“Evie!” I call. “Can you watch Lyla Nell and the boys for a bit? We’re going for a quick walk.”
“Sure!” Evie’s voice floats from the playroom. “We’re making friendship bracelets anyway. Lyla Nell’s supervising my bracelet-making technique. She says I’m doing it wrong.Take your time!”
Noah, Everett, Carlotta, and I head out into the night, where the air is cool and sweet with the scent of spring—fresh grass, blooming flowers, that earthy smell that comes after the rain we had earlier. The streetlights are just starting to flicker on, casting pools of amber light across the sidewalks. Somewhere a dog barks. Somewhere else, wind chimes tinkle in the breeze.
It’s peaceful and oh so lovely. It’s exactly the type of evening that makes you forget you live in a town where murders happen with alarming regularity.
We turn onto the Pickens’ block, and just like that, the peaceful illusion shatters.
The street has been taken over by what can only be described as a mob of teenage boys playing some chaotic form of football. There are at least fifteen of them, maybe twenty, running, shouting, tackling each other with a reckless abandon that suggests no one has ever explained the concept of broken bones to them.
And right in the middle of it all?
Daryl Pickens.
He’s running a route, football tucked under his arm, laughing like he’s one of the boys instead of a grown man who should know better about a lot of things.
And when he runs, helimps.
“Do you see that?” I gasp.
Sure enough, he’s favoring his left leg. The same distinctive hitch we saw in the security footage Noah and Everett told me about.
“I sure do see it, Lot.” Carlotta leans in and squints. “That man is hot-to-trot and looking for a good time. Why don’t I go and distract him.”
“Don’t you dare,” I tell her.
Noah and Everett exchange a look.
“We’ve got him,” Noah says quietly.
Everett nods. “Let’s do this.”
We walk toward the chaos, and Daryl spots us immediately. His expression shifts from joy to something dark and defensive.
“Can we speak to you?” Everett calls over the noise.
The boys scatter like pigeons, laughing and screaming and making obscene gestures as they disappear into the shadows. One of them flips us the bird and howls at the moon while doing so. And Carlotta does it right back. With both hands.
Tammy appears from the porch with her arms crossed and looking darn right exhausted. “What’s this about?” she calls out, but judging by the look on her face, she knows all too well.
Noah steps forward, looking every bit the grim detective on the case. “We know it was Daryl instigating the vandalism. The eggs, the fish, the glitter bomb, the deflated tires, the spray paint on Lottie’s van.”
Daryl’s jaw tightens. “You can’t prove anything.”
“Actually, we can,” Everett says. “We have security footage from multiple neighbors showing a tall figure with a distinctive limp. The same limp you’re currently displaying.” He gestures to Daryl’s leg. “You were leading those boys. Directing them.Encouragingthem.”
Tammy gasps. Her hand flies to her mouth. Then she swats Daryl’s arm—hard. “Don’t you know any better? You’re supposed to be setting an example for these kids!”
“I am!” Daryl snaps back, his voice rising. “I’m teaching Tyler and his friends how to be men. These two idiots,” he jabs a finger at Noah and Everett, “came to our house and had the nerve to knock on our door and embarrass our kid in front of his friends. And I needed to make sure they knew what a gravemistake that was.”
He practically growls the last part, his face red, his body tense like he’s ready to fight.
Carlotta sucks in a breath. “No one calls Foxy and Sexy an idiot and lives to see the light of day outside a prison cell. How about one last sticky quickie behind the shed before you hit the big house, bad boy?”
“Carlotta.” I shake my head and cringe. Not to mention his wife is standing right here.
“I can’t help it,” she grunts. “You know I’ve got a soft spot for bad boys.”
