death of his father, and there was some consolation that the two of them were now together once again.

Minutes later they were in Jimmy’s car and headed toward the Lost Lagoon Cemetery. With each mile Bo’s heart grew heavier as emotion pressed tighter and tighter against his chest.

Once they arrived it was easy to see where the ceremony would take place. A small white canopy fluttered in the sultry air over the plain white casket, which was already in place to be lowered into the ground.

Nobody else was there yet, and as Bo got out of the car and walked toward the site the emotion in his chest rose up to blur his vision with tears.

He quickly brushed them away, not wanting anyone to see any weakness, but they appeared once again and he was grateful that Jimmy had hung back, giving him a moment alone.

He stood at the foot of the casket, his brain whirling with memories of his mother. She had been the one who had pushed him after high school to drive back and forth to the bigger city of Hattiesburg to attend college, where he’d received a business degree by the time he was twenty-one.

She’d then encouraged him to open Bo’s Place, her and his dad fronting him the money to begin the successful venture. One of his proudest days had been when he’d been able to pay them back every cent of their seed money.

“So, I figured I hadn’t seen the last of you.” The familiar deep voice coming from behind him tensed every one of Bo’s muscles.

He turned to see Sheriff Trey Walker and his deputy, Ray McClure. Both men had been Bo’s biggest accusers and both had been extremely frustrated that they hadn’t been able to put together a case that would see Bo in prison for Shelly’s murder.

“What are you doing here?” Bo asked, unable to hide a hint of hostility.

“We always come out to pay respects to one of our own,” Trey replied, his green eyes narrowed as he held Bo’s gaze.

“Maybe you should be spending this time looking for the person who really murdered Shelly,” Bo said.

“Already know the answer to that question,” Ray said. Ray was a mean little creep, built like a bulldog and as tenacious as one. He had been one of the loudest mouths proclaiming Bo’s guilt in Shelly’s murder.

Bo was about to tell the two of them to get the hell out of there when he heard a female voice calling his name. He watched as Claire ran toward them. Clad in a pair of slender black slacks and a white blouse, the sight of her immediately diffused some of Bo’s anger.

She reached Bo’s side and looped an elbow with his, as if presenting a united stance. At the same time Jimmy joined them along with Pastor Kimmel, who immediately took Bo’s hand in his.

His faded blue eyes held a kindness that warmed him as much as Claire’s surprising nearness and open support. “It’s a sorrowful day when we have to say a final goodbye to such a good woman.”

Bo nodded, unable to speak around the lump that had risen in his throat. Claire moved closer to his side, as if she sensed the myriad emotions racing through him.

Pastor Kimmel released his hand and stepped back, nodding to the other attendees. “Shall we get started or should we wait to see if others want to come to pay their respects?”

Bo glanced at the road by the cemetery. There wasn’t a car in sight and it was three o’clock. “Let’s get this done,” he said roughly.

So his mother would be sent off to her final destination by a pastor, a loving son, a surrogate son, two cops who thought her son was guilty of murder and a woman Bo hadn’t decided yet if she was completely sane.

* * *

CLAIRE HAD A FEELING few people would be here today. Brenda McBride had become a semi-shut-in after Bo left town. She and Jimmy showed up every Sunday morning for church, but other than that she was rarely seen out and about.

The service was short yet emotional, and Bo’s face and body radiated a soul-deep sorrow that Claire felt inside her heart. She didn’t know what it was like to have a loving, caring mother, nor did she know much about having a decent father, but that didn’t stop her from imagining the depth of Bo’s loss. She’d felt the same way when Shelly had been murdered, that something precious and beloved had been stolen away from Bo.

When the service was finished, Bo looked hollow-eyed and lost. His jaw clenched as Trey and Ray approached him. “You planning on staying in town?” Trey asked.

“Why? Do you intend to put up posters of my face to warn young women?” Bo retorted. He drew a deep, weary sigh. “Don’t worry, I just have a few things to clear up and I should be gone by the weekend.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” Ray said.

Claire saw every muscle in Bo tense as a red flush rose up his neck. “Come on, Bo. I’m taking you home with me,” she said. Bo looked at her in surprise. “Jimmy, I’ll bring him home later this evening.”

She grabbed him by the hand and physically pulled him away from both the lawmen and his friend. He balked for only a moment and then went willingly with her.

