Sam. Tension eased from his body. There was nothing in the files about Sam and Ryan’s fight. He hadn’t really thought there would be since no one had seen it.
There was no mention of a date being with Mary Jo at the Hideaway, but Sam had a hazy memory of a man hovering in the background with her. If only he would emerge from the shadows. Why hadn’t he come forward when Mary Jo’s death hit the newspapers? Had he killed Mary Jo and then Ryan and let Ryan take the rap for it?
Sam switched back to the private investigator’s file, which was basically a rehash of Sheriff Carter’s report except for a copy of the report the Memphis Police Department had filed on Ryan’s abandoned car. He tapped the papers. The former sheriff made no mention of his son or Gordon Cole being at the tavern that night. While only a scant two pages, his summary on the second page left little doubt that he believed Ryan killed the girl.
Questions dogged Sam. It puzzled him that Sheriff Carter had spent so little time and effort looking for Ryan. And why hadn’t he mentioned Trey and Gordon? They had come home for the weekend from Ole Miss and were some of the last people to see Mary Jo and Ryan. The back door opened, and he shoved the papers back into the envelope as Emma and Jack came into the kitchen.
“Wash up,” Emma said. “We’ll be ready to eat in five minutes.”
Forty-five minutes later, Sam pushed back from the table. “That was the best steak I’ve had in a long time,” he said. He didn’t know when he’d enjoyed a meal more, and it wasn’t just the food. Conversation had flowed freely, with Jack Winters cracking jokes, keeping them laughing. Even Emma had loosened up.
“It was good,” she chimed in. “And thank you both for cutting my meat.”
“Glad you enjoyed them.” Jack made a bowing motion. “I rarely grill just for myself, and worried that I might have lost my touch.”
While Emma was making coffee to go with Sam’s brownies, Jack asked what brought him back to Natchez.
“My family. Mostly my ten-year-old nephew. His father checked out and—”
“You’re stepping up to the plate,” Jack said. “That’s what I remember most about you. Always taking on other people’s responsibilities. I never understood why you didn’t come back after college.”
Sam shifted in his chair.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy,” Jack said.
“It’s okay. It’s just that Natchez holds no fond memories for me. Mostly it reminds me of my failures,” he said, giving Jack a wry smile. “Once I left for Northern Arizona University, it was easier to keep going in a different direction. Making the decision to come back, even to help my nephew, was hard. Getting the promotion to district ranger helped, though.”
“I’m glad you’re back,” Jack said. “Did you play football in college?”
“I didn’t have time.”
“That’s a shame. I still remember the state playoffs and that pass you threw in the last seconds of Game 4.”
“Game 4 isn’t the one most people remember,” Sam said. No. Most people remembered the last game and the fumble he made when he got sacked that lost the championship. His dad had made it a point to let him know what a loser he was. Not that his dad ever needed an excuse to criticize him or remind him of his failures. Like being responsible for his sister almost losing her life and ending up with a limp.
“Well, it’s the one I remember. Thank you, honey,” Jack said, accepting the cup Emma handed him.
“Sam brought the brownies.” She turned to him. “Coffee?”
“I’ll get it.”
As they enjoyed dessert, the conversation veered to Jack’s job as chief nursing officer at Merit Hospital. Once the coffee was gone and talk had dwindled, Emma picked up Sam’s plate.
“I’ll do this,” he said. “And you can let your dad look at your hand.”
He cleared the table and stacked the dishes beside the dishwasher while Jack and Emma moved to the sofa, where Jack unwrapped the bandage around her hand.
“Is there anything I can wear besides this clunky wrap?” she asked, flexing her fingers.
“Maybe. I talked to Gordon, and he approved this,” Jack said, taking a box from the supplies he’d brought in. “But only if you promise not to pick up anything. Or drive.”
She narrowed her eyes. “When can I drive?”
“Didn’t Gordon tell you ten days?” Sam said from the kitchen.
“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Emma