The despair I felt outside Shad’s office dissipated further after my visit to Pithy Nolan, but I still haven’t figured out how to free my father from Shad Johnson’s net of vengeance. The Double Eagle group’s sole vulnerability seems to be their involvement in the meth trade. To exploit that, I’d need the power I once wielded as a prosecutor: the authority to subpoena witnesses, make arrests, and offer plea bargains. As Henry pointed out last night, I don’t have that. Brody Royal’s vulnerability—if he has one—remains unknown. All I know at this point is that Royal has far more to lose than the Eagles (at least in terms of wealth and reputation), and he won’t hesitate to violently defend those assets. I feel certain that, through the Eagles, Brody has already threatened our family, and I’ve been pondering ways to protect us—thus freeing my father to reveal what he knows about them. But again, I’ll require official help to accomplish this.

More disturbing, I still haven’t heard from Quentin Avery, Dad’s best hope for a first-rate legal defense. With Shad moving so aggressively on the legal front, and bail revocation possible at any moment, we should already be planning Dad’s defense. My father himself is no help in this regard, of course. And though I still have no proof of physical intimacy between them, instinct tells me that I cannot trust him where Viola is concerned. Before I can ponder the significance of this, Annie looks up from her work and snaps her fingers with a loud pop.

“I need a break,” she says from the sofa. “How about some Blue Bell?”

“I don’t need ice cream,” I tell her, rubbing my thickening middle. Once December arrives, I find myself running less and less.

“Caitlin doesn’t care about your tummy.”

If only that were true … As I set aside my files on the Forks of the Road project, our home phone rings beside me. I pick up the cordless and check its LCD, which reads: CONCORDIA PARI.

“Penn Cage,” I answer.

“Mayor, this is Walker Dennis. I’ve got bad news. Real bad. Henry Sexton was just attacked outside the Beacon offices. Stabbed, and beat half to death with a baseball bat. He’s in critical condition.”

I grit my teeth to stifle a cry. “Where is he now?”

“Mercy Hospital in Ferriday.”

Exquisitely sensitive to any mood change, Annie is staring at me like a baby antelope watching its mother for a signal to flee.

“‘Half to death’ is a pretty vague term, Walker.”

“He was stabbed in the belly. He’s got a couple of broken bones, a severe concussion, scalp lacerations, a bruised heart. His mouth is busted up, and his face is so swollen I can hardly recognize him. He looks like he was in a car crash.”