The Canary Murder

By C.B. Shannon

Of one thing, Beth Grant was certain.

The kidnappers had murdered twenty-six-year-old Lizzie Lancaster before they collected the ransom. It had all happened backward.

The kidnapping mastermind took the money and then took his own life. His accomplice took a plea deal. Law enforcement took a bribe. Lizzie took the brunt of a killer's cruelty.

Preston, Mississippi, painted itself a quintessential southern town, but the lawlessness was pure narcoterrorism.

Decades later, nothing had changed.

Now living in Florida, a client meeting takes Beth back to Mississippi and leads to a chance encounter with Lizzie's husband, Dwayne. The kidnapping was never far from Beth's mind. As a child, she had known Lizzie and Dwayne.

Beth's suspicions reignited, she launches her own investigation with the help of an eccentric employee, unearthing ongoing corruption that extends well beyond Mississippi. Illegal narcotics, money laundering, and a suspicious death penalty case all have chilling political and international implications.

Risking everything, Beth pursues the truth and faces a final climax of death and horror.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098335427

Book preview

earlier

Chapter One

St. Petersburg, Florida

Beth Grant stared into the abyss most recognized as a refrigerator. Scanning the shelves again, she willed the raw chicken breasts into something better. Like a gourmet meal.

She had managed to disprove the theory that all Southern women know their way around the kitchen, excusing her lack of proficiency by way of geography: she no longer resided in the storied South; she lived in fickle Florida.

Closing the refrigerator door to the ding of a text message, she skirted around two dogs and checked her phone. The text was from her Aunt Judy. They might release Alma from prison!

As an aura of dread illuminated the edges of her brain, Beth opened her laptop and ran a search for more information. She stared at the headline with parted lips, followed by a silent curse.

The Mississippi Department of Corrections will release a number of inmates due to overcrowding. Among those considered, Alma Carn, serving a life sentence for her role in the capital kidnapping of Lizzie Lancaster. Alma and her co-conspirator, brother-in-law Tom Carn, did not release Ms. Lancaster, even after her husband, Dwayne, paid four hundred thousand dollars for her safe return.

Beth took a slow breath. Dwayne Lancaster. She had always wondered why good people got hurt when there were so many assholes to choose from.

As a child, Beth had lived next door to Dwayne and his first wife, Lizzie—a well-liked twenty-six-year-old working for a law firm at the time of her disappearance.

In the wake of the kidnapping, on the heels of Beth’s eleventh birthday, she could think of nothing but saving Lizzie. The best eavesdropper in Preston, Mississippi, Beth had filled a notebook with clues, things that she had witnessed, in addition to what her parents had discussed.

Beth’s red-haired German shepherd nuzzled her leg and forced her thoughts back to the present. She scratched his head and then got up to look for her husband, Liam, who worked from home when he wasn’t traveling. She found him in the study on a business call, his eyes on his laptop.

Restless, she went outside to pre-heat the new gas grill. If Liam had replaced their old barbecue to encourage her domestic skills, he was going to be disappointed. She turned on the gas and spun the knobs, watching the blue flames ignite before they leapt across the grill top.

She closed the lid and escorted both her dogs across the covered pool deck and into the yard where trumpet vines grew along the wooden privacy fence, providing refuge to any number of creepy-crawlers on any given day.

The German shepherd, Frank, trapped a grey lizard and flung it three feet in the air, catching it again before it hit the ground. The shepherd’s version of the game, tag you’re it. In the meantime, Harry, a black cocker spaniel, flopped down onto the ground and rolled over, four paws in the air. A white patch under his bottom lip worked its way into a blissful smile when Beth called the dogs inside.

In the kitchen, she doled out dog treats and checked her phone for new messages.

As Southeast Regional Director of an electronic components company, Beth managed a seven-state territory, a position of pride until a Japanese conglomerate had acquired them. Japan’s consistent disruptions and inconsistent directives had taken a toll.

She had just put the phone down when her boss, Carlo, the CEO of North American Sales, called.

Hi there, he said. Are you at home?

Yes, she said. I was about to pour a glass of wine.

A Barolo? Carlo asked.

No, a California cab, Beth said with a smile.

He laughed. Listen, I just landed in Tokyo. I need to know if you’re still on board.

I’m committed as long as Japan backs off.

We’re on the same page then, Carlo said. I’ll call you later.

Beth hung up the phone and glanced at the open laptop and the glaring headline. The old grief, anger, and guilt slithered, a knot of snakes anxious to breach the surface yet again.

