“They’re not after my money. I don’t have any to spare. They’re bilking older folks of their money—and it’s escalated beyond theft. These people are . . . they’re dying.” His voice rasped.

Once again, the scissors stopped and she moved into his field of vision. Appraised him. “You’re killing people?”

“No! Of course not. Not directly. But I suspect the person who’s blackmailing me is.”

“How many people have died?”

“Two that I know of.”

“What are their names?”

“Why?”

“I have a large clientele. It’s possible I know them.”

“They aren’t in your demographic.”

She tapped her scissors against her palm. “Is there a reason you won’t tell me who they are?”

None he could pinpoint, though the request seemed odd.

Still, if he wanted her to provide information he would be wise to reciprocate.

“Fred Wilson and Mavis Templeton.”

She went back to cutting. “I don’t know them. Why don’t you contact the police?”

“I’m in too deep. I’d go to jail. What would happen to Kimberly?”

Her features hardened. “You should have thought of that before you decided to cheat on her.”

“I know.” Regret hounded him like a collection agency on a mission.

“You men are all alike. Users and abusers, one and all.” She retreated behind the chair and continued cutting.

He didn’t attempt to refute that assessment. After her experience with the male species, she had more than sufficient grounds for her opinion.

“I’m just asking if you have any idea who may have known about us and who could have had the opportunity to shoot photos.”

“Where were they taken?”

“Some at the reservoir. Others in the gazebo during our trip to that small inn on the lake.”

“Those were both secluded spots.”

“Not secluded enough.”

“Sorry, Dave.” Snip, snip, snip. “I don’t have a clue who could be behind this.”

Panic began to gurgle in his gut.

“Did you tell anyone we were going to either of those places?” A thread of desperation he couldn’t hide wove through the question. She was his last hope of getting a handle on this.

“I don’t think so, but I do talk to my clients about personal stuff on occasion. However, I would never have mentioned your name.”

This was going nowhere. Lee wasn’t able—or willing—to help him.

No surprise, in light of her almost palpable bitterness.

She finished the cut in silence, whipped off the cape, and stepped back. “You can pay up front as usual. I’d walk you out, but I need to visit the ladies’ room.”

With that, she pivoted and hurried toward the back of the shop.

Shoulders drooping, Dave trudged to the front, paid his bill, and returned to his car . . . and Lorraine Meyers’s paperwork.

If only the scheme he’d been sucked into had remained about money.

Taking the hard-earned savings of trusting seniors struggling to make ends meet on small Social Security checks and pathetic bank account interest sickened him, but they were supposed to receive monthly payments for the duration of the scheme, and half of their cash assets had been left untouched. None had ended up destitute.