Rising, Zane circled the room, picked up his baseball, rubbed the stitching as he paced.

He remembered Traci’s older sister, a little.

And wasn’t it odd, when Zane had mentioned her sister, or asked any question of Traci directly, she’d glanced at her husband—as if for permission—before answering.

Not odd, Zane corrected.

Telling.

He put the ball back on his desk, walked out to reception.

“The Drapers didn’t look happy when they left,” Maureen commented.

“They wouldn’t be after I pointed out that doing his own survey—one that two professional surveys dispute—wasn’t going to fly on his claim for a foot-wide strip of land. Added to it, his neighbors have used said foot-wide strip of land, maintained it, have a hedge planted on it, for over twenty years. Pointing that out, suggesting if they wanted to pursue this boundary issue he hire a reputable surveyor made me, in Draper’s opinion, an asshole city lawyer who didn’t know shit about shit.”

“Did you see the bumper sticker on his pickup?” Gretchen, a trim, petite streaky-haired blonde with a sharp legal mind, spoke up from her desk. “Sorry, interrupting.”

“No, that’s okay, and I didn’t. What about it?”

“It said: You won’t get my guns, but you might get my bullets.”

“Charming.” Zane sat. “What do you know about Traci, Maureen? I don’t remember her at all, but I knew her sister a little.”

“Not much. She’s younger than my kids. Her dad’s a mechanic. We still take our cars to his garage. Nice guy, friendly enough.”

“Right, right, I forgot. Mr. Abbott, sure.”

“The mother’s a little shy, but affable. Works at the bakery here in town. The Drapers, now, they’re more hill people than lake people.”

“That I remember, too.”

“Well, it seems to me the kids—four boys—were mostly homeschooled. I’m stretching my memory and talent for gossip,” she added, “but I think one of them went into the service, another one just took off and ended up in jail for cooking meth. One’s married, lives out there with his wife and kids on the Draper land. Clint would be the youngest, I think, and he and Traci got married about a year ago.”

“Okay.”

“If you want to know more, you might ask Lee. I know he’s had the two youngest as guests—in jail—a time or two. But I’m wondering why you’re asking if you’re not taking them as clients.”

“She never looked me in the eye, not once. She couldn’t have said as much as ten words.”

“She might be shy, like her mama.”

“It wasn’t shy. I’ve got some time, right?”

“You’re clear for the next hour.”

“I’m going to take a walk.”

He walked straight to the police station. Of course, straight in the small-town South meant stopping half a dozen times over the three-block walk when someone called out to him, having conversations about the weather—hot and humid—how Emily was doing, how he liked living up in the fancy house.

When he finally got there, he found a couple of officers, including his brother-in-law, working at their desks, the dispatcher at her station.

More conversations, thankfully brief.

“I was hoping for a few minutes with Lee. Is the chief in?”

“Yep, in his office,” Silas told him. “Go right on back.”

He found Lee at his desk, scowling at his computer screen. The scowl cleared when Lee looked up. “A distraction, just what I need. Budget—pain in my ass. Come on in.”

The office suited Lee—small, spare but for a few family photos. It held a couple of creaky visitor chairs, a bulletin board, a whiteboard—both covered—a coffee maker holding dregs, and a stack of files on the desk.

Though Lee’s door was rarely closed, Zane closed it behind him.

Lee lifted his eyebrows. “Problem?”

“I don’t know. I just turned away a client. Clint Draper.”

“Ah.” Nodding, Lee gestured to a chair, leaned back in his. “Boundary line. Doesn’t matter how wrong he is, how many ways he’s told he’s wrong, he won’t let it go. I guess he wants to sue Sam McConnell.”

“On the strength of a survey he and his brother conducted themselves. He didn’t like being told it wouldn’t wash.”

“Are you worried he’ll take a swing at you?”

“Should I be?”

Lee puffed out his cheeks. “I wouldn’t think he’d come at you. You’re young and fit and he’s a coward under it. We did answer a call a few weeks back. Mary Lou—Sam’s wife—called nine-one-one when Draper started a pissing match with Sam over the line, tried hacking at the hedges. But then Sam’s older than me, and not what you’d call robust. Those properties are just inside my jurisdiction. The rest of the Drapers belong to county, and I can’t say I’m sorry about that.”

“Maureen said you’ve had him here, as your guest, a couple times.”

“Drunk and disorderlies, pushy-shovies.”

“Have you ever been called out to his place for anything other than the border business?”

Once again, Lee lifted his eyebrows. “Such as?”

“He brought his wife—Traci—with him. I know the look, Lee, the attitude, the signals. I know when I’m looking at abuser and abused.”

Now Lee let out a sigh. “We’ve never had a domestic disturbance call out there. I’m going to say despite the border bullshit, the houses aren’t within spitting distance. And Clint’s brother Jed, who he runs with, is on the other side. Old man Draper’s land’s behind Clint’s place.”

Zane nodded slowly. “So, she’s surrounded.”

“You could look at it that way. I know about a month after they got married, Traci took a fall, had a miscarriage. They both say she felt light-headed, tripped, and fell down the stairs. Her mother came to me, swore he’d done it somehow, but Traci stuck to the story, and there wasn’t a sign that’s not what happened.”

“But it’s not what you think happened.”

“I know the signs, the attitude, the look, too. But she never budged from the story. I pushed it as far as I could, even slipped her Britt’s card.”

“All right. I wanted to see if my instincts on this hit the mark. Thanks, Lee.”

“Nothing you can do,” Lee said as Zane rose. “Nothing the law can do unless she changes her story, unless she comes to us for help.”

“I know. I hope she does, because you could and would help her.”

Maybe, Zane thought as he walked back to his office, she needed to hear that from someone who knew the fear, the helplessness.

He kept it to himself, but two days later, Zane drove out to the disputed property line. He took a casual walk along it, and up to the Draper house. He knew, because he’d asked around, the family had built the little two-story place.

He could see the windows sparkled, and someone had tried to spruce it up with a small, struggling flower bed. He could see a clothesline, a vegetable garden in the back—and Traci hoeing weeds.