She returned to the study to find Liam scanning work email. Hey babe, he said, looking up from his laptop.

Hey. Beth dropped into a chair opposite the desk and then frowned. The too-cushy leather made her claustrophobic, as if she might disappear inside it. She curled her legs beneath her and straightened her back. I heard they might release Alma Carn.

Who? Liam asked.

You know, she said. Lizzie’s kidnapping.

He leaned forward. You don’t talk about it very much.

Beth nodded in silent agreement, remembering the darkness that had befallen the small town of Preston, Mississippi, in the aftermath.

The prisons are overcrowded. She took a quick breath. The DA gave Alma a plea deal, so she never testified in court. And now, she could get out. Without telling anyone where to find Lizzie.

Beth had never understood why the district attorney gave Alma Carn a deal, in light of the fact Alma had refused to divulge the whereabouts of the victim.

Liam drummed his fingers against the wooden desk. The mastermind committed suicide, right?

Yes, Beth said. He shot himself in the chest with a rifle. He pulled the trigger with his big toe.

Tom Carn’s suicide had been the most frustrating aspect of all. In addition to taking his own life, he took Lizzie’s last known location to the grave.

Crazy, eh? Liam’s Canadian roots on full display, he had grown up across the border and sometimes made her feel like a foreigner, instead of the other way around.

It’s crazy, alright.

Liam nodded. From what you said, Lizzie’s husband was a piece of work.

Yeah, she said. When the police told him the kidnapper was dead and they were running out of time to find Lizzie alive, Dwayne told them to shut up—the Ole Miss game was on. Not long after that, he sold the house and moved away. She narrowed her eyes. How could he do that when Lizzie’s family and friends were still looking for her?

He knew where she was. Liam shrugged. Or didn’t care.

Or both, she thought to herself. The FBI asked him to take a lie detector test.

Did he pass?

I doubt it, she said. He walked out halfway through.

Which left the age-old question: Why hadn’t law enforcement investigated Dwayne Lancaster’s probable role in his wife’s abduction?

Liam raised his brows. I guess he didn’t care for the FBI’s questions.

My mom said he was too worried about Lizzie to concentrate.

What about your dad?

He thought Dwayne was a jackass.

I concur, Liam said. Where is he now?

He’s a defense attorney in Jackson.

Where?

"Do you know anything about Mississippi?" she asked.

It’s south of Canada, he said.

Nice, she said. Jackson is the capitol.

He winked. I know you guys moved to a small-ass town with a dude’s name because of your dad’s eye clinic.

It was a teaching hospital. We lived in Preston.

Like I said…dude’s name.

Beth nodded and tucked long blonde bangs behind her ear, while the clickety-clack of canine toenails tapped the wood floor outside the study. Harry bounced into the room and onto her lap. She weaved her fingers through his coat, and Liam’s attention drifted to his laptop.

As Vice President of International Sales for a plastics company, Liam dealt with a lot of pressure, too. He cleared his throat and rolled the chair away from the desk. What was Alma’s role in the kidnapping?

She called Lizzie and Dwayne in the middle of the night, screaming their neighbor’s house was on fire.

Oh, that’s right, he said. They got out of bed and ran outside.

Yes, Beth said. As the story goes, a masked man was hiding in the bushes. He forced Lizzie to duct tape Dwayne. Then he punched Lizzie and put her in the back of her Pathfinder.

Liam hesitated. I didn’t realize they took her truck. Then, he asked, How the hell did the kidnapper get there?

Alma supposedly dropped him off and then drove to a payphone to call the house.

In Beth’s opinion, the official story was a load of crap. The Carns had pulled off the biggest kidnapping for ransom in Mississippi history, yet a fictitious fire and Lizzie’s Nissan Pathfinder had been part of the plan?

They don’t grow ‘em too smart in Mississippi, Liam said with a fake drawl.

Beth resisted the urge to educate him about distorted Southern stereotypes and petted the dog instead.

What about Dwayne? Liam asked. Did he try to save Lizzie?

No, she said. He told her parents, there wasn’t anything he could do.

He scrunched his nose. If that was you, I’d find a way.

She winked at him and then pressed her lips together. Dwayne got drunk at a party and mouthed off about how happy he was to be rid of Lizzie. It had been shocking for Beth to hear what several of her father’s patients had witnessed.

Yet, from all accounts, Dwayne Lancaster had kept his nose clean since then. His second wife, Victoria, bore a striking resemblance to Lizzie—auburn-haired, honey brown eyes and similar builds. It gave Beth the creeps.

