have enough evidence to put these monsters away. There wasn’t long until the judge’s confirmation hearing. I wasn’t going to sit around and hope there was enough paint on the license plate to get a match. Or that someone else would find a way to prove Lee Williams worked for the judge. The fucker was wandering around my town, making my girl afraid to go out.
It was getting on toward dinner, but I found Sheriff Tucker still at the station. Bex brought me back to his office.
“Gibson,” he said, looking up from a stack of paperwork on his desk. “What can I do for you?”
He raised an eyebrow when I lowered myself into the chair on the other side of his desk. I pulled the license plate out of my bag. He moved his papers aside so I could set it in front of him.
“What’s this?”
“I think that when you run that plate, you’ll find it belonged to Mrs. Kendall. Twelve years ago.”
His eyes widened slightly, and he smoothed his mustache a few times while he studied the plate.
“All right, Gibson. I’m listening.”
I told him everything, and the more I talked, the more shaken up he looked. His jaw hitched and I could see the fury in his eyes—anger that matched mine. It burned like a bed of coals in my gut.
When I finished, he was quiet for a few minutes. He nodded his head silently a few times, like he was digesting everything.
“Damn,” he said, finally. The sheriff had always been a man of few words, and he didn’t need to say anything more. I understood. Felt the same way.
“Yep.”
He shifted the license plate and clicked his mouse a few times. Typed something on his keyboard.
“You’re right, Gibs. This plate was from a blue Audi A6, registered to an Imogen Kendall.”
“Did you say blue?”
He met my eyes. “I did.”
“Cass found blue scratches on Mom’s car.”
“She did.”
I felt like I was about to pop out of the chair like a jack-in-the-box, but Sheriff Tucker put up a hand.
“Easy, Gibs. We’ll have to see if forensics can match the paint. How’s Callie handling it? Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s all right. Said she feels better now that she can remember. Like cleaning poison out of a wound.” I shook my leg, unable to keep still. “So what do we do now? More tests? More waiting?”
He tipped his fingers together. “Well, I’ve got an entire town full of amateur surveillance detectives keeping tabs on Lee Williams’ every move. Seems he’s settled into a routine. Breakfast at Moonshine. A drive around town, circling past the vacation rentals and the Kendalls’ house. Sometimes trips to the Pop In or Shop ’n Buy. He’s wandered into Build-A-Shine a few times. Browsed the other stores. Sits in Yee Haw Yarn and Coffee or down at the lake with a cup of joe. Then a drink or two at the Lookout each night.”
“What in the hell is he doing?”
“Watching. Chatting up the locals. My guess is, he’s listening for any mention of Callie Kendall.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a subtle smile.
“But Bootleg ain’t talking about Callie Kendall, are they?”
“No, they’re not. Tongues are waggin’ about the big new tires Trent McCulty put on his pickup and whether they’re making up for a deficiency elsewhere. Whether Old Jefferson Waverly’s going to build a new barn on his land. Who got into Bex’s garden shed and ran off with her favorite set of pruning shears. Or who’s gonna play matchmaker for Mona Lisa McNugget and get a town rooster.”
“It still won’t keep the truth from that jackass forever.”
“No, it won’t.” He smoothed his mustache again. “Would be real interesting if some motivated individuals could get Lee Williams to sing like a canary, wouldn’t it?”
I stopped shaking my leg. “Sure would.”
“Interesting that he stops for a drink at the Lookout every night, too.”
My eyes narrowed. “Sure is.”
“Thanks for bringing this in.” He moved the license plate aside and shifted the stack of paperwork.
I stood and went to the door, my mind already racing. Making a plan.
“Gibs.”
“Yeah.” I glanced at him over my shoulder.
He didn’t say anything. Just held my eyes for a few seconds. I nodded. It wouldn’t do any of us a bit of good if I pounded the guy’s face into the dirt. We needed Lee Williams locked in a cell, not me.
But it was time to handle this Bootleg style.
38
GIBSON
Next day, I went to work making preparations. Then I called my brothers and George, and