Page 72 of Trouble Comes in Threes

“Yeah. He did. He also told me that they think the murder in Pickle Junction was drug related.”

Her eyes widened. “He told you that?”

“He only told me after I admitted I was worried another organized crime group might be moving into the county. He said it to reassure me.”

“I guess that fits with what the sister told us about him being a junkie.”

“I thought the same thing,” I said.

Her forehead creased. “Wait. Are you really worried someone else is moving into the county?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, trying to play it off. “Maybe. I’m probably just being paranoid.” I paused, then voiced my biggest fear. “What if the Hardshaw Group has reorganized and wants to pick up where they left off?”

“Taking over the county?” she asked, her brow furrowed with worry.

And taking care of me, but I didn’t voice that concern out loud. “I’m just being paranoid,” I said as I turned back to my computer.

“Dermot would tell us if he thought they were back. He would know that you’d need to be prepared.”

“I know.” I pulled up the design I’d been trying to work on before lunch. “I told you. I’m being paranoid.”

“That’s understandable,” she said softly, sounding lost in thought. I knew she was probably thinking about her half-sister Kate, who’d kidnapped Hope and tried to kill me. Even so, she’d had a massive soft spot for Neely Kate, her younger, secret sister. Neely Kate had known full well her sister was evil, but she’d been dealing with plenty of conflicting emotions.

Neely Kate popped up in her seat, plastering a bright smile on her face. “You know what would cheer us up?”

I gave her a leery glance. “What?”

“Opening the box.”

I started to protest, but it wasn’t the worst idea. It would be a good distraction, if nothing else.

She mistook my silence for disagreement and added, “Now that we’re kind of looking into it again, I figure we should open it and make sure whatever’s inside is safe.”

“Good idea,” I said with a smile. “How do you propose we do it?”

Beaming, she opened her desk filing drawer and pulled out the box. After setting it on her desk, she pulled out a screwdriver and a mini crowbar. “These oughta do it.”

“I see you’re prepared,” I said with a chuckle.

“I may not have been a Girl Scout, but…”

“Did you bring those from home or run down to the lumber store?”

“Lumber store. Jed practically has his tools alphabetized. He’d notice if I took them, and I didn’t feel like explaining.” She shrugged. “Besides, it’s not a bad idea to keep tools here at the office.”

“True.”

Laughing, I rolled my chair over the hardwood floor to her desk. “Let’s try to damage it as little as possible.” I leaned over to take a better look at the small keyhole. “Maybe we can pick the lock.”

“Already tried it,” Neely Kate said, picking up the screwdriver. “Using all kinds of things. Didn’t work.”

She slid the flathead screwdriver tip into the thin crack above the keyhole and pushed down on it. The crack of splintering wood filled the room, but the lid still didn’t open.

“Let’s try the crowbar,” she said. “I got the crack wide enough to get it in there.

I did as she said, slipping the crowbar deep into the crack and then lifting. The wood cracked again. Although the lock broke, the lid stayed intact.

Neely Kate lifted it so we could both peer inside the red velvet-lined box.

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