He followed her up the church stairs and then placed a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to find worry filling his face. “Here I’ve been concerned about you and your sister losing a close employee, but Lindsay was more to you than that, wasn’t she?” His eyes studied hers.

Madison swallowed, tempted to brush off the personal question. But this was her uncle; she could talk to him. “Yes. Lindsay was my closest friend.” Not that she had a lot of friends.

“I’m sorry, hon.” He pulled her into a big hug, and she rested her head against his shoulder. He smelled of rain and coffee. Comforting scents. For a long second, she believed everything was going to be all right.

Nothing will ever be right again.

He let go and patted her on the back as he opened the door for her. “You’ll get through this. You’ve done it before.”

Before.

Fresh pain radiated from her heart to her toes, making her stumble as emotions from her parents’ deaths ambushed her. He took her elbow, and they stepped into the crowded church foyer, where people tried to fit through the next narrow door into the sanctuary. She lifted the brim of her cap and looked for Alice but didn’t see her. Once inside the big room, she took a place by Rod, leaning against a side wall since few seats on the hard pews remained.

The church was nearly fifty years old and smelled of dusty wood and candle wax. The four windows on each side of the sanctuary looked like custom stained glass, but Madison knew the original beautiful windows had been replaced with factory-made imitations. The effect wasn’t quite the same. When a broken stained-glass window at the Barton mansion needed replacing, her aunts had engaged in a fierce debate about its fate. Eventually a custom window had been commissioned, instead of the cheaper option. Dory and Thea had grumbled about it for months, but Vina stood by her decision.

Near the small podium at the front of the sanctuary, her aunt Vina spoke with a tall, bald man. Wearing a hot-pink jacket, Vina glowered at Harlan Trapp, Bartonville’s mayor, her hands on her hips. Considering Vina and Harlan always butted heads over town issues, Madison had no desire to hear their current discussion—or Vina’s lecture. Nothing made Madison slip out of a scene faster than confrontations and arguments. She scanned the audience, knowing the evening’s discussion could grow heated, and prepared her escape route.

Beside her, Rod folded his arms across his chest, his gaze also on Vina and Harlan. Madison took comfort in his large presence.

Maybe I can stick this out.

She owed it to Lindsay.

Two more hot-pink jackets caught her eye, and she spotted Dory and Thea in the audience. Thea was talking animatedly with two women in the pew behind them, and Dory was speaking with Simon Rhoads. Madison wrinkled her nose. Simon had been after Dory for years. He was pleasant but always smelled medicinal, as if he’d spread Vicks VapoRub in several places. Dory claimed she didn’t smell anything, but her sisters agreed with Madison.

Madison knew Dory would never move out of the mansion, and the sisters would never let Simon Rhoads move in. Dory claimed she spent time with him to offer help with his arthritis and high cholesterol. Nothing made Dory happier than discussing medical symptoms. The aunts joked that Dory was robbing the cradle because Simon was in his sixties.

Other familiar faces jumped out of the crowd. Isaac and Leo from work. Leo said something to Isaac, and he immediately straightened from his slumped position.

Leaning against the opposite wall was Leann Windfield, messaging on her cell phone. Madison stared, silently willing the woman to look her in the eye. Leann had harassed her back in school, and Madison had never forgotten how cruel she’d been.

Leann didn’t look up.

Madison continued to study the audience. She finally spotted Alice, her hood still up, sitting at the end of the front pew. The space next to her was one of the only open seats left. Hurt that too many people gave Alice a wide berth, Madison considered taking the seat, but it didn’t offer access to her escape route.

Several rows behind Alice was Brett Steele, Emily’s ex-husband.

Leaving that ass was the smartest thing Emily had ever done.

He’d tried to control Emily, expecting her to account for every minute of her day.

And he’d seemed to think the third Mills sister should be his next conquest.

How sick is it to work your way through all the sisters in one family?

Brett had hit on her in bars several times, and she had shot him down. He seemed to take it as a challenge, so he’d come to the diner and attempt to engage Madison in conversation. She’d made it clear that he was wasting his time, but he disregarded that fact, convinced he could connect with her.

