“What do you need?”

“I thought I should tell you they were painting over at the Beach Shack, and knocked a whole gallon of paint off the ladder. It’s splattered over some of Jewels of the Sea, and on Cheryl Riggs as she was out there washing the display window. She’s pretty mad, Chief.”

“Can you handle it?”

“Yeah, well, I was walking to work when it happened, so I did what I could. Paint’s all over the sidewalk, too. But Ms. Riggs wants you to come down there.”

“Tell her I’ll be down, but I have to take care of something first.”

“Sure thing.”

“Do it in person, Cecil. Block off the sidewalk so people don’t end up walking through wet paint. And have Donna contact village maintenance to see about getting it off the sidewalk.”

“Yes, sir, Chief.”

“And close the door, Cecil.”

Spilled paint, angry shopkeepers had to be dealt with, Reed thought. But they’d just have to wait.

With his phone, he took pictures of both sides of the envelope, of the front, inside, back of the card. Another of the lock of hair.

Then he dug Xavier’s card out of his drawer, made the call.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Seleena surfaced and moaned. A terrible hangover, she thought, groggy and queasy. Her head pounded, her eyes throbbed, her throat felt sandpapered, her stomach roiled.

How many drinks had she …

And she remembered.

She shot awake with a jolt, and light ice-picked into her eyes. When she tried to lift her hands to shield them, she felt the bite of restraints.

She let out a wild, crazed scream.

“Boy, you wake up cranky.” Sipping coffee from a mug, Patricia walked into view. “You probably feel pretty rough, and screaming’s just going to make you feel worse. Nobody’s going to hear you, so do yourself a favor.”

“Where are we? Why are you doing this? God, don’t kill me.”

“Where we are is deep in the north woods. I already told you why—I want to tell my story. If I was going to kill you, you’d be dead. Relax.”

She offered a glass with a straw. “Just water. I need you awake and ready to go. Sorry about the needle in the neck, but I wasn’t sure I could trust you. It’s better this way, for both of us.”

Her body quaked as she looked into Patricia’s eyes. Her bladder threatened to release. “You don’t have to do this. I told you I wouldn’t call the police.”

“Yes, I trusted that part. You want the story, so you wouldn’t start off calling the cops. But it’s still better this way.” With a roll of her eyes, Patricia used the straw and sucked down some water. “See? Just H-two-O.”

Desperate, Seleena accepted, drained the glass.

“Can’t make you a macchiato—that’s your coffee drink, right? But I bet you’d like some coffee, get your brain up and running.”

“Yes. Please.”

“Let me lay out some ground rules.”

“First? I’m sorry. I need a bathroom.”

“Understandable, but hold your water, Seleena. You’d better hear the rules first, so we don’t have a spat. I’ll release you, and you use the facilities.” Patricia pointed. “I took the door off. Hey, we’re both girls, right? Then you’ll come back, sit. I’m going to put restraints back on your left hand, your ankles, but I’ll leave your right hand free so you can drink your coffee, eat a yogurt bar—keep up your strength. If you try anything, I’ll start by breaking your fingers. I won’t kill you—we need each other—but I will hurt you.”

“I understand.”

“Great.”

When Patricia pulled out clippers—long, sharp points—Seleena cringed back.

“For cutting the plastic. I’ve got plenty more zip ties.”

She snipped them off, stepped back, took the gun out of her belt holster. “Go on and pee.”

Seleena’s legs wobbled when she pushed to her feet.

“The sedative—you’re just a little shaky yet. Take your time. We’ve got plenty.”

“People will look for me.”

“Maybe. I sent your assistant a text from your phone, letting her know you got a hot tip and you’d be out of town for a day or two. But that may not fly for long.”

“A day or two.” Struggling to take in details—a cabin, she realized, with the shades pulled down. Rough, rustic furniture, no sounds of traffic. No sounds.

“It won’t take us longer than that. Then you’ll have your big story.”

“And you’ll let me go.” Blocking embarrassment, Seleena lifted her skirt, did what she had to do.

“Why wouldn’t I? That’s the deal. I tell you my story, you get it out there. I want it out there. I want people to listen to me.”