Unlike his wife, Dwayne didn’t participate in social media. It was telling that Victoria had never posted pictures of her husband on her Facebook page. Beth imagined that Dwayne had forbidden it. Beth had found only one recent picture of him—a headshot of Dwayne on his law firm’s website. From the looks of it, he hadn’t changed all that much over the years.

Liam crossed his legs. How often do you go online to look for updates?

Aunt Judy sends me everything she comes across. Beth smiled. Relevant or not. Her maternal aunt lived in San Francisco, California, and liked to live large, the same trait she sought in potential boyfriends.

Unfortunately, Beth said, there haven’t been any developments for a long time.

She had determined that when a story is repeated over and over, people don’t think to question it. The purported events of that night had been retold thousands of times over the years.

When Liam’s cellphone rang, she twitched. The high-pitched ringtone had caught her off-guard, as did the realization that, over the course of the last few minutes, she had grown jumpy.

He glanced at the screen. Unknown number.

Are you still going to Europe? she asked. Next week?

Sorry, babe.

You’re on a plane more than on the ground.

You’re telling me, he said and then tilted his head. Hey, if I can book another seat, do you want to take off a few days and go with me?

I would love to, but work’s crazy right now. Beth unfolded her long legs, disturbing Harry. When she stood up, Liam wrapped his arms around her. She soon pulled back. I’ve got this buzz, she said. I can’t sit still.

You were like that when I got home last night.

My sales manager resigned, she said, while you were gone.

Shit. What happened?

Not worth going into, she said. Suffice it to say, Japan ticked him off. She hesitated. He had a meeting scheduled with a customer tomorrow in Mississippi—to get a contract signed.

Liam cocked his head. What? So now you’re going?

She nodded. Unfortunately. In addition to the instability at work, Dwayne Lancaster had wormed his way back into her head.

He lifted her chin, until her electric blue eyes acknowledged him. Do you want to go out tonight?

Yes, she thought. No, she said. You eat out all the time. She grinned. Bet you didn’t expect that.

You’re right!

She left the room, thinking about the biggest perk that came with Liam’s extensive travel schedule—she didn’t have to cook.

Her stomach growling, she peered outside, relieved the gas grill wasn’t on fire. She went to the kitchen and poured a glass of Cade, her favorite cabernet. Considering the stress at work and old Mississippi memories, she’d like to skip the meal altogether and drink her dinner instead.

Thirty minutes later, she turned off the grill. Then, balancing a tray of grilled chicken breasts, a set of tongs, a glass of wine, and a stopwatch, she opened the patio door, just as Liam rounded the corner.

Do you need any help? he asked with a lopsided grin. Or perhaps it had been an eye roll. She couldn’t be sure.

I’ve got it, she said.

It smells good, he said.

You have no idea how close we came to having cereal. Or dog food.

After dinner, Liam went upstairs to watch TV in the media room. Meanwhile, Frank and Harry tailed Beth to the guest room closet. At eye level, the shelves were stacked with books—mystery novels mostly—hardbacks she had read more than once, as well as paperbacks with folded down pages. She ran her fingers down the spines of the books closest to her and then squatted down to pull a cardboard box out from underneath a stack of ski clothes that didn’t get much action in the Sunshine State.

She sat back on her heels with a red spiral notebook and scanned notes she’d written in cursive back in elementary school. Studying the penmanship, she concluded that her handwriting had gone to hell since then. Wrinkling her nose, she flipped through the cracked and yellowed pages. They smelled clammy—like a small house with the air conditioner off and the interior doors closed—and nothing breathes.

Her palms clammy, too, an inexplicable claustrophobia enveloped Beth as she thumbed through Polaroid pictures she had scavenged from Dwayne’s garbage cans after his wife’s disappearance. Snapshots of Lizzie, whose engaging smile was one of the most beautiful things about her. Even when splashed across thousands of Missing posters.

Beth paused to study the last picture up close, Lizzie and Dwayne posing in front of a pond behind their house. His arm around her waist, Lizzie leaned into him.

Examining Dwayne’s expression, as she had done umpteen times before, Beth studied his handsome features, perfect skin and button nose. She squinted at his light gunmetal eyes. They didn’t gleam with deviltry. Yet, there was something behind them, something Beth had never trusted.

