Jack followed him through the museum and down a dark hallway, where he unlocked another set of doors. “These are climate-controlled rooms to better preserve our artifacts.”

Dr. Bellinger ushered Jack through the door. “You’ll find a display case of weapons over there. I still don’t understand why you would want to see them.”

“Could you turn on more light, please?”

Dr. Bellinger continued to dramatize his displeasure but