“Yeah, honey, what do you need?” The uniformed woman behind the counter had amazingly bleached hair, old eyes, and a printed tag that read Martha. Even though she looked buried in paperwork to the gills, she took the time to offer Lily a patient smile.

“Hello. I…well, I don’t know who the sheriff is now, but I was hoping to talk to whoever may have replaced Herman Conner-”

“Chief Conner’s right here, honey, nobody’s likely to replace him until he gets around to retiring…which he said he was gonna do five years ago and still hasn’t. Chief,” she hollered, “pretty lady’s here to see you.”

“I’ve tole you and tole you, not to shout like I’m working for you. You buzz the phone or you come here to get m-”

Lily never expected to recognize him-and heaven knew, he’d aged-but one look and she was transported back in time. The sheriff probably never noticed her that night, but her memories were mirror-clear.

She and her sisters had been huddled on the curb; someone had dropped a scratchy blanket over all of them, but still they all shook. The sheriff’s face had been backlit by fire as he was talking to the firemen. The sirens, the heat, the cold, the fear, the smoke-Lily remembered every taste, sound, texture. She wished she didn’t. Her sisters had been mute like her, in shock like her. Cate, the oldest, had an arm tucked around Lily. Sophie, the youngest, was crying her heart out.

And Lily couldn’t stop looking at the sheriff’s face, because she’d identified him as the one adult who could give them some hope. Herman Conner was skinny as a blade back then-sharp nose, sharp bones, a fast, sharp decision-maker-some said impulsive. Some said, once he judged you on the wrong side, he never forgot. Everybody said he could make a body jump when he got riled up.