Page 20 of In the Dark of the Past

“Your brother. The woman you’re still in love with. Take your pick.” He shot me a shit-eating half-grin.

“Will you stop?” I mumbled. “And pass. But we are gonna talk to Autumn later about those records we discussed the other night.”

“I figured. I think she’s manning the history booth until five. We can circle back.”

We stepped away as the band took the stage and the music kicked back up, the sound of laughter and the smell of kettle corn and candied nuts filling the air. But under it all was something else. A quiet dissonance. Like the first scents of ozone before a storm.

Something was coming. And I honestly wasn’t sure if we’d be ready when it hit. Cade and I had barely made it ten steps before he pivoted, changing direction toward the booths.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” I asked.

“Nope.” He popped the p and grinned like a kid about to get away with something. “Come on. We’re already out here. Might as well play nice with the locals.”

I sighed and followed.

The closer we got, the more aware I became of River’s presence, especially the way her laughter rolled into something softer when she caught sight of me. My pulse kicked a little harder. Damn it. I wasn’t still eighteen. And this wasn’t the time.

“Ladies,” Cade greeted, tipping an imaginary hat as we reached the group.

River’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, even when looking at my best friend. “Cade.” She nodded. Then her gaze slid to me. “Sheriff.”

I raised my chin in acknowledgment. “Everything good out here?”

“So far,” Nivea answered. “Though the frozen lemonade stand’s a racket. Five bucks for something that tastes like it was made with dish soap. Seriously?”

Myra laughed, then elbowed her. “It wasn’t that bad.”

A hand appeared between Myra and Nivea, holding a small paper cup with a plastic spoon sticking out of it. Rand materialized from the direction of the contest booths with his floppy hair pushed back and what appeared to be a judging ribbon pinned slightly crookedly to his shirt.

“Third place,” he announced, with the dignity of a man who considered it a personal victory. “Which, for the record, is first place among people who don’t cheat.” He pressed the cup into Nivea’s hand. “Sample. Tell me it’s better than dish soap.”

Nivea took a bite, considered. “It’s better than dish soap.”

“That’s what I thought.” He produced another cup from somewhere and handed it to Cade. “I’ve been workshopping this recipe for eight months. Eight months. And Gerald Finch wins with something straight out of a can. You can taste the sodium corroding your arteries.” He shook his head with the deep, personal grief of a man betrayed by an institution.

Cade took a bite and then handed me the cup. I tasted the chili. It was genuinely good, smoky with something underneath it I couldn’t identify.

“What’s in this?” I asked.

“Trade secret.” He walked a bit away, pulled a folding chair from a nearby booth, and dropped into it like he’d been on his feet all day—which he probably had. “My grandmother’s recipe. She’d have won. Gerald Finch wouldn’t have stood a chance.” He said it simply. It was the kind of thing you said when the loss of someone hurt. I knew how that felt.

“She sounds like a force,” I said, finishing the chili.

“She really was.” He looked out at the booths for a moment, relaxed and unhurried, a man entirely at home in a town that had apparently been his for years. “These are the best parts of this town, you know. The Jubilee. All the same people, all the same booths, all the same arguments about who makes the best food. Nothing changes.” He almost smiled. “I like that about this place.”

“Most people find it suffocating,” River said.

I watched River’s face as she said that, thinking about how I’d likely had something to do with that feeling for her.

“Most people don’t know what it’s like to be somewhere with no roots,” he said, then glanced at River. “You do, though. You left.”

“I did,” she said.

“And then you came back.” He said it as if it settled something.

Nobody said anything for a heartbeat.

Then Autumn piped up. “If it makes you feel any better, Niv, the pie contest’s down to three entrants thanks to that mystery pie massacre. I think your mom might have it in the bag. Wait. Was it her? Did she smash those coolers?” She shot Nivea a shocked look, then gave a mock gasp. “Sheriff? Do you have your cuffs?”