“You’re going to turn yourself in?”

“Well, I did lie about that.” Patricia grinned. “And the business about killing myself. But look.”

She gestured.

“I’ve got the tripod, a professional video camera, the lights, the works. Consider this our on-location studio. We’ll sit here. You can ask questions. I’ll talk. I’ll lay it all out. That’s what I want. It’s what you want.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Seleena spotted her purse. Inside her purse was a gun. “I would have kept all this confidential. You don’t have to strap me to the chair.”

“Think about this. Some of what I’m going to tell you is, well, we’ll say graphic. You might get upset, or scared. You might think: Oh no! She’s going to kill me, too, and try to run or pull something. Like, right now you’re wondering if you can get to the cute pink Glock you had in your purse. Then? Ouch. Broken fingers.”

She reached back, drew the gun out from where she’d tucked it into the back of her belt. Held it up.

“So you’d have all pain with no gain. I’m saving you from that.” She smiled, all charm. Then her lips peeled back. “Sit the fuck down, or instead of breaking a finger, I’ll shoot you in the foot with your own girlie gun.”

“I’m going to cooperate.” Keeping her eyes direct, her voice calm, Seleena walked back to the chair. “I want to hear your story.”

“You will.” Patricia holstered her own gun—an all-business Sig—kept the Glock pointed at Seleena. The pink was growing on her.

She picked up some zip ties, tossed them onto Seleena’s lap. “Do your ankles to the legs of the chair. Then your left hand to the left arm.

“We’ll have some coffee, a little bite to eat, and talk about how we’ll set this up. Your makeup’s faded off and smeared, and your hair’s a wreck. But don’t worry, I’ll fix you up. I’m good at hair and makeup, trust me.”

*

While Patricia made coffee, Reed dealt with the incident of the paint, calmed the shopkeepers, worked things out with the clumsy painter—barely out of his teens and terrified he’d lose his job or get arrested.

On the walk back with his canine deputy, Barney started to squat on the sidewalk.

“Don’t you do it!” Risking his jeans, Reed grabbed the dog up, quickened his pace. Barney shook, lapped nervously at Reed’s chin.

“You just hold that in. Just hold it.”

He rushed into the station, startling Donna and the human deputies. “I need an evidence bag. Fast!”

Matty leaped up with one. “What is it?”

“Town Ordinance 38-B.”

Matty rolled her eyes as Reed ran back out. “Scoop the poop,” she told Cecil.

Reed set Barney down on the grass behind the station.

“Now you can go.”

Since the dog looked anxious and bewildered, Reed walked him back and forth on the grass.

“She’s pissed. She didn’t kill me, and worse yet, I put a hole in her somewhere. And because of that she had to run. Shot her own grandmother right off her walker. Imagine that.”

Barney sniffed dubiously at the grass.

“So she didn’t inherit that big house. Worth an easy million and change right there. And everything in it? A lot more change. Add frozen bank accounts. She’d already skimmed plenty there, but there was plenty more.

“Yeah, I cost her, and that burns her psycho ass. Psycho,” he repeated, looking across to shops, eateries, some with apartments above them that he knew the owners rented out to summer workers.

“That’s a big part of it. She always got her way before me. Her brother screwed things up, but he’s her brother, and blood’s thicker, right? But before me, she hit all her targets. A hundred percent success rate, and she was just getting started.”

Rolling it around in his head, he stopped walking. “I didn’t just knock down her batting average, right? I cost her a fricking fortune she, in her psycho brain, figured she’d earned. It’s like I stole it from her. And I hurt her. I made her bleed. She’s been breaking down since, that’s what’s happening.”

He thought back, the look on her face when he’d fired at her—the shock and fear. More, he thought, the sound of her voice as she’d screamed at him, and ran.

Insult and tears as much as fury and fear.

“I always knew she’d be pissed, and want another try at me. But sending the card? She wants to make sure I don’t forget her. She wants to make me feel what she felt, that shock, that fear. But that’s a mistake. Once you make a mistake, it’s easier to make the next.”