It always struck her as odd how the rest of the world went around the catastrophes of the people in it, like water parting around boulders in a river and running on as if it didn’t matter. That was life. It just kept going, whether any one person wanted it to or not.

The Oak Knoll Summer Festival of Music was going to go on as planned without anyone caring that Roland Ballencoa had come to live in their midst, or that Lauren Lawton was struggling with the need to do something about that.

She set the brochure aside and went on to the next piece of mail, a plain ivory envelope with no address and no stamp.

Her heart began to pound. No address, no stamp.

Goose bumps prickled her skin.

The flap of the envelope was stuck shut just at its very point. She popped it free with a flick of her thumb, pulled the card from it, and read the single typed line.

Did you miss me?

Chapter 29

29

Mendez owned a small Spanish-style house less than a mile from Roland Ballencoa as the crow flew. The neighborhood, built mostly in the forties and fifties, was quiet and safe. His neighbors were a mix of young families and empty nesters. He knew most of them by name.

He had fixed the place up himself—and with the help of buddies and brothers-in-law—knocking down walls, remodeling the kitchen and bathrooms. The back door led out to a small walled courtyard garden with a fountain gurgling in one corner.

He had built a covered patio on the back side of his single-car garage for a workout area, and hung both his speed bag and heavy bag from a sturdy beam along with a chin-up bar bolted between a pair of posts.

He worked at the speed bag now, falling into the mesmerizing rhythm where his fists stroked the bag and his mind floated, almost as if in meditation. A fine sheen of sweat coated his bare chest as he channeled his anger and frustration into the focused energy needed to work the bag. The sweat beaded and ran down between his shoulder blades to pool in the shallow dip at the small of his back and soak into the back of his shorts.

He had begun the day doing the same thing. Too agitated to sleep, he had worked the speed bag and gone for a run. Now he would do the same thing to burn off his temper.

Two days without pay. Son of a bitch.

Two days without pay. His own damn fault.

Two days without pay. He would put them to good use.

He had spoken to Vince Leone on the phone about meeting to discuss Ballencoa. Vince was due back in town that night, but had put him off, wanting to spend the evening with Anne and the kids. Vince was very strict about his time with his family.