They didn’t speak as they walked through the cemetery and to her compact car parked in the lot. She got behind the wheel as Bo folded his long legs into the passenger side.

“You have a car,” he said, stating the obvious.

Claire started the engine. “My usual mode of transportation around town is my bicycle, but I get the car out for special occasions and when the weather isn’t conducive to riding or walking.”

She felt his gaze on her. “Thank you for showing up today,” he said. “And for stepping in before I punched Ray in his face.”

“I figured you could use a stiff drink rather than a night in the jail,” she replied. “Besides, Ray McClure isn’t worth the effort of an uppercut. He’s a weasel who likes to chase anything in a skirt and hand out tickets for looking at him cross-eyed.”

“He was one of the loudest voices screaming my guilt all over town before I left,” Bo said. Once again she felt his gaze on her, warm and intense. “What am I doing in your car going to your home?”

She flashed him a quick glance and then focused back on the outer road as they rounded the tip of the lagoon. “I figure within an hour or so Jimmy will be leaving to go to work, which means you’ll probably be holed up in your house all alone, and nobody should drink alone.”

“What makes you think I’m going to drink?”

“Because I would if I were in your shoes. You just buried your mother. I don’t think you need to be by yourself right now.”

“You’re kind of a pushy woman,” he replied lightly.

A small laugh released from her. “I’m sure I’ve been called worse. I hope you’re a gin-and-tonic kind of man because that’s what I’ve got at the house.”

“Anything is fine,” he replied, his voice suddenly weary.

She pulled up in front of her house in the driveway that just barely held the length of her car. “Home, sweet home.” She unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the car at the same time as Bo.

“Nice,” he said. “I don’t remember this place looking like this. You must have put a lot of work into it.”

She was acutely aware of his presence just behind her as she walked up the porch and unlocked the door. The hot, sultry air intensified the scent of him...a fragrance of shaving cream and pleasant woodsy cologne. “It took me a full year to get rid of what once stood here and make this a real home.”

“Looks like you have a gift.”

She turned and looked where he pointed to the edge of the porch, where a vase of flowers sat on a folded note. A wave of irritation swept through her. If this was some sort of a charming courtship game it had gone on long enough.

She grabbed the vase and note and then ushered Bo inside. “Apparently I’ve picked up a secret admirer.” She set the vase in the center of the table next to the one from the day before. “Take off your jacket and get comfortable.” She gestured toward the beige sofa with bright green and turquoise throw pillows.

He took off his jacket and slung it across the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “Do you have any idea who your secret admirer might be?” he asked.

She pulled from a cabinet a large bottle of tonic and a bottle of gin, and then opened the refrigerator door to grab a couple of limes. “Not a clue,” she replied. “And honestly I think the whole thing is ridiculous. If some man is interested in me, then he should just step up to the plate and tell me. Lime?”

“Sounds good.”

As she cut up the limes he wandered the space, checking out the books on her turquoise-painted ladder bookcase, the green and blue knickknacks that she’d found to give the house a sense of home. He finally landed on the sofa. After handing him his drink, she sat on the opposite side of the sofa with her own.

“Why are you being so nice to me? Aren’t you afraid somebody in town will see you with me and you’ll be shunned?” he asked, his midnight-blue eyes holding her gaze.

She took a sip of the biting yet refreshing drink and then placed it on the coffee table in front of them. “I don’t pay much attention to what people think about me. I’m often on the unpopular side of an issue.” She offered him a sympathetic gaze. “You want to talk about your mother?”

He settled back against the cushion and took a long, deep drink from his glass. “Not really. I’ve had days to do nothing but think about her and now I’d much rather talk about you.”

“Me? Trust me, there isn’t that much to talk about. I was born and raised here. My mother ran off when I was six and I was left with a neglectful alcoholic father in a shanty that threatened to fall down whenever the wind blew. I went to college on a full scholarship and got my teaching degree. When I returned here my father had disappeared and I haven’t seen him since. And that’s my story.”

She leaned forward and grabbed her glass and then took another sip. She’d made her drink light on gin and heavy on tonic and had made Bo’s drink heavy on gin and light on tonic.

“So, your turn. Tell me what you’ve been doing for the last two years,” she asked. “Have you made yourself a new, happy life? Found a new love? I heard through the grapevine that you’re living in Jackson now.”

