He had to go through the story—an abbreviated version—with every client, accept their outrage on his behalf before getting to the business at hand.

He glanced up from his notes when Maureen came in.

“Your friendly reminder you have to leave for your appointment with Mildred Fissle.”

“And her cats. I’m gearing up for it, and today’s change in her will.”

“Her granddaughter in Charlotte sent her flowers for her birthday. So she’s back in. You’ve got two hours clear. Take a long lunch after.”

“I might do that.”

“Call Micah or Dave, see if they can meet up with you for lunch.”

He angled his head. “Worried about me?”

“I love you, Zane, almost as much as I love my new shoes I got in the Independence Day sale. You know Horace Draper made bail.”

“He’s not going to come into the Sunshine Diner gunning for me, Maureen.”

“Do it anyway.”

“Fine. I tell you, women are running my life.”

“We’re so good at it. And speaking of that, you should think about getting Gretchen on board for next summer. She’s just right, and when she passes the bar, she’d make you a nice associate.”

“I thought of it myself, so don’t go all smug thinking it was your idea.”

She only smiled, smugly. “I took Cubby and Mike out a cold drink a bit ago. Cubby showed me what they’re going to paint. I figured you’d stick with white.”

“I should’ve, right?”

“Only if you wanted to be usual and boring, which you were going to because Milly at the hardware told me you bought white, then brought it back when they opened this morning for that nice strong blue and that pretty gray.”

“Know-it-all,” he said, and began to load his briefcase.

“Darby nudge you there?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m giving you credit.” She waited a beat. “For having the good sense to hook up with a woman of vision and taste.”

“I’ll take it. Now get back to work. I don’t pay you to chat up the boss.”

Amused, she stepped to him, kissed one cheek, then the other. “Call Micah or Dave—or both. You’ll do that for me, won’t you, honey?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He left by the back to avoid the painters, and texted Micah—and what the hell, Dave—as he circled around for his car.

After he dealt with Mildred Fissle, her cats, her ever-evolving will, he wanted to drink his lunch. But refrained.

Since both Dave and Micah were available—he imagined Maureen had told them they’d better be—he decided on a manly lunch of meatloaf under the bright lights and within the orange walls—Tangerine Dream?—of the diner.

“Meatloaf, huh?” Micah considered the laminated menu as he gulped down some fizzy lemonade. “Cassie’s making noises about going vegetarian. Ain’t gonna happen. Make it two.”

“To be young and able to eat the meatloaf special midday. Screw it. Make it three, Bonnie.”

“Will do. Yours is on the house today, Zane. Show of support.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Done.” She tapped a sharp finger on his shoulder and left to put the order in.

“Some bennies from a wad of crap,” Micah said.

“And it saves me from paying for your lunch as my show.”

“Hey.” Micah waved a hand. “I’m still here. Just to finish up the wad of crap before we eat? Word is the other Draper boys are coming back for the, you know, funeral. The one’s getting a day pass, under guard, then it’s back in the slammer. The marine’s got bereavement leave or whatever.”

“Great.”

“And Stu Hubble showed up at the clinic last night with a busted-up face and a broken arm. Said he fell down the steps, but that’s bogus, man. You know Jed Draper gave him a beatdown.”

Dave shook his head, looked unsurprised. “Blaming Stu Hubble’s ignorant, illogical, and typical of the Drapers. We can hope Jed Draper got it out of his system.”

“But you don’t think so,” Zane said to Dave.

“That kind always blames someone else. He’s going to end up behind bars sooner or later. I can hope for sooner.”

“They gotta know it wasn’t you, bro.”

“Yeah, they have to know.”

But they had to know it hadn’t been Stu Hubble either, Zane thought. Then again, Jed Draper would find it a lot harder to give him a beatdown than he had Stu Hubble.

He didn’t like knowing a part of him looked forward to the attempt.

* * *

At the first patter of rain and grumble of thunder, Darby and her crew grabbed up tools and headed for their trucks.

Patsy Marsh popped out of her back door and gestured.

“Y’all come on up here, have a seat on the veranda. You’re going to have a glass of tea and some of my pound cake.”

“You don’t have to trouble,” Darby began, then switched gears. “Did you say ‘pound cake’?”

“My mama’s secret recipe. All y’all sit, take a load off. This rain isn’t supposed to last.”

“It’s a fine place to watch a storm rolling,” Ralph said. “Sure do appreciate it.”

“Saves my Bill from eating more cake than he should.”

“Can I give you a hand, Miz Marsh?” Hallie scraped off her shoes on the mat.

“You sure can. And how’s your mama, your grandmama?” Patsy asked as they went inside.

Darby dropped down on the glider because Ralph had it right. It was a fine place to watch a storm. It whipped the trees, stirred up the water of the lake that went bright with the first slash of lightning.

And with it, the air blissfully cooled.

As Ralph took a padded chair, Darby patted the space beside her for Roy. “Doing okay?”

“Yeah.” Still, he let out a long breath with his eyes on the lake. “Can’t help but think about it. I sure wish they’d catch who did it.”

“Tell you what I think.” Ralph hunched forward in his chair. “I think Clint got one of his asshole friends, might be his own brother, to go on up and cause trouble at Zane’s place. Drunk and stupid, argued about something. One asshole picks up a rock, smacks the other. Doesn’t mean to kill him, but that deed’s done, so he does the rest to cover. And what else? Whoever did it was likely stupid enough to think the cops’d figure Clint fell in and drowned.”

Darby said nothing for a moment. She calculated Ralph had used more words in a single minute than he normally did in a full week.

“That’s what Adele thinks,” Roy put in, “like it was more accident than deliberate. Drunk and stupid.”

Because although she didn’t agree, the idea seemed to comfort Roy, Darby said nothing.

“So, you know, anyway…” Roy let out another long breath and the patter of rain turned into buckets, beating the roof of the veranda like war drums. “I’m engaged.”

“You—” Darby punched his arm. “When?”

“Asked her last night.”

“And you wait all damn day to tell us?”