Page 18 of Double Bucked

6

RANSOM

Now.

Claire finishes telling our sad, messed-up tale.

I stare at the ashtray on the table. If I stared at it any harder, the whole thing might combust. I can’t look at her as she recounts one of the worst goddamn days of my whole sorry life.

My jaw is so tight I might just crack a molar if I’m not careful.

“So,” she continues, speaking to Deputy Holden, “to answer your questions before you bother asking them—no, I don’t know who killed my father. I don’t know his enemies, though I imagine half the town wants his head on a stick. I don’t know his friends, but I can tell you they were always few and far between. The truth is I don’t know anything about him. I haven’t heard from him in over five years. Not a single phone call, email, or Christmas card. I left. I never looked back. And he resented me for it. We’ve been perfect strangers ever since.”

With that, she’s finished.

The place goes silent. I force my eyes to meet Claire’s face.

She’s empty of emotion. The perfectly poised picture of perfection she’s always been.

The way Mr. Preacher trained her.

But I can hear it. The echo of sadness underlining her words. She pretends her father’s absence doesn’t affect her, but it does.

She hated him, but I know well enough—she was the only daughter of a single-father narcissist, and that man was her entire world, once upon a time.

Deputy Holden flips his little notebook shut. He jams his pen in the spiral top.

“This was useful,” he says. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”

He gets up, and immediately, I’m on my feet. “I’ll walk you out.”

I need to breathe fresh air.

A pot of tea and fresh coffee sit on the table in front of us. James has settled into the couch next to Claire, but he reaches over and takes her hand. I already noticed the big rock on her hand—a princess-cut diamond the size of the Eiffel Tower. Now, I notice his own sigil-style diamond ring as they thread their fingers together. And—dammit—I hate the guy, and I hate his stupid rings, but maybe that’s right.

She sure as hell doesn’t need a bad memory like me hanging around her.

Deputy Holden jangles with every step. The house spits us out, and when the chilled afternoon cold catches on my skin, I feel a little better.

“Hey.” I stop the deputy before he reaches his car. “Any leads on who got Mr. Preacher?”

His mouth folds in a frown. “If I did, I couldn’t very well tell you.”

“Mr. Preacher was right, wasn’t he? Someone was trying to get him? It’s the mafia, isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“You know—Don Corleone? You know how they get—horse heads and all. Threatening people with them. If you need help, you know, getting those mafia sons of bitches?—”

“Where the hell’re you getting mafia?” Holden growls.

I hold my ground. “Mr. Preacher and I, we didn’t always see eye to eye, but I owe it to him.”

He sizes me up. “You mean you owe it to her.”

I shove my hands in my pockets. “I just want to help. However I can.”

Deputy Holden comes face-to-face with me. He’s a good deal shorter than me, but that doesn’t stop him from frowning like a bulldog. “You want to do me a favor? Quit stepping into trouble. Right now, you’re the only one who was here at the time of the crime, and the way I see it, you’ve got a motive, sneaking around with Preacher’s daughter all those years ago.”

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