She stood up on her knees and dug through the box, eyeing a copy of the official report of the kidnapping published by The Charley Project, an online database that profiled thousands of missing men, women, and children. It was marked up with her own scribbled handwritten notes in parentheses, a sure sign she’d written them as an adult.

Victim: Lizzie Lancaster, Kidnapped July 31, 1990 from Preston, Mississippi

(Why a random Tuesday?)

Classification: Endangered Missing, Age: 26

Distinguishing Characteristics: Auburn hair, brown eyes, pierced ears, birthmark on right shoulder blade. Her maiden name is Bell. Height: 5’8", weight:125lbs

(My size)

Clothing at time of disappearance: Purple sundress & white Cleft sneakers.

(In the middle of the night? —Dwayne lying?)

At two o’clock in the morning, Lizzie and Dwayne received news that a neighbor’s house was on fire. They got dressed and ran outside. A masked assailant armed with a revolver was waiting in the shrubs.

(If Tom Carn owned a revolver,

why did he shoot himself with a long rifle and big toe?)

The kidnapper restrained the victims with duct tape and carried Lizzie to her Nissan Pathfinder, which was parked at the bottom of the driveway.

(How? Tom Carn had stomach surgery five weeks before the kidnapping)

Lizzie was chosen at random. The sole motive of the crime was money. A number of sites were searched for her remains.

If you have information concerning this case, please contact the Preston Police Department or the Calhoun County Sheriff’s Office.

(I wouldn’t. Gut feeling—somebody(s) very dirty)

Beth released the pent-up breath she had been holding in her lungs, puzzling over the dress Dwayne had reported Lizzie wearing that night. No one else had seen her. Except the kidnappers.

And why was the Pathfinder parked at the bottom of the driveway? Lizzie had always parked her SUV inside the garage.

Duct tape was another curiosity. How had Dwayne escaped? Did the FBI test for DNA?

They had arrested thirty-five-year-old Alma Carn two weeks later. The DA threatened Alma with a murder charge, but filed for capital kidnapping instead. The top defense attorney in Mississippi had represented Alma, which was strange—considering she was destitute. Ten days later, a judge sentenced Alma to life in prison with a recommendation of no parole.

It was unprecedented. Within a month of Lizzie’s abduction, law enforcement escorted Alma out of the courthouse, through a back door, to a waiting van that took her three hours north—to an all-women’s facility where she had served more than two decades behind bars.

Tom Carn, the criminal mastermind, was forty years old at the time of his death, leaving behind a wife and three children. And because Carn had undergone partial gastrectomy surgery, law enforcement advised the search parties to focus their attention along the roadsides. The prevailing theory—Carn’s physical limitations prevented him from carrying Lizzie’s body into the woods.

Ever aware of the gaping holes in the official story, Beth went to the kitchen and sat down with her laptop, running partial gastrectomy through the search engine. Her eyes widened. The surgeon had to make a large incision from just below the breastbone to the navel? After removing the diseased part of the stomach, they attached what remained to the small intestine. That didn’t sound fun.

Normal recovery time was six to eight weeks. She imagined that in the early nineties, it had taken longer, considering all the advances in the medical field since then.

Patients weren’t supposed to lift more than a few pounds. Driving was discouraged until doctor-approved.

Further proof that, even if Tom Carn had worn a mask in the Lancaster’s yard that night, there was no way he picked up Lizzie. Not without help.

Beth opened another search engine, typed Alma Carn, and found an archived news story in the Around Town section. It seemed Alma’s husband had parked their car outside a hardware store, ran inside, and left his wife in the passenger seat. The gear shift jumped out of park. The car rolled down the hill, jumped across the highway, went over a guardrail, turned on its side and crashed into a mobile home.

One thing about Calhoun County—it was never boring. Beth glanced at the date and choked back a laugh. Thirty days before the kidnapping, Alma fractured her collar bone and cracked two ribs in the runaway car incident.

The coconspirators had carried out one heck of a physical crime—with no semblance of fighting shape between them.

***

Hey, Liam said. You at the airport?

Yes, hold on a sec. Beth leaned over the x-ray conveyor belt to grab her purse and laptop. She tossed her hair out of the way and put the bags over her shoulder and the phone back to her ear. The meeting went well. They signed the contract, she said and looked around for someplace to sit down.

Jackson-Evers International left a lot to be desired—like places to eat, drink, and (try) to be merry. Beth had two hours to kill in Jackson before connecting through Charlotte, North Carolina, where she had a short layover before the flight home.