He nodded at the same time the sound of rain splattered against the window. “I opened a little bar and grill, Bo’s Place, although it’s nothing like the original.” His dark brows tugged together in a frown as if remembering the highly successful business he’d had here in town before he was ostracized.

He took another big drink and then continued, “There’s no new woman in my life. I don’t even have friends. Hell, I’m not even sure what I’m doing here with you.”

“You’re here because I’m a bossy woman,” she replied. She got up to refill his glass. “And I thought you could use an extra friend while you’re here.”

She handed him the fresh drink and then curled back up in the corner of the sofa. The rain fell steadily now. She turned on the end table lamp as the room darkened with the storm.

For a few minutes they remained silent. She could tell by his distant stare toward the opposite wall that he was lost inside his head.

Despite his somber expression, she couldn’t help but feel a physical attraction to him that she’d never felt before. Still, that wasn’t what had driven her to seek contact with him, to invite him into her home. She had an ulterior motive.

A low rumble of thunder seemed to pull him out of his head. He focused on her and offered her a small smile of apology. “Sorry about that. I got lost in thoughts of everything I need to get done before I leave town.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” she said.

He raised a dark brow. “About all the things I need to take care of?”

“No, about you leaving town.”

“What about it?”

She drew a deep breath, knowing she was putting her nose in business that wasn’t her own, and yet unable to stop herself. “Doesn’t it bother you knowing that Shelly’s murderer is still walking these streets, free as a bird?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Why are you so sure I’m innocent?” he asked.

Claire had never had a problem speaking her mind or sharing her thoughts, but she found herself reluctant to truly answer his question, afraid that he’d think she was silly, or worse, the loony tune she already suspected he thought she might be.

“I’m three years younger than you and Shelly and I know it sounds crazy, but I was in love with your love for each other. You two were the shining example of what I wanted to find for myself someday. I watched you walking the streets, hand in hand, having ice cream outside the ice cream parlor.”

The words tumbled out of her, as if the more she spoke the less he’d think she was nuts. “I saw the way you looked at her, Bo. I know the reputation you had in town as being a caring, gentle soul, a loving son, and I don’t believe there was anything Shelly could have done that would have resulted in you hurting her.”

Bo stared at her for a long moment, his eyes a darker shade of blue than she’d ever seen them. “Thank you,” he finally said. “And of course it bothers me that her killer has never been brought to justice.”

“It bothers me so much I carry pepper spray everywhere I go,” she said. “I try to be inside the house with the door locked after dark.”

Bo took another drink, his gaze not leaving hers. “What does all this have to do with me leaving town?”

Claire uncurled from her position and moved closer to him. “I don’t think you should leave town. I think you should stick around and prove your innocence.”

Bo laughed, the sound deep and rusty, as if he hadn’t laughed in a very long time. “You are out of your mind.”

“I don’t think so,” she protested. “You know that at the time of Shelly’s murder there wasn’t really a thorough investigation. Law enforcement focused on you to the exclusion of anyone else.”

“Shelly’s case is a cold case that nobody is working because they all believe I did the crime. I can’t imagine Trey or Ray agreeing to reinvestigate it just because I’m back in town,” Bo said.

“You’re right,” she agreed. “They wouldn’t lift a finger to help you with any unofficial investigation, but I would.” She saw his dubiousness in his eyes and quickly pressed forward. “Think about it, Bo. We don’t even know if the sheriff and his men interviewed any of Shelly’s friends after her death. I don’t believe they did much of anything, but you and I could talk to people, see what they remember about Shelly’s life at that time, who might be a possible killer.”

“It’s a stupid idea.”

“Maybe it is, but isn’t it worth giving a little time to see what we might stir up? Wouldn’t you like to prove your innocence to all the people who doubted you?”

Bo took a drink and sat forward. He placed his glass on the table and raked a hand through his slightly unruly hair. He glanced toward the window where the rain had stopped.

“I need to go home. You’ve got me half looped and considering things that shouldn’t even enter my mind.” He stood and she did the same, wondering what it might take to convince him that staying in town and fighting for his reputation would be worth it.

Of course, she’d spent years trying to convince her father to put down his bottle and be a real dad because she was worth it, and that certainly hadn’t worked out.

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