Page 110 of Trouble Comes in Threes

“We appreciate that,” I said. “Do you happen to know any of the people Harvey partied with or the locations?”

“He had a friend with a large garage south of Pickle Junction. A bunch of them would go down there.”

“Do you know any names?”

“I know a few of the guys went to school with us,” she said. “Like Scott Van de Camp and Hugo Dempsey.”

“That’s helpful,” I said as Neely Kate typed the names into her phone. “Perhaps they’ll know who your brother’s new dealer was.”

She shuddered and got a funny look. “Dealer makes it sound really bad.”

“Dealers who provide drugs that can hurt people generally are,” Neely Kate said. “They’re self-centered assholes who only think of themselves.”

Darlene looked down at her lap, biting her bottom lip as her chin quivered.

“Do you have an address for the garage where they met?” Neely Kate asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

“What about a general location?” I asked. “That could help.”

Darlene looked at me. I didn’t think she was going to answer, but she finally said, “I’ve never been there, but Harvey said it was a big blue metal building off County Road 24, about ten miles south of the Pickle Junction city limits sign.”

“That’s good,” Neely Kate said.

“Are you going to go down there?” Darlene asked, alarmed.

“We don’t know yet,” Neely Kate said. “We’re working through this as we go.”

“I hear it’s kind of rough,” Darlene said. “It didn’t used to be, but Harvey said some new guys had moved in.”

New guys. I resisted the urge to steal a glance in Neely Kate’s direction. Was this further proof that a new criminal element might have moved into the county? Could it be affiliated with Hardshaw?

This was definitely something for Dermot to look into.

“Do you know two teenagers named Austin and Justin?” I asked.

She gave me a panicked look, then her eyes grew wide. “Oh, my God! Did someone kill two teenagers?”

“No,” I assured her. “No, they’re perfectly fine. But there might be a connection between them, your brother, and the other two victims.”

“Do you have their last names?” she asked.

“Do you know teens with those first names?” I asked.

“No, but I thought their last names might jog my memory.”

I didn’t want to share that information, so I ignored her original question and moved on. “What about a woman named Selena?”

Her eyes narrowed again, but she shook her head. “No. I don’t know anyone named Selena.”

I nodded, feeling defeated. Sure, we’d gotten the names of a couple of Harvey’s partying buddies and the semi-location of their frequent partying, but she hadn’t given us any solid leads. Just bits and pieces.

I reminded myself this was how investigations worked—one piece at a time—but I kept seeing the woman in my vision, the bullet hole in the middle of her forehead. I wasn’t content with pieces. I needed to save her, and I didn’t know how much time I had left to do it.

“Is there anything else?” I asked. “Anything that you think is important or might be helpful?”

She hesitated. “Harvey was acting weird last week.”

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