“Grover said you were coming to town, but I didn’t think you’d be here this fast. Did you hear?”

“That Stanley Grant was shot and is in critical condition after being released on bail? Yes. Can we talk in your office?”

“I don’t know that this is a good time. I was trying to find out what hospital he’s at so I can see him. Check on his sister—oh, God, what if she doesn’t know?”

“She was there. Lucky to be alive, as she was only a few feet from him and he was shot three times.”

Mitch paled. “How do you know that?”

She didn’t want him to know that she was working with Sean, not yet. She didn’t know why she thought Mitch was acting suspicious, but first, he was planning to visit the man who allegedly killed his ex-wife and business partner, and second, he was one of two people that same business partner called when he learned he’d been granted bail. Something didn’t add up, but she didn’t have enough information to draw any conclusions.

Though Mitch didn’t specifically invite her inside and he hadn’t moved from the doorway, she brushed past him and into his office. He followed her. She glanced around his modest space. Everything was placed just so and the colors were cool and inviting: gray hues with dark mahogany furniture. The books on the shelves appeared to be for show, because who in a land development office would read Shakespeare’s Complete Works? Crisp black-and-white photographs of land—wide-open spaces, horses, cattle—decorated the pale-gray walls.

“Can I get you something?” Mitch asked. “Coffee? Water?”

“I’m good, thank you.” Mitch seemed anything but comfortable. It could be because of the stress of the last two months, or the fact that she was a crime reporter and some people were nervous around reporters. She could look at him on the one hand as the grieving ex-husband of his business partner, stunned that his best friend from college had killed her in the heat of the moment after embezzling from the company. Or she could look at him on the other hand as being edgy because he had a secret, a sliver of guilt that he knew something more about Stanley’s confession—or Victoria’s murder—than he wanted anyone to know.

It might mean nothing. It might mean everything. Making people uncomfortable was one of the best ways to dig out the truth.

She smiled and sat on the chair across from his desk and motioned for him to sit back down.

She made a point to look around the office again and not say anything. Silence made innocent people uncomfortable but guilty people nervous.

“So, um, Max, Grover said you were in town to cover Stan’s trial.”

“No,” she said.

He looked confused. “What? You’re not?”