She paused in front of Sport Hall Cafe, the only full bar and sit-down restaurant after going through security. It was dimly lit and showcased dark wood tables with straight-back chairs.

How is it? Liam asked. Being back in Mississippi?

Beth hesitated a few feet short of the hostess stand. I didn’t see much. We met at Starbucks—we could have been anywhere. She nodded at a pot-bellied maître d who scooped up a dining menu and led Beth to a table with a view of the tarmac through wall-to-wall windows on the left. To her right, the wood-paneled bar was empty except for three middle-aged men in dark business suits speaking in excited voices.

Thanking the maître d, Beth shifted her attention back to Liam. Babe, I just sat down to eat. Can I call you later?

Yeah, sure, Liam said, although he sounded huffy.

Leaning back against the unforgiving wood chair, Beth scanned the menu. Unimpressed with the wine list, and in no mood for BBQ brisket or Mississippi raised catfish, she ordered a vodka and club soda from a red haired, pale skinned waitress who flitted by.

Beth was scanning her email when the drink arrived. Raising the glass to her lips, her eyes darted to the bar area when the trio of business men erupted in laughter. A few minutes later, two of them drained their cocktails and dashed out of the restaurant to catch a flight.

The remaining man was well-built with thick brown hair. His back to Beth, he stretched his neck and popped it hard. Irritated for some reason, Beth squeezed the chilled cocktail glass between her palms and took a long sip. The restaurant wasn’t very busy. It was going to be a long two hours and not a lot of people watching—unless things picked up.

Then a young brunette sauntered through the door and plopped down on a barstool at the opposite end of the lone man. Her eyes locked on her phone, the brunette’s fingers flew across the screen. The business man gave the young woman a long look before cracking his knuckles and returning to his drink.

All of a sudden, he slid around on the bar stool, as if to study the dining area behind him. Dragging his hawkish gaze across the room, he scanned the tables until his eyes landed on Beth. She averted her stare in hopes he’d lose interest—and not attempt to engage her in cheesy conversation.

Looking away from the man’s perfect skin and button nose, the room fogged up around her, and her vision went cloudy. Slack jawed, Beth struggled to get her mental bearings. It can’t be him—there’s no way.

She swung her gaze to her laptop and pondered the odds—Dwayne Lancaster stood twenty feet away. Maybe less.

Chapter Two

Jackson, Mississippi

Not one to believe in coincidence, Beth conceded Sport Hall Cafe was the only dining option after passing through security and x-ray. Not to mention, Dwayne lived in Jackson. It wasn’t as if she ran into him somewhere else. Like Florida.

In fact, Dwayne was a defense attorney. Maybe he was flying somewhere on business? Or he wanted out of town until the Alma Carn early-release gossip cooled off.

Flames of anxiety flickering her insides, Beth sensed movement from the bar area. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Dwayne’s leather dress shoes and tailored suit pants step with confidence toward her table.

She sucked in her breath and raised her eyes—taking in Dwayne’s dark jacket and broad shoulders. A red and blue silk tie hung loose around his neck. His thick hair had started to grey. With the exception of a few wrinkles, though, Dwayne appeared in better physical shape than in his twenties—which agitated her sensibilities all the more.

Beth straightened her shoulders, as if to ward off the danger—the real-life boogeyman from childhood. Yet, Dwayne didn’t seem to recognize her. And why would he? Dwayne had barely acknowledged her when she was a kid living next door to him and Lizzie.

With a grin, Dwayne motioned to the empty chair across the table from Beth. You mind? He sat down without awaiting her reply. The self-assured, arrogant expression on his face registered a touch of amusement. Her silence had emboldened him. She imagined that he mistook her reticence for lust—rather than disgust.

Dwayne motioned to the waitress. I’ll have a bourbon on the rocks. He glanced at Beth’s half-empty vodka soda. She will, too.

Her stomach churning with nervous acidity, Beth studied Dwayne. He looked relaxed. His gunmetal eyes soft, there were no outward signs that indicated danger.

Why? Beth asked, her voice an octave higher than normal. Why did you do it?

What? Dwayne cocked his head. How many drinks you had, darlin’?

Beth leaned back, as if to distance herself. Lizzie was a good person. She didn’t deserve.…

Dwayne looked taken aback at first, but then his lips curled into a snarl. What the fuck? He grabbed Beth’s laptop and spun it around, eyeing the screen, which had gone black—thanks to sleep mode.

He smirked and slammed the laptop shut. I get it—another nosy writer. His nose flared. The case got solved a long time ago, or didn’t you hear?

