“Yes, Maddie. With Doc’s help. Like I told y’all, I didn’t find out more because it’s hard to think of follow-up questions when you’re counting down your final seconds on Earth.’’

Marty squeezed so hard I knew her nails would leave marks on my knee. “Maddie, stop badgering Mace. We’re lucky she’s even here.’’

“You’re absolutely right, Marty.’’

Both Mama and I stiffened in surprise. Maddie giving in so easily? My formerly imminent death must have scared her pretty bad.

“There’ll be time to figure everything out after we’ve gotten something to eat.’’ Maddie was signaling that, at least for her, things were returning to normal.

“Speaking of food . . .’’ Mama nodded toward the crowd, where Johnny Adams approached with Audrey. Each of them carried two foil-wrapped plates.

“Audrey thought you might be hungry.’’ Johnny’s gruff voice had gone soft.

“Don’t listen to this old crab.’’ She poked him with an elbow. “Johnny’s the one who insisted we come over to check on you.’’

Mama and Maddie reached up for the plates. The hand-holding and bangs-adjusting was over, which was fine with me. Still, I couldn’t eat. The top and bottom halves of my stomach were holding a tug-of-war. I toed a pebble loose from the ground, and then leaned to pick it up. I stood, and found another and then another buried in the sand.

“I’ll get something later.’’ I slipped the rocks in my pocket. “I’m going to the river.’’

Marty’s eyes went wide. “No, Mace! You should stay here with us!’’

Mama stroked her fine blond hair. “Honey, don’t worry. Mace’ll be okay. She’s just going off to toss some rocks into the water.’’

“Maybe I could go with her.’’ The voice was masculine. Slightly accented. I looked up from searching the ground to see Carlos, his eyes dark with emotion; his face full of relief.

“We could toss rocks together,’’ he said softly, holding out his hand.

I took two steps toward him. He took one to me. And suddenly I was in his arms. I buried my face in his clean denim shirt, inhaling the smell of laundry soap and safety. Wrapped in his tight embrace, I didn’t feel weak. I felt cared for, and doubly strong.

He lifted my chin. We kissed, and he nipped at my bottom lip with his teeth.

“I almost went out of my mind driving back here,’’ he whispered. “Belle poisoned her father. Doc said she tricked him to get an extra prescription for digoxin, the medicine Lawton took to regulate his heart.’’

“And she used the drug to give him a fatal overdose. In his chili. Was I right?’’

He nodded, and his smile was sad. I didn’t feel triumphant.

“Belle had a second, identical cup,’’ Carlos said. “She mixed in more and more of the drug over the day, and then took Lawton’s tainted cup. She left the clean one to be found.’’

I thought of all the devious planning Belle must have done. Somehow, her mind had become as poisoned as that cup.

Carlos touched my cheek, looking deep into my eyes. “I flew back from the hospital, praying all the while I wasn’t too late. Then, when I arrived, someone said you’d been shot . . .’’

“Shhh.’’ I put a finger to his lips. “I was right here, waiting for you.’’

As we turned to the water, Carlos’ arm close around my shoulder, I glanced back at the bench. I had to smile at Mama and my sisters. They each sent a silent signal: Six thumbs up.

“Can I warm that up for you, hon?’’

The waitress hovered over my table at Gladys’ Diner. I covered my cup with my hand and shook my head.

“No thanks, Charlene. I’m fuller than a drainage ditch in the rainy season. But you can bring me a tiny slice of that peanut butter pie.’’

I was too nervous to eat much. Trey Bramble had called and asked me to meet him. He had something for me, he said. Just as I began to wonder if he was standing me up, the door opened and in he walked. He’d probably dropped ten pounds in the month since the Cracker Trail ride—weight he couldn’t afford to lose from his lean frame. His jeans hung low on his hips; his slim-cut Western shirt bagged across his chest. The dark smudges under his eyes attested that sleep was hard to come by.

Every head in the place turned as Trey walked to my table.

“Hey,’’ he said as he leaned in and kissed my cheek.

“Hey yourself,’’ I answered.

Lowering himself onto a chair, he put the stares and whispers behind his back. He slid an envelope toward me across the table.

“Thanks for meeting me, Mace.’’ He dropped his eyes, touching a finger to the envelope. “I thought you might want these.’’

Opening it, I swallowed a gasp. Inside were the campfire pictures Belle took of Mama, my sisters, and me. They were really good. She’d captured us completely. I traced Mama’s mischievous smile in one photo as she snatched a bite of pie from Marty’s plate.

“Wow,’’ I said.

“I know.’ Trey looked at me sadly. “Belle had real talent. What a waste.’’

Then both of us started to speak at the same time: “Trey, I’m so sorry . . .’’

“I feel just awful . . .’’ he said.

I motioned for him to go first.

“I can’t even say how terrible I feel about what Belle did, Mace. I’m glad Austin was there with that cow whip. By the way, you might be interested to know she’s signed up for anger management sessions.’’

I had to smile at the image of Austin, deep-breathing and chanting her calming word.

“And I’m sorry, too, Trey. For everything. You lost your daddy, and now your sister, too. It’s a lot to bear. How you holding up?’’

He drew a circle in the condensation my water glass left on the table. “You mean am I drinking?’’

“Not only that.’’

Charlene bustled by, raising her coffee pot to Trey. He nodded, and she poured before dashing off again.

“I went on a week-long drunk after Belle was arrested. I barely got myself together for Daddy’s funeral.’’

I remembered. Trey stumbled into the church service, twenty minutes late and stinking of booze. Head-shaking and tongue-clucking followed him down the aisle like wake from a boat.

“When I woke up the day after we buried him, I decided enough was enough. The family business needs me. Belle still needs a brother. I haven’t had a drop since. Now, I know I’ve quit on my own before and always slid back. So, this time I’m getting help. I start on Monday at some fancy rehab place in Orlando.’’

He pointed at the sugar shaker on the table. I passed it over, and he dumped what looked like a quarter of it into his black coffee.

“I’m proud of you, Trey. I know you’ll kick it this time.’’

“I don’t have a choice, Mace. It’s all on me now.’’

Was responsibility what he needed all along? Or would the extra weight prove too much for Trey to carry? I guess we’d just have to wait and see.

His eyes went again to the pictures spread out in front of us. “Belle made some beautiful photographs on that ride,’’ he said. “She took some awful ones, too. I wish I’d thrown away the film she left in her camera; never had it developed. The police have most of those pictures now, anyway.’’

The hair rose at the back of my neck.

Stirring the coffee he’d already stirred, Trey whispered, “She shot a picture of Daddy dying.’’ When he looked up, his blue eyes, his father’s eyes, were wet. “How could she do that, Mace?’’

I had no answer to that.

“This psychologist says it was wrong for Daddy to keep so much from Belle about being adopted. It made her feel like she had a secret she had to be ashamed of. The doctor says it made her become disconnected, family-wise. And that got all tangled up with Belle’s feelings about Bramble land. When she found out Daddy planned to sell a good portion of what we own, something just went wrong in Belle’s head.’’ He rubbed his eyes. “She wasn’t herself, Mace.’’