“Jeb,’’ I corrected her.

“Right,’’ Savannah nodded. “Want to take a look-see, make sure the poor gal hasn’t gotten any worse?’’

At the cow pen, coiled ropes still hung from several of the cypress-wood fence posts, along with an old-fashioned leather cow whip. A replica of a McClellan saddle straddled the fence’s top rail. At least the moviemakers got that detail right: The military saddle was popular with Florida cowmen after the Civil War. A shiny new shovel, which Jeb’s ranch hand probably used to dig a trench to drain off rain water, was a jarring modern touch next to the old-timey whip and saddle.

I clambered onto the fence and peered over the top at the cows. They moved, of course, trotting away from us to the far side of the enclosure. “Which one is it now?” I asked Savannah.

She peered between the lower railings, trying to get a look at their legs.

“I’m not sure,’’ she said. “The light’s really getting dim. And they’re mostly black, so the blood doesn’t show up well. I need to get a little closer.’’

I climbed off the fence and unwound the rusty gate chain the movie people had insisted upon. I opened just one side, in case any of the cows had a mind to make a break for freedom. I motioned to Savannah to step through. She did, and then pointed across the pen. “I think it’s that one. I remember her ears were kind of droopy.’’

I closed the gate. Even though I moved slowly, calmly, toward the cattle, they still scattered this way and that. Luckily, Droopy Ears headed in my direction. I leaned down low to try to get a glimpse of her hindquarters as she darted past. I didn’t see anything. I wanted to check her out on the opposite side, though. I walked toward her, trying to shift my position to be in the right spot when she ran past me again.

We repeated our dance a couple more times. I’d advance; she’d retreat.

I finally stood still and watched her, waiting to see which route she’d pick. The heifer stared me down, taking her time. While I waited, I happened to glance out across the pasture. Still looking for my sisters, I guess. The wind had picked up a bit, blowing from the south. Now, it seemed likely those storm clouds would be on their way.

Low in the sky, the sun spread out last rays like feeble fingers. They reflected off the windshield of Savannah’s vehicle. Her white vehicle. Suddenly, an image popped into my head of Savannah coming across the pasture, her oversized straw hat bouncing against her back. Almost instantaneously, I recalled Toby’s voice, as clear as if he were sitting right in front of me again, describing his near-miss with the car in the parking lot:

Big hat. Sun glinting off the windshield. I couldn’t tell who was behind the wheel …

That thought was the last one I had before something hard and solid smacked me in the back of the head. Then the whole world went dark.

My legs wouldn’t move. As I returned to consciousness, fear registered. What was wrong with my legs?

Other impressions came to me in disjointed pieces. Something tight cut into the flesh near my feet and hands. I smelled hay and manure and imminent rain. Gritty sand lodged in the crevices of my teeth. A calf bleated.

Slowly, I realized I was lying on my side, hogtied; wrists to ankles. I tried to lift my head, and felt a searing pain arrow up from where I’d been hit. My cheek in the dirt, I looked out over the ground. I could see the shovel twenty feet away, blade side up. Ranch boots moved toward me, splashing through mud and manure. Savannah’s boots. They stopped, right next to my nose. They smelled of wet leather and cow dung.

“You awake?’’

I closed my eyes and lay there, holding my breath. I tried not to move a muscle, even as my mind raced to figure out how I’d gotten in this jam.

Savannah prodded me with the toe of her boot, jabbing it into my shoulder.

“Your head’s probably hurting pretty bad right now.’’ She stooped down, put her face close to mine. I could smell her breath, disconcertingly sweet, like milk chocolate and pralines. “The first hit stunned you, but I had to whack you a couple more times with the shovel before you went down. Won’t matter. Those bruises will just blend into all the others after the cattle stampede.’’

I squeezed my eyes shut. If this was a nightmare, I really, really wished I would wake up. Maybe I’d find myself in my bed beside Carlos. Maybe the last week—the movie shoot, our breakup, all of it—would turn out to be a dream. Slowly, I opened my eyes. I saw the curve of Savannah’s cheek; the swing of her chestnut-colored hair. She gave me a friendly smile. Her eyes looked crazy.

Crap.

I looked across the ground. The tip of that leather cow whip that had been on the fence now trailed in the dirt by Savannah’s boot. I could see the legs and hooves of the cows, all gathered together in a corner of the corral. I scooted backwards, trying to get away from Savannah. The ropes restricted my movement, but I could go no farther anyway. The rough wood of the fence came up hard and unyielding behind me. Scrabbling my fingers out over the dirt, I felt the tail end of the rusty chain that secured the gate.

Double crap. I was on the ground, outside the gate—right between the penned-up cattle and greener pastures.

I strained against the ropes, even while knowing they’d just pull tighter if I struggled. They did. I lay still again.

“Why?’’ The word came out in a hoarse whisper. I wasn’t even sure she heard me.

She sat down in the dirt, the whip curling across her lap. “Because you wouldn’t leave it alone, Mace. You would have kept wondering and asking questions. Sooner or later, the answers would have led you to me.’’

I remembered the flash of images that played in my mind right before she hit me. Savannah’s hat. The slant of sunlight. Her white SUV.

“So the murder … and everything else. That was you?’’

“And Paul. He did what I told him to, used the skills he had, to throw the production into chaos. Like sabotaging that light. We wanted it to blow up. It was a stroke of luck it happened right over your head.’’ She shook a finger in front of my face. “You should have quit right then; taken it as a sign.’’

She leaned down and looked me in the eye. “You know, like in the cartoons? How a light bulb always goes off over the character’s head?’’

She chuckled, like we were having a friendly chat. “Funny, right?’’

“Sorry, I don’t really get the joke,’’ I said. “I think lying, hogtied, in a pile of cow shit might be affecting my sense of humor.’’

I could hear the wind beginning to gust, rattling the fronds on the cabbage palms. The smell of approaching rain was stronger now. The cattle surged nervously around the enclosure. A horse nickered from the corral across the pasture. Was it Rebel, I wondered? Did he somehow sense I was in danger? Of course, even if he did, it wasn’t like Rebel could run and get help like the collie always used to do in those old episodes of Lassie.

The daylight was almost gone. An owl hooted—ominous, considering my circumstances. Didn’t an owl’s call always portend death in those old movie Westerns?

I wanted to keep Savannah talking. Maybe Jeb would finally come to take care of his cattle, or my sisters would show up. They’d arrive in the nick of time to save me, just like in the movies.

“I meant why to all of it, Savannah. Why murder Norman? Why stage all the other ‘accidents’ and near-misses?’’

“So is this that scene in a movie where the villain spills all her secrets?’’

“Indulge me,’’ I said. “It’s the least you can do since you so enjoyed getting to know me. I’m ‘good people.’ Isn’t that what you told me?’’