The last house belonged to Arlo Burch. Red candles glowed in its windows, but they looked less like Christmas decorations than lamps in a brothel. The Rubicon was gone—maybe the mixologist really had left for work—but the two Monte Carlos remained.

As my headlights lit up the trailer, the door opened, and the twins stepped onto the porch. Someone had called or texted to them I was coming. Tiff gave me both middle fingers. Tori did something more disconcerting: She blew a kiss.

Now that I’d seen the entire development, a question loomed in my mind.

Why was Burch’s place the biggest, grandest place on the hill?

The reward Arlo had collected wouldn’t have paid for this architectural showplace or the motor toys displayed in its yard. From the outset, I had assumed that drug money must have funded this monstrosity. Lots of bartenders had a sideline selling narcotics.

But Arlo was too dumb to run a successful criminal enterprise. The Dillon twins definitely had the smarts for that line of work, and it was possible they were setting Burch up as a potential fall guy if the DEA ever paid a midnight visit to Pill Hill.

The theory held up—but it felt incomplete.

Then, as I was nearing the end of the loop road, I passed the trail where Felice had led me to the overlook. And I remembered the lonely figure of Bruce Jewett standing in the dusk. And I saw clearly what I had missed all day. I stopped short and put the Jeep into park.

Shadow whined in his crate. He must have believed me when I said we were heading home. Here I was delaying again.

I grabbed my phone and brought up my list of recent calls. I hit the top name.

“Mike?” said Stacey.

There was no missing the surprise in her voice, or the delight.

My words came out in a cascade. “I got your message about Christmas, but that’s not why I’m calling. I’m working on a case and need to bounce something off you.”

“Off me?”

“If you had dirt on someone and wanted to squeeze money out of them, what would you do?”

She’d always had a musical laugh. “You have a question about committing extortion, and I’m the first person who came to mind?”

“I know this must sound strange.”

“No, it sounds like you. But wouldn’t Dani be the better person to ask? She’s the state trooper.”

“But you understand how my mind works, Stace.”

“Oh.”

She paused, probably fighting the urge to ask why I’d doubted Dani’s ability to understand my thought process. But part of knowing how my mind worked was knowing not to ask me that question.