With that, her grandmother kissed her cheek, turned and swept from the room.

“Run.”

He looked at her, amused. “What?”

“Run. She’s got your scent now, but I can keep her busy while you escape. Sorry you’ll need to leave the state.”

“Caroline, I hate that she talks to you that way.”

She wanted to lean into him and let his energy calm her. But they were in public and her freaking associates could come out at any moment and it was bad enough her grandmother had pulled that shit while they could have been overheard. Caroline didn’t want to make it worse.

“I came to get you. I was in town already so I adjusted my schedule to pick you up.”

“I have to drive in to work tomorrow.”

He opened the door after it was clear Abigail had truly gone and left the building.

“I can drive you in. I like taking care of you. It’s not like I don’t need to be up anyway. Then I can stop at the Honey Bear for coffee on my way out too.”

“All right. I just need to run home to get my stuff.”

They walked and various people called out hellos here and there. He opened her door, and she got up and in.

At her place he ran the food for dinner and her garment bag and overnight case to his truck, but when he got back she was waiting, smiling.

“Okay, so I’ve got a little something for you.”

He grinned. “A present?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

She handed over a small ice chest with some bungee cord and the cold inserts for it. “Inside there are all the little containers you might need. I mean. You said you went out and were gone all day and forgot to break to eat or what have you. You can strap this to your ATV and have stuff to snack on and eat and drink.”

He pulled her into a hug. “That’s a really thoughtful present. Thank you. I’ve been meaning to do something like this.”

He kept that in one hand while she closed and locked her door, and they headed back to his truck so he could drive them to his house.

“In case I was mistaken, I was invited to lunch Saturday.”

“That was a command, not an invitation. Abigail Lassiter doesn’t ask permission.”

“She’s out of line.”

Caroline sighed heavily. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it damn well does matter. Why do you spend all your time advocating for other people and their rights, but you just let her steamroll you the way she does?”

“They’re all I have left.”

“That’s bullshit. You have lots of people who care about you in your life who don’t try to cut you down and make you feel like dirt all because you freaking believe your father. Are you really going to talk to the cops over in Millersburg?”

“Well Ron is and I might swing by to listen in. He and Elliot Charles, a cop from Millersburg, came to my office on Monday. Ron is going over there to talk to the cops in the department and see what he can find. He—Elliot, I mean—told me he believes my dad was innocent. His grandfather was a local crime and justice reporter. I think I have a couple of his pieces about my father’s case in the master file. Anyway it’s a good way to introduce myself to these guys. The old-timers always have so much great info on old cases.”

“Charles. They’re related in some way to the Chases right?”

“Yes. Polly is Elliot’s cousin like four times removed or something like that. He was with them over the weekend and contacted Ron. They both came to see me Monday. I think he’ll prove to be handy when I talk to his cops.”

“Good that you have an ally.”

“She looks a lot like my mother.” Caroline hadn’t intended on saying that, but with him it all seemed to come out anyway.

He sighed. “Your grandmother?”

“Yeah. My mother was pretty much the opposite of Abigail Lassiter. My mom was open and funny, and she loved learning new stuff and trying new things. If you met my mom she’d know all about you in fifteen minutes because people just talked to her. She always did front-of-the-house stuff at the diner because people loved her. She’d come over to their table and ask them how things were and end up holding babies or looking through someone’s vacation pictures. She was the kind of person who gave off a light and you wanted to be around it. My grandmother looks a lot like her and sometimes that makes it worse. Because I need my mom, you know? I have aunts who absolutely love me. Uncles. Cousins. My paternal grandmother. I have people I can turn to but it’s not the same. And none of them are near.”

“My dad died about nine months after your mom got killed. I was pretty much raised by my aunt and uncle, even though we all lived on the same farm for most of my childhood. My mom has always been sort of dreamy. My dad shielded her, did everything for her. She just didn’t know how to do much and no one ever expected her to learn so there’s a sense of helplessness about her. My Aunt Denver? Now she’s the opposite. Steadfast. Hardworking, and I’ve yet to see something she can’t do immediately or master within half an hour of practice. She’s a farmer through and through. And she’s my mother. She didn’t give birth to me, but she is my mother in every way that is important. She was sturdy when my mother was…not. My uncle is old school. He’s sort of stoic, but he’s always been there for me like a dad when my biological one gave my mother every bit of his love and attention.”