I followed, my heart heavy. Hank was in his chair, still petting his kitten. I realized too late I hadn’t been careful about letting Letty out. She bolted over the threshold, straight for the bird feeder. Birds went flying, some squawking in protest.

“Look what you did,” Hank grumbled, then pushed out a sigh.

“She’s a hellcat, Hank,” Marco said with a grin as he opened his car door.

“I thought gettin’ that cat fixed would settle her down,” Hank said.

Marco laughed. “I was talkin’ about her owner.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes, but I grinned back. “Better that than a pushover.”

Hank grumbled something about being stuck with two hellcats, and at least Smoky was sweeter than pie, but he gave me a soft look. I’d been a pushover, and now I wasn’t. He knew it and was as proud of me as I was of myself.

We watched Marco pull away in silence while Letty skulked around the yard, trying to find more birds to torment.

“You two okay?” Hank asked.

I started to tell him we were fine, but I was done lying to him. I might keep things from him—sometimes because he insisted he didn’t want to know all of my secrets—but I refused to lie. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

“That boy loves you, you know.”

Tears stung my eyes. “I’ve suspected.”

“You love him too.”

I shrugged. My feelings were complicated, mostly because I didn’t know how to trust them. “Maybe.”

He kept his gaze on Letty, who was still as a tree stump, watching the bird feeder. “I’ve been in love a few times. Only found one woman I loved more than I loved myself. That’s a sign of true love, girl. If you love someone else enough to give up part of yourself to make them happy.”

The pancakes began to churn in my stomach. I wasn’t sure I would ever love anyone enough to give up part of myself. Not anymore. “I gave up part of myself for a man before, Hank. That’s why I’m standing here now.”

“You picked the wrong man, girlie. Ya both gotta be willing to sacrifice yourselves, or it ain’t gonna work. That’s why Wyatt was never gonna be the one for you. He wasn’t willing to give you what you needed.” He pointed toward the road. “That man would take a bullet for you without even blinkin’. He’d move to Timbuktu if you asked. He’d give you babies if you want ’em, and not if you don’t. But you gotta love him the same way, or it won’t work any better than bein’ with Wyatt.”

His words beat into me. They had the feeling of truth. But even though I knew Marco would run with me if I asked, I doubted he’d be happy about that decision. And I couldn’t think of a single thing I was willing to give up for him. I wasn’t sure if that was a sign I didn’t love him enough or if it just made me a bitch. Part of me felt like I had nothing left to give up.

“Don’t look so troubled,” Hank said with a sad smile. “You don’t trust easy, as you shouldn’t, but you trust Marco more than anyone else in this God-forsaken town. That has to mean something.”

“What if it takes me too long to figure out how I really feel?” I asked. “What if he gets tired of waiting?”

Hank reached over and took my hand. “Then it wasn’t meant to be. There ain’t no rule book that says we get a great love. And there ain’t no rule that says we won’t get several. But I truly believe the Almighty has a plan for us. That He takes the shit life throws at us and turns it into fertilizer for new things.”

I gave him a skeptical look. “Since when did you become a philosopher?”

“Sittin’ on the porch has given me plenty of time to think, but you know I ain’t wrong. If that fiancé of yours hadn’t screwed you over, you wouldn’t be standing here now.”

I put my hand on my hip. “You’re pretty wise for a cranky old fart.”

He belly-laughed. “Some would disagree with that.”

“Not about the cranky part,” I said, picking up his empty plate. “Since you’re so contemplative, I’ll let you have one of the brownies I’m about to make for Sandy Steadman.”

His eyes narrowed. “Since when were you friends with Sandy Steadman?”

“We’re not exactly friends. She’s a customer at the restaurant.”

“Why are you bringin’ a customer brownies?”

While I suspected Hank didn’t know anything about Pam, it wouldn’t hurt to ask him. I sat down in the chair next to him. “A woman killed a man in Ewing a couple of days ago.”

“And that has something to do with Sandy Steadman?”

“Yeah, sort of. Sandy’s one of Pam’s best friends. They had lunch together every other week or so at the tavern.” I paused. “I’m taking her brownies because I hope to get information from her.”

“Am I going to regret asking why?”

“Probably,” I said with a small smile. “Pam Crimshaw shot a man in cold blood in his insurance office, then drove to Sonic and waited for the police to come arrest her.”

His startled look slipped into a frown. “Why’d she do that?”

“She didn’t give a reason. She said she just felt like it.”

“She just felt like shooting a man in his office?” he asked in disbelief.

“Pretty unbelievable, right? Marco doesn’t think the detectives on the case will dig any deeper, but it sounds awfully fishy to me. To both of us.”

He was silent for a couple of seconds. “You think it’s a Bart Drummond favor.”

“Yes.” When he didn’t say anything, I asked, “Do you know anything about Pam? Her husband’s name is Rob.”

He frowned again, then shook his head. “Not much, but I knew a Stewie Crimshaw. He had a couple of sons. They’d be in their forties about now.”

“That would fit. Anything you remember about him that might help?”

“Just that he was a mean son of a bitch. He beat his wife and kids.”

“I hear Rob’s not so nice himself.”

“The apple doesn’t usually fall far from the tree,” he said.

That wasn’t something I could ask Pam’s daughter, Ashlynn. Did your father beat you? wasn’t exactly a good conversation opener. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I should talk to her at all, but I decided to take her the casserole anyway. I lived in Drum. I was part of the community, and I needed to act like it. I’d take it from Hank and me.

“You could be gettin’ yourself into trouble with this one,” he said gruffly. “While I suspect a lot of the things that have been blamed on Drummond over the years had nothin’ to do with the man, the favors are real, and he holds people accountable.” He gave me a look that reminded me that Bart Drummond considered keeping my real name quiet a favor, and he would expect to call on that someday too.

“Why would people put themselves in that position?” I asked. “He asks for horrible things in return.”

“Not always. Sometimes the favors are as simple as deliverin’ an envelope to Knoxville.” He turned his head to face me. “Like you said, if they were all bad, no one would ask. There aren’t enough people in town desperate enough to go to him, knowing they’ll be asked to commit murder in exchange, but it’s a lot like playin’ Russian roulette. You just never know what you’ll get.”