“You’ve got a lot of nerve.” Bo gazed past the visitor to the couch, where Lee Roy lay chewing on a massive bone. “Thanks for the warning, boy.”

“He’s a fine dog, Bo. I’ve been working on him for several weeks.”

“What?”

“Around this time each night, after your assistant leaves for the day but while you’re still in the back, I’ve been peeking my head in the door and giving him a few treats. Usually he barks a couple times and then settles down. Something I doubt you’d even pay attention to or remember. Tonight, I gave him a rawhide bone, too, and he didn’t make a sound.”

“He should be barking like there’s no tomorrow,” Bo said, shaking his head at Lee Roy, who continued to chomp away, oblivious to his master’s irritation.

Ennis’s mouth curved into a tiny grin. “You know, dogs . . . especially bulldogs . . . have fantastic instincts. Your boy here knows that I mean you and him no harm.” He paused. “We need to talk, Bo.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“Then I’ll talk and you listen.”

Bo opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t believe that Ennis Petrie, the former sheriff who had been convicted of conspiracy to commit the murder of Roosevelt Haynes in 1966, was actually standing in his office. “Then talk,” he said.

“Are you aware you’re being followed?”

Bo snorted. “Yeah. Very aware. Gray sedan and a burgundy pickup.” He paused. “They’ve been keeping their distance, and with good reason.” Bo tapped the pocket of his trousers, where he kept his Glock. “I don’t bring knives to gunfights.” Bo stepped toward the former sheriff, keeping his hand on his pocket with the pistol. “Now, why are you here?”

Ennis rubbed his chin and held out his hand in a stop gesture. “I’ll tell you in a second, but first let me ask you a question. You know who visited me the most when I was in prison?”

“I wouldn’t have thought you had any visitors. A scum like you.”

“I had one. A repeat customer.” He scratched his neck. “Finnegan Pusser.”

Bo felt his stomach clench. “That so?”

Ennis nodded. “It is. Michael Zannick’s right-hand man. I think they might be half brothers or something.”

Bo gritted his teeth. He was past due to hear something back from his private eye about Zannick, and it irritated him to be learning this information from Ennis Petrie. “What did Zannick and Finn want with you?”

“In return for pushing Sack Glover to expedite my parole, I gave them information.”

“What kind of . . . information?”

“Dirt,” he said, and his face curved into a sheepish grin. “Dirt on a few men in Giles County.”

“And you delivered?”

“I was the sheriff for over twenty years. You learn a lot of things about a lot of people.”