Prologue
The locals of Seven Roads, Georgia, were all saying the same thing. Missy Clearwater went and jumped off the old, haunted bridge near Becker Farm because she was mighty unhappy with her father, her ex and the fact that her best friend had taken all but two seconds to hook up with that same ex a week before.
It was a sad piece of news that traveled across the small, action-deprived town with breakneck speed. Starting with Abe Becker and his son, who had found her. Both of whom were still upset about it all, only for different reasons.
“Sheriff, I feel for the girl, I really do, but who’s goin’ to fix the damage she left behind?” Abe asked, thumbs hooked around his overall loops. He was nearing seventy, but the way he kept doing chores on his land would have made you double-check that math.
Liam Weaver, said sheriff, envied the man a little. He was in his thirties and was already fighting with a hip that locked up and ached if he skipped out on his physical therapy. Something he’d been lax about the last few weeks. The weather wasn’t helping. It had been a surprisingly dreary and cold month. He tried to actively not favor his side and instead readjusted his belt, skimming his badge in the process. The metal was cold against his hand. Abe was a contrast with his reddening face.
“Are you talking about the wooden board that broke?” Liam had to ask to be sure. “The one that most likely gave way before she fell?”
Abe was a nodding mess.
“That bridge may be old, but it’s still on my property,” he said. “Not fixing it isn’t an option for me.”
Liam shared a quick look with Abe’s son, Junior. He was closer to Liam’s age and looked mighty ashamed.
“Dad, it was only one board,” he tried. “We can fix it later.”
Abe shooed the thought off with two in-sync and annoyed hand gestures.
“That’s what I’m getting at.” He motioned behind him where the great majority of his acreage sat. “Every penny counts in this place. Every single one has a purpose and a job. We take that money from somewhere it’s needed and put it somewhere that it ain’t, and we’ll have problems. Problems I’m not paying for.”
The last part was directed at Liam.
He tried to maintain an air of professionalism.
It was hard. His response was blunt.
“Well, Miss Clearwater can’t pay for it, Abe, and I’ll be honest. I’m not about to ask her parents for it while they’re planning a funeral.”
Junior’s shame doubled in on itself, lining his face with a frown that sunk farther than a stone in water.
His daddy, at least, seemed to feel some of the ripples.
Abe let out a breath that was all frustration. He shook his head.
“I suppose I shouldn’t go doing that right now,” he relented. “Maybe it’s something we can talk about down the line.”
Junior saw his opportunity. He took his dad’s shoulders and turned him away from the woods they were standing near.
“Until then we should leave the sheriff and deputies to do what it is they need to do.” Junior nodded deep to Liam. “Y’all have our permission to come and go as you see fit until all of this gets settled. If you need anything, you know where to find us.”
Abe looked like he wanted to gripe about that, but his son was faster. Liam only got one nod in before the two were back in their work truck and driving back the way they had come.
It left Liam with an ache in his hip but some contentedness in his chest.
He liked the silence that being alone brought.
That silence didn’t last long.
Deputy Perry “Price” Collins got out of his cruiser rolling his eyes.
“Sorry to leave you hanging there, Sheriff,” he said. “But I’ve spent almost all my life avoiding Old Man Becker ever since he caught me and my girlfriend hooking up in his barn in high school. That man not only tore into my hide for trespassing, he alsosawmy bare hide while he was doing it.” Price shook his head. “That whole incident is why I learned to put my britches on faster than a lightning strike after that.”
Liam liked the quiet, but of the constant noises in his work life, Price was one he disliked the least. For the past two years he had been more of a right-hand man than anyone else in the small-as-a-thimble McCoy County Sheriff’s Department. He had also been the one who most respected privacy when it came to after-work hours. While they saw each other almost every day, they seldom spoke outside of the office.
“I’ve heard that story three times now, and I still don’t know why you’d pick a barn to do that in. Especially on the Becker land. There had to be a better place.”
