It had been two weeks since John B took that boat out and fled the island in the middle of a hurricane. Two weeks since JJ’s whole world got turned upside down. John B was JJ’s best friend, but the words didn’t even feel like enough to describe it. John B was JJ’s brother, his lifeline in so many situations. The only thing that had gotten him out of that godforsaken house when he needed it the most. Two weeks since John B was taken away from him.

The town loved to talk. They all had their minds made up about the Sheriff Peterkin situation. John B was guilty. He was a killer, a cop killer at that. JJ knew the truth. He’d been there that day on that tarmac, and he’d watched the son of the wealthiest man on the island kill Sheriff Peterkin himself. This didn’t stop the family from framing John B, a poor kid with no defenses against old, low-country money.

As soon as JJ got to the Chateau, John B’s house, he could tell someone else was there. The lights outside were on, lighting up the dusky, humid evening on the marsh. He pushes the front door open cautiously, calling out. “Anybody home?”