Then Sweeney brought up the dog. “You need to let it go,” he told Mason. “The mutt’s not long for this world anyway. Outlived its usefulness, I guess you could call it. Kirby thinks it might help the widow remember if she sees her little doggie in pieces.”

Mason closed his eyes. “She doesn’t have what you’re after,” he said. “You haven’t figured that out yet?”

“Maybe not, but she was hitched to the guy who did. And that means she knows stuff that the rest of us don’t. Kirby says it’s just a matter of getting her to play along.”

“Kirby’s a tool,” Mason said. “You ever think for yourself?”

Sweeney didn’t reply, sneered at him in the rearview.

“What are you all into, anyway? What exactly did Ty Winslow steal from you?”

“That’s a need-to-know,” Sweeney said. “And you don’t.”

“Sure, but you should probably tell the Winslow woman what she’s looking for.”

“You need to forget about her, too, Burke. Matter of fact, you should just forget about Deception Cove altogether, you know? There’s nothing here for you.”

They’d reached another town, bigger than Deception Cove but not by a whole lot. The sign on the side of the highway said CLALLAM BAY. Sweeney turned off the highway, drove down the main street, pulled off into a gas station lot, and parked alongside the building.

“Won’t take but a minute,” he said, killing the engine and reaching for the door. “Don’t you go anywhere.”

Mason waited, squirming to get comfortable in his cuffs. Watched through the windshield as Sweeney disappeared inside the gas station, came out five minutes later holding a piece of paper in his hands. The deputy slid in behind the wheel, twisted back to show Mason what he had.

“This here’s a bus ticket to Seattle,” he said. “Compliments of the Makah County Sheriff’s Department. You want my advice, you buy another bus ticket soon as you hit the city, go home to Michigan, get a good drunk on, maybe get laid, and when you sober up, you can get yourself a real job to occupy your time.”

“That’s what you suggest, is it?”

Sweeney looked him over. His lip curled. “Kirby wants you gone,” he said. “By rights, I should have shot you back there, Burke. If you’re looking for something to say, maybe try for ‘thank you.’”

It was early afternoon when the bus showed up. Sweeney waited with Mason in the Explorer, the radio tuned to some new country channel, singers Mason had never heard of and was pretty sure he could live just fine without. When the bus pulled into the lot, Sweeney yawned, stretched, climbed from the SUV and opened Mason’s door, gestured Turn around, and undid the cuffs.