Page 126 of It Runs in the Family

I drew in a breath, trying to figure out how to respond. “If you know my grandmother, then you know no one can make her do something she doesn’t want to do. So, I can get her to meet you somewhere, but I can’t guarantee she’ll stay. That part will be up to you.”

He considered it a moment, then gave a sharp nod. “You could have just said you’d arrange it and left it at that. Instead, you told it to me straight.” He glanced over at Cynthia. “Get me something to write on.”

Cynthia got a notepad and pen and placed them on the counter.

Marvin snatched them both and started to write with his left hand, which blocked the pad. I couldn’t see what he was writing, but I prayed the names would be legible.

When he finished, he ripped off the paper and shoved it at me. “Here.”

I took the paper, my heart racing, and read the two names.

Rebecca Threadgill

Deanna McElroy

“Thank you, Mr. Marvin,” I said, relief in my voice.

“Don’t make me regret giving that to you,” he grunted. “And I expect Opaline at Main Street Grill on Thursday night at five. It’s pot roast night.”

I started to say I wasn’t sure he’d want to serve her pot roast when hers was the world’s best, but he’d figure that out for himself. “Okay. Deal.”

I headed for the exit before he could add any more instructions. Once we were on the sidewalk, Boone took the note from me. “Do you know either of these two women?”

“I know Deanna.”

“And Rebecca?”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I opened my phone, went to Facebook, and looked up Rebecca Threadgill. A lot of younger people weren’t on Facebook, but it was easier to find someone on there than on the other social media apps. I typed in her name with shaky fingers and waited for the results to show.

There at the top of the list was the face of the woman who’d been shot and left dead on the side of Frontline Road like roadkill.

I glanced at Boone, showing him my screen. Rebecca was just as dead as she’d been a few moments ago but knowing her name and her smiling face made it more real somehow.

Boone’s mouth pursed and he gave a sharp nod as he took my phone and opened her profile. He studied the screen for a few moments as he tapped around. “You have some mutual friends.”

“It’s not that unusual around here,” I said, subdued. “Do you want me to reach out to them?”

His gaze lifted to mine. “Not yet. We’ll have to tread carefully. If the sheriff’s department hasn’t ID’d her yet, we can’t tell her friends and family she’s dead. And if we’re asking questions before they know, it’s gonna look suspicious.”

“So, what do you want to do?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, not looking happy about it. “Let me think about it for a few minutes.”

I walked over to a bench parked next to a patch of azalea bushes that were beginning to leaf out and sat down. The day was warming up, and I’d rather sit outside than in his truck.

Boone handed me back my phone, then took out his own and placed a call. He wandered off about thirty feet, and I figured he was talking to whoever he’d called before.

I scanned Rebecca’s Facebook profile page, but as I’d suspected, she hadn’t posted much. Boone was right. We had a few mutual friends, and one was a woman I’d worked with at Caleb’s Diner four years ago—Lanie Corbett. She’d gotten pregnant and planned to quit when she had the baby. They’d hired me to replace her, and she was the person who’d trained me.

I opened my Instagram app and searched for Lanie Corbett. I wasn’t following her, but she was following me. I went to her profile and searched her one hundred and fifty-three followers for any Rebeccas. I found the one I was looking for in about twenty seconds, then clicked over to her profile. Her recent posts didn’t look helpful—mostly food and sunsets. But one of the food posts from a week ago showed a hand with pink nails and a ring I recognized—a silver ring with a round ruby stone with two small diamonds on either side.

Selena’s mother had given her that ring on her sixteenth birthday, and Selena never took it off.

Boone approached. “My contact is running her name to see if there’s been a missing person report on her.”

I glanced up at him. “Rebecca knows Selena.” I held up my phone and pointed to the ring in the image. “That’s Selena’s ring.”

His expression remained neutral. “You’re sure?”