Of course, being able to live the high life every day would be preferable to stealing away on occasion to play in the fast lane—but there was no way to do that without arousing suspicion, short of claiming to be the beneficiary of a windfall bequest from a long-lost relative.

A possibility that could be worth toying with if the game got old and the offshore account grew sufficiently to sustain a different full-time lifestyle far away from rural Missouri.

BK continued to the bedroom and released the latch on the hinged painting that hid the safe. How providential that the previous owner had been paranoid enough to install such a hiding place in a house located in a quiet, middle-class neighborhood populated by folks who tended to live paycheck to paycheck.

But unless he too had been leading a secret life, he’d never used it to store the kind of treasure now hidden inside.

BK worked the combination until the lock released, then pulled open the door and removed the box inside. Carried it over to the bed. Lifted the lid and fingered the contents.

Smiled.

In many ways, this tangible proof of success was more real than the online statements for the offshore account. This, you could touch. Feel. Weigh in your hand.

Even if you couldn’t flaunt it, and no one in this rural setting would ever see it.

BK closed the lid, ran a finger along the edge, and replaced the box in the safe, completing what had become a satisfying nightly ritual.

There was no lingering tonight, however. Once the box was tucked away, there were strategies to devise and plans to make.

Eliminating Grace Reilly was the top priority, even though the threat she represented had to be minimal. No matter what had made her suspicious about Fred and Mavis and Lorraine, she couldn’t have a clue about the actual cause of death. But with her dogged personality, she’d remain on high alert—and she’d keep raising questions in the mind of the sheriff and coroner. Plus, if she kept digging, it was possible she’d stumble across some piece of information that would lead her down a path that came uncomfortably close to the truth.

That wasn’t acceptable.

As for Dave—his visit to the sheriff’s office was a bit troubling, as was the tip that had been called in about him.

However, considering how much he loved his wife, he’d be a fool to admit anything to law enforcement. The sheriff had zero proof of his involvement in the scheme. And if Dave did tell him details, he’d also have to explain why he got involved. Meaning he’d have to spill his guts to both the sheriff and Kimberly.

In light of the lengths he’d gone to thus far to safeguard his marriage, an anonymous tip wouldn’t convince him to fold. Why risk losing his wife and going to prison just to salve his conscience over the death of a few seniors who were probably going to die soon anyway?