I rebalanced myself atop the stool. “Getting back to the day of Chamberlain’s death, why did you believe this Arlo Burch if he was just another Pill Hill redneck who showed up for the reward?”

“He didn’t strike me as a bad guy. I kind of liked the dude, in fact. His girlfriend, not so much. She was one of those fiery redheads. Anyway, Burch could describe in detail what Eben Chamberlain was wearing that day on the river. It was a distinctive item of clothing, a camouflage sweater his granddaughter had knitted for him.”

“But no life jacket.”

“Not that Burch saw. The glamazon said that was bullshit. The professor—that’s what she called him—never took off his personal flotation device, she said.”

“Was the PFD in the boat?”

“No.”

“It must have washed up along the river then.”

“If it did, someone picked it up and took it home. One of the guys hoping to find the body and collect the reward. That was our working theory.”

At that moment, Rivard’s uncle Gil appeared. He was bald and bespectacled and wore the same festive red-and-green sweater. “Break’s over, Marc.”

“We’re finishing up here,” Rivard said in the commanding tone I remembered from his days as a lieutenant.

But Uncle Gil was unphased. “Fifteen minutes. No exceptions.”

“I’ll be right out!”

After Gil left, I found Rivard eyeing me with open contempt. “You must be enjoying this. Seeing how far I’ve fallen.”

“Marc—”

“I’m doing fine, let me tell you. I’ve got a new wife who’s twenty-four. She’s pregnant with our baby. Plus, I’m making more money than I ever did as a warden. I’ve still got my self-storage business. And I make a good commission here. So you can wipe that superior look off your face.”

“I don’t feel superior to you, Marc. I’m sorry if I gave that impression.” I slipped off the stool. “I appreciate your time.”

“Don’t condescend to me.”

“I’m not,” I lied.

“You’ve always been an asshole, Bowditch.”

Rivard dogged my heels into the festive showroom. No new customers had come in since the old guy left. Gil was busy trying to deduce which dead bulb on a string of Christmas lights needed to be replaced before the strand would glow again.

Rivard managed to get ahead of me so that he stood in the door, literally blocking my way. The contrast between his hostile expression and his comic sweater couldn’t have been more pronounced.

“How much time do you spend looking over your shoulder?”

The question brought me up short. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve made a lot of enemies over your career.”

I shrugged. “Most of them are in prison—or dead.”

“But not all of them. And even the dead ones have brothers and sons eager for payback.”