Hot anger bubbled up inside Beth, even as her stomach recoiled. I bet Lizzie’s family would disagree.

Dwayne leaned forward. Shut this story down, lady. He snapped his thumb and index finger together. I’d watch my step.

Beth flinched when he leaned even closer, his palms flat on the table top. Dwayne’s pupils contracted, his irises rings of boiling lava. Within the liquid tableau, Beth caught sight of the monster.

She sucked in her breath, just as the maître d scurried up to them. Everything okay?

Dwayne scooted his chair back, making a high-pitched squeaking sound. I’ll take my bourbon at the bar. Walking fast, he reclaimed his stool and didn’t turn back around.

Shocked into action, Beth packed her laptop, grabbed her handbag, and left a twenty-dollar bill on the table. The waitress had yet to reappear, and Beth didn’t want to use a credit card anyway. Her married name wouldn’t mean anything to Dwayne. But still, one couldn’t be too careful.

Beth took her time approaching the gate. She ducked inside a restroom and then a sundry shop for bottled water, all the while keeping watch for Dwayne. It wasn’t until the airplane door closed that Beth let herself relax against the headrest, her eyes closed in silent relief. From her vantage point in business class, she was certain Dwayne hadn’t boarded the Charlotte-bound flight.

Even so, she was still reeling inside—after facing the man who had shaped her childhood memories and sewn seeds of distrust for those in authority. Too, Dwayne’s deception had made young Beth suspicious of the opposite sex, something it took years to overcome.

After ordering a glass of wine from the flight attendant, Beth rested her head against the window and pondered Dwayne’s assumption that she was a writer of some kind. There had to be more to it. As far as she was concerned, Dwayne always had something up his sleeve.

Beth choked back a nervous laugh and thought about the look on Dwayne’s face when she mentioned Lizzie. Sipping her wine, she wondered about Dwayne’s second wife, Victoria. They had been married for more than twenty years. Surely Victoria had gotten a glimpse of his true character?

When they landed in Charlotte, Beth was more than ready to deplane. Claustrophobia had set in. She guessed the encounter with Dwayne had played a role in her headache, too.

With an hour to kill before her flight to Tampa, Beth sat down at the gate to check messages. Then her phone rang. It was her boss.

Hello, she answered.

Carlo hesitated. The contract you took to Jackson…the Japanese are rescinding it.

Exasperated, Beth squeezed the phone. The Chairman and his sister, Akane, both signed it—not to mention, it’s a military customer with government contracts.

There’s something else, Carlo said. I tendered my resignation.

Because of this?

Among other things, Carlo said. Look, I brought you into this—but well, I’m as disappointed as anybody. He paused. I need to take this call, but we’ll talk later, okay?

The next evening, Beth’s mobile phone dinged with a new text message from her aunt: I saw online, Lizzie’s daddy opposes Alma’s release.

Beth sighed. John Bell would be in his seventies now. She opened the wine cabinet, pulled the cork from a day-old bottle, and proceeded to pour a generous amount of Cabernet Sauvignon into a large Bordeaux glass. Her mother would be appalled by the blatant disregard of social graces. Sometimes, living in Florida wasn’t half-bad.

Hey babe, Liam said, dipping his head to kiss her and then pausing when Beth flinched. Her thoughts distracted, she hadn’t heard him enter the kitchen.

Sorry, she said and nodded in the direction of two filets marinating in a glass baking dish on the counter. Thanks for picking up steaks. She smiled. I’ll express my gratitude later.

Sounds like a win-win, Liam said and hesitated. You’re awfully jumpy.

Beth sat down on a bar stool, her elbows on the chilly granite island, the crystal stemware between her hands. It’s just that seeing Dwayne was so…unexpected. Then, remembering her aunt’s text, Beth said, Lizzie’s father doesn’t want Alma released from prison until she tells what she knows.

Liam frowned, eyed the empty wine bottle, and opened the cabinet, selecting an unfortunate Malbec.

She wrinkled her nose. He came by our house one night, she said. He told Dad that the DA wouldn’t let him talk to Alma. Beth still couldn’t believe the district attorney had refused Lizzie’s father access to the accomplice in his daughter’s kidnapping—the only person left with knowledge of her whereabouts.

Liam poured a glass of wine and leaned against the bar. Does Lizzie’s dad still live in Mississippi?

Beth shook her head. Memphis—close enough to follow up on new leads.

Did he talk to Alma after she went to prison?

"Yes, and she