“You want to know what tipped me first that something just didn’t fit right? And this was even before I found out Jeremy couldn’t drive a stick to save his life. That bullshit story that you left the keys in the car. Even after you found a drunk Jeremy and Sian McFadden sitting in it, trying to start it. That, as they say, beggared belief. You initially left your keys in the ashtray. Okay, I can buy that, since the car was right out front of your house, and the house is set way back from the road, so the risk of theft is minimal. But then Jeremy finds the key, tries to start the beast. You intercede. Then we’re supposed to believe you still left the keys in the car. And you love that car. Who wouldn’t?”

I lowered my voice conspiratorially, leaned in. “I have to be honest here. When I called about the car, like I was interested in buying it? I’m not. I’m sorry if I got your hopes up.”

I sat back up. “Anyway, I believe you held onto the keys. So, if you had ’em, stands to reason that when that car started up, you were behind the wheel.” I studied his face, looking for a reaction. “Am I boring you?” I asked.

Sylvie showed up with two china mugs of coffee.

“Oh, this is great,” I said. “I don’t know when I’ve needed a coffee more. There you go, Galen.”

We each had our mugs in front of us.

“Cream and sugar’s right there,” Sylvie said, pointing to the far end of the table to the chrome holder that also contained ketchup and mustard, salt and pepper.

“Allow me,” I said, reaching for the glass jar of sugar and a small metal jug of cream.

“Not really thirsty,” Broadhurst said.

“Suit yourself.” I took a sip of coffee and smiled. “Thanks, Sylvie. It’s just what the doctor ordered.”

“You’re so full of it,” she said. “If you boys get hungry, let me know. We got a pancake special.”

“Ooohh, let me think about that,” I said.

Sylvie understood that she was being dismissed, and left.

“So, where were we?” I said to Broadhurst. “You got in the car. You drove it. You ran down Sian McFadden. But I guess I’m getting ahead of myself. How’m I doing so far?”

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Ah, he speaks,” I said. “I’ve come to do you a favor. I’ve already done you a solid.”

“What’s that?”

“Your friend Gregor Kiln.”

Broadhurst blinked. “I don’t know—”

I held up a hand. “Please. Don’t embarrass yourself. And you didn’t let me finish. I’ve got good news.”

Broadhurst eyed me like a mouse waiting to hear the cat’s deal. “What?”

“Kiln’s dead. I killed him.”

Broadhurst swallowed.