Clueless.

As if he felt Madison’s stare on his neck, Brett turned and looked directly at her. His eyes went to her cap, and he gave a half smile, telling her she had failed in her desire to be overlooked. She yanked away her focus, agitated that he’d caught her.

He’d take their eye contact as a reason to keep up his pursuit.

Movement caught her attention. Emily entered and took a position against the back wall, a mulish expression on her face, clearly not wanting to be at the meeting. A dark-haired woman had followed and now stood beside her, leaning to whisper something in Emily’s ear.

Special Agent Ava McLane.

Madison wondered if the agent had encouraged Emily to come.

“Folks? Can we quiet it down?” Harlan Trapp’s voice echoed over the loudspeaker. Vina had stepped down, and she took the seat beside Alice and exchanged a few words, making Madison’s heart warm. The low buzz of conversations stopped, and the room grew silent.

“That’s better.” Sorrow flooded Harlan’s round face. “I know everyone’s heard about the horrible murders of Lindsay and Sean Fitch, and I’m sure you have lots of questions.”

“I thought it was a murder-suicide,” one female voice called out from the crowd.

Harlan rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, now . . . I think they said that at first, but last I heard it was a double murder, right?” He looked out over the room. “Where’s the sheriff?”

Quiet murmurs spread as people looked right and left, seeking the sheriff.

“He’s working,” announced a man in a plaid shirt leaning against the wall opposite Madison. She didn’t know his name but recognized him as a county deputy.

“What’s the point of this meeting if he’s not here to give us accurate information?” asked an indignant female voice.

“I thought he was coming,” Harlan said in a mildly panicked tone. “Who was supposed to tell the sheriff about the meeting?” No one answered as he frantically scoured the crowd.

“Well, darn it.” His countenance sagged.

Madison sighed. Organization wasn’t Harlan’s strong suit.

“I don’t think we need the sheriff here to remind us to lock our doors and look out for our neighbors,” Vina said in a strong voice to reach all ears. “It’s up to us to help our community stay safe, and we do that by keeping our eyes open.”

A man spoke up from the back. “And what do we do if we see the murderer?”

“You know what he looks like?” shot back another man, sarcasm heavy in his tone.

“Yeah. He’s a skinhead.”

Opinions erupted in reaction to the description, creating a din that echoed through the sanctuary.

Harlan ran a hand over his bald head. “Okay! Everyone settle down!” His voice quivered slightly. “Josh, that kind of comment isn’t helpful. We don’t judge people by their looks around here.”

“Bullshit.” Leann Windfield spoke clearly, still leaning against her wall. “Looks are exactly what got Sean Fitch killed. If you can’t see that, you’re part of the problem.”

Madison’s mouth fell open. His skin color got him killed?

Dozens of voices rose in anger, and Harlan struggled to take control of the room. A woman in the center stood up, and a hush finally came over the crowd. Madison recognized her as a retired schoolteacher. “We don’t have racism in this town,” she announced. “I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never seen anything that even hints at it.”

Madison wanted to nod in agreement, but something prickled at her subconscious. Leann’s statement was echoing in her brain, stirring up a faint memory of similar statements.

She couldn’t put it together.

“Just because you’ve never experienced it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” Leann told her. “Take a look around this room. It’s ninety-nine percent white. No wonder you feel it doesn’t exist.” Leann looked to Harlan. “If Sean’s murder isn’t racially motivated, why is the FBI here and working with the sheriff on this case?”

The room was silent as all eyes turned to Harlan.

“The FBI?” Sweat glistened at Harlan’s temples, his voice high.

A few moans and mutters sounded. Her uncle snorted, and a small laugh erupted from his throat. Madison briefly closed her eyes. Pull it together, Harlan. Watching the mayor flounder was painful.

Harlan glanced about the room. “Anyone else heard the FBI is here?”

Several people nodded.

Madison glanced at Agent McLane. Is she going to speak up? The agent’s lips pressed together as she took stock of the crowd. McLane had asked her if she’d heard of threats directed at Sean or Lindsay. She hadn’t specified that the threats could have been motivated by race.