Page 128 of Timid (Lark Cove 2)

“This doesn’t make any sense,” I repeated, louder. “She left Lark Cove months ago.” I looked at Thea and Hazel. “Did he say anything about her coming back?”

Hazel shook her head. “Not to me.”

“Me either,” Thea said. “As far as I know, he hasn’t seen her since she left town after dropping off Ryder.”

Unless he was being framed, that meant he’d hid something from all of us.

He’d lied to me. A lie of omission, but a lie nonetheless.

The questions began to roll through my mind, an endless string with nothing but a question mark to separate them. When had this happened? How had she died? When had Jackson found the time to see her?

I’d been with him almost constantly these past few days. The only time we’d been apart was when he’d been at the bar working and I’d been at his house tutoring Ryder. So when? When could he have possibly seen his mother again?

There was no way he could have killed her. The entire thing made no sense. I couldn’t picture Jackson hurting someone, no matter who they were. He rarely lost his temper. When he was upset, he didn’t lash out. He shut down.

Except that wasn’t exactly true.

The night he’d thought I was flirting with that guy at the bar, he’d lashed out. He’d shattered those beer bottles so hard in the trash can I’d nearly startled off my stool. And he’d been so angry that night, saying such hurtful things. I hadn’t seen him like that before or since.

Maybe his mother had come back while he’d been drunk. He’d blacked out the night he’d kissed me this summer. Maybe he’d been drunk when his mother had come back to town and he hadn’t told me because he didn’t remember.

But when? When had he been drunk? The only night that came to mind was weeks ago when he’d left in the middle of the night and come home smelling like booze.

I closed my eyes as my stomach churned.

Oh, no. Jackson, what did you do?

That phone call, the one he’d told me was a wrong number, had to have been from his mother. It was the only explanation.

I ticked the days off on my fingers, counting backward. That call had come before Thanksgiving, in the middle of November. It had been almost three weeks ago.

Three weeks and it was all starting to make more sense.

He’d been acting distant. He’d been short and snappish. He’d tried to break us apart. Was it all because his mother had come back to Lark Cove?

None of it made any sense. Jackson wasn’t a murderer. He was sweet and loving and kind. He wouldn’t do this to me and he especially wouldn’t do this to Ryder. Something wasn’t adding up.

If I could just talk to Jackson, we’d figure this out.

I stood from my seat and went to the front desk, giving the deputy a slight wave as I approached.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I don’t have an update for you.”

“That’s okay.” I looked beyond him. The counter that separated us ran the length of the small lobby, effectively creating a barrier to the rest of the building. You couldn’t get into the station unless he unlocked the door to my side.

I stared at the door longingly, wanting to go through it and search for Jackson. My attention snapped back to the deputy just as Porter and Sheriff Magee came from the doorway at his back.

My eyes went to Porter’s first, hoping to see something promising in his face. But he didn’t spare me a glance as he handed a file folder to the front desk deputy.

“Hi, Willa.” Sheriff Magee extended his hand over the counter.

I gave him a small smile. “Hi, Sheriff Magee.”

It had been a while since I’d seen the sheriff. I’d run into him at the grocery store a year back in the beer and wine section. He had teased me about not being old enough to buy alcohol. He hadn’t been able to believe I was the same little girl who’d he’d once helped up after a bike crash in front of his house.

I’d grown up. Sheriff Magee had changed a lot too since then.

His black hair, which was normally pulled back into a ponytail and covered with a Stetson, had grayed substantially. The lines on his tanned face were deep. Even his stout frame seemed to have lost some of its bulky mass.