Page 17 of Deception

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll be here at Coles Creek looking for spent slugs until my other field ranger or Rawlings’s chief deputy shows up,” he said. “Once you have that plate number, call it in to the sheriff.”

Clayton pocketed his phone and looked for Brooke. She had her high-beam flashlight out, sweeping it over the parking lot. “Find anything?” he asked when he reached her.

“No. Been thinking. Why would this girl call 911 if she intended to rob the victim and steal her car?”

“Good question.” An SUV with the Adams County Sheriff’s Department logo on the side pulled into the parking area. “I’m going to the hospital to see if I can get some answers.”

10

The clock on Judge William Anderson’s wall inched toward 8:15. He’d been sitting in his office almost three hours. His gaze was drawn to the headline again.

“Local Natchez Man Killed at Parchman.” William laid the paper on his desk and leaned back in his leather chair. He’d read and reread the article detailing how Blake Corbett had been found in his cell at Parchman Penitentiary, dead from a knife wound to the chest.

No one could find the prisoner’s brother, and the US Marshals office had already called to let him know the marshal assigned to him was outside his door and would escort him to his car and follow him home tonight.

The judge leaned forward, pressing his fingertips to his temples. He was getting too old for this job. So many times he had no choice in the sentences he imposed. The Corbett case had been one of them.

Corbett’s brother would take his death hard. Anderson had felt for the man during the trial. He’d totally believed in his brother’s innocence—so much so that he’d come unhinged when the jury returned their verdict, and had to be restrained. That potential existed again.

His cell phone chimed.

Where are you?

Madison. He’d completely forgotten she was at the house. He texted back.

On my way.

He stood and texted the marshal that he was leaving. The judge shoved his chair in place, and a thought rooted him to the floor. Could Corbett’s brother go after Madison for retribution?

11

Madison folded her cloth napkin and placed it beside her plate. “Thank you, Grandfather. That was very good,” she said.

It wasn’t really an untruth, but nine o’clock was way past when she normally ate a heavy meal like steak and potatoes. Usually if she ate this late, it was cottage cheese or something else light. She scooted her chair back to stand, wishing she could excuse herself and get ready for bed but knowing it wouldn’t be possible. Besides, her grandfather had been acting strangely ever since he arrived home, and she wanted to know why.

Her grandfather stood as well. “Nadine made her New Orleans bread pudding especially for you. I’ll have her bring it to the study.” He used his bench voice that brooked no argument.

She moaned. No matter what time it was or how full she was, Madison could never turn down Nadine’s bread pudding. The recipe had been handed down from her grandmother back in Jefferson Parish, Louisiana, and it was to die for. Besides, turning down her grandfather’s invitation to join him in his study would be tantamount to refusing an invitation from the king.

“While we eat, you can tell me what brought you to Natchez, and then, uh ... I have a matter I want to discuss with you.”

Again the feeling that all was not well with him. She turned her phone from off to vibrate as she followed him out of the diningroom. Taking a call during dinner was definitely a no-no here, but now that they were finished, she didn’t think Grandfather would mind if her phone buzzed.

“I apologize again for not being here when you arrived,” he said once they were seated in front of the fire. Ever so briefly, worry crossed his usually impassive face. “Something came up at the last minute.”

“It wasn’t a problem.” As a law enforcement officer, she knew how that went, and she’d used the time to study the invoices. More than once her thoughts had returned to her lunch meeting with Steven Turner. She’d enjoyed talking to him and was glad to see Noah was doing well, but there was something off about it.

Her grandfather sighed, and she turned to him. Something was bothering him, and she couldn’t help wondering if it was what had held him so late. Her grandfather, the Honorable William Anderson, rarely allowed a court session to go beyond five, and if court wasn’t in session, he was home early. Not only that, he’d been jumpy ever since he’d walked through the door. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” He ran his left hand through his thick white hair. “Did Nadine get you settled in the guest room?”

“She did.” It was the same room she’d stayed in when she and her mother visited in the summers.

After a light knock at the door, the housekeeper entered with a tray that she set on a table. The strong aroma of chicory filled the small room.

“The bread pudding is a little dried out,” Nadine said, self-reproach in her voice.

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