“But you did.”

“I did what?”

“Have something to do with the guy, like Graham said.”

“I did, yes.”

“And are you in trouble?”

“Speak softer, Dad.”

“Are you in any trouble? Graham said you might be.”

If Graham, a successful money manager, worked as hard at keeping Dennis away from recurrent fiscal ruin as he did pointing out the mistakes Lou was forever making in his life, there might have been significantly less red ink in the family.

“I’ll give him a call later on so maybe he’ll stop speculating,” Lou said.

He wondered if the younger Welcome had reasoned out that Lou’s job might be on the line as well … or worse.

“Your brother’s smart,” Dennis understated. “He figures things out.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So?”

“So, I don’t know. I’m still trying to piece it all together.”

Lou could sense the old man to his right straining to listen in. He turned his back a few more inches and lowered his voice even further. If he had known Dennis was going to be in a chatty mood, he would have insisted on a booth. He should have been able to predict it. The violence surrounding the Meacham case was the sort of thing that utterly fascinated his father—and most other people, for that matter.

“He fall off the wagon?” Dennis asked.

“Nope. That much I’m sure of.”

“Drugs?”

“You know I consider drugs and alcohol flip sides of the same coin.”

“In that case, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“I agree with you there, Pop.”

“No warning?”

“Not that I can find.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Dennis reiterated. “Usually a guy goes ballistic and kills a bunch of people, then folks start coming out of the woodwork to say how they knew he was unstable, a loner, distant, that sort of thing.”

“So far none of that,” Lou said.

“Or else, if it’s a serial killer, they all say how he was just the nicest guy in the world, and always had a cheerful word for everyone, and that they can’t figure out how two dozen bodies got buried in his backyard without anyone suspecting a thing.”

Their drinks arrived. Dennis sipped his apprehensively.

“I don’t generally like any excuses for Coke,” he said, “but this one’s pretty good.”

“I’m glad they could please you. You should let the waitress know.”

“I don’t think she likes me.”

“Nonsense. Your charm is winning her over. I can tell.”

“So, why are you out here?”

“Actually, I drove out to talk with the chief of police. He set me up to meet with one of the witnesses.”

“That was nice of him.”

“I suppose. Dad, there’s something really strange going on around Kings Ridge.”