on the other hand, put together information exactly like this in order to destroy her husband. And it’s Max who holds my future—and possibly my life—in the palm of his hand.
Am I looking at part of her final cache? I wonder.
A quick soft knock sounds at my door. Lucy Hodder, our receptionist, steps in, looking worried.
“You’ve got a visitor,” she says. “And you might not want to see this guy.”
“Who is it?”
“Mr. Holland, the Realtor. And he is not happy. I told him I wasn’t sure you were here. But I didn’t want to send him away unless you told me to.”
I start to beg off, but something stops me. Two nights ago, Beau Holland had to be physically restrained from attacking me. Has he come back to finish his assault? Given what I saw in the PDF file, I can’t say I’d be surprised. But what would be the point?
“Send him in,” I tell Lucy, wondering if Holland could be under enough financial strain to walk in here and shoot me. Surely not—
“I’m already in, you son of a bitch,” growls a prissy male voice.
Beau Holland pushes past Lucy and plants himself before my desk. “And I’m not alone.”
As I slip the hard copy of the PDF file into my top drawer, Tommy Russo steps into my office, wearing his usual tight-fitting suit.
Lucy looks at me with flushed cheeks. “Should I call somebody?”
I’m about to say no when Dave Cowart pushes in behind the other two. The pilled red Izod shirt he’s wearing makes him look like a human fireplug, and the contractor’s sunburned face is only slightly less red than his shirt. Holland glares at him and says, “I told you I’d handle this.”
“I was smoking outside,” Cowart says. “But when I saw Tommy come in, I figured I’d put in my two cents. I’m the one already got fucked by that Matheson cunt.”
I catch Lucy’s eye, but before I can speak, Russo says, “No need to call the police, hon. I’ll keep these gentlemen in line.”
“I’m all right, Lucy,” I tell her, but she exits with a doubtful look.
“How can I help you guys?” I ask, leaning back in my chair and folding my hands across my stomach.
“You could get hit by a truck,” Cowart says. “Man, what’s with you? You print that goddamn photo like you’re bulletproof or something.”
“I’m confused, Dave. Did you not get enough of prison last year?”
He closes his big fists and steps toward me. “Come out from behind that desk and find out.”
“Oh-kay,” Holland says, taking Cowart by the arm and pulling him back two steps. “I think he got your message, Dave.”
Cowart’s eyes show fear as well as anger. “I’m on probation, damn it! This piece of shit’s gonna get me thrown back in the can.”
“That could happen,” I tell him, thinking of Buck’s body being wrestled from the river. “You want to tell me what you were doing out at the mill site with Buck on the night he was killed? On the record?”
“Don’t say a word,” Beau Holland advises. “Anyway, who says that photo you printed was taken at the mill site? Your story didn’t say that.”
“That’s true. We can’t prove where it was taken. Yet. But whoever sent it to me could probably provide that information. We’ll see what else he sends me.”
All three men freeze for a moment. Then Holland leans forward and lays his hands on my desk. “I don’t think the police or the sheriff’s department will be picking up Mr. Cowart based on your reporting.”
“No. But the FBI might. We’re making sure all evidence related to Buck’s murder gets sent to every agency that might have jurisdiction.”
Tommy Russo has been leaning calmly against my office wall, chewing gum. But at my mention of the FBI, he makes a face like he just bit into something bitter.
“You have no idea what you’re doing,” Holland says. “You’re interfering with people’s lives, their businesses. With this whole town’s future.”
“Am I? I thought I was just trying to solve a murder.”
Cowart grimaces, then shakes his head like all this talk is a waste of time.
“You’re about to get an education,” Beau Holland says with relish. “You keep printing stories like the one I read today, you’re going to find out exactly where you stand in the food chain around here.”
“The bottom, is it?”
Beau gives me his superior smile. “Another thing. Keep this up, and we’ll sue you into bankruptcy. It wouldn’t take much, from what I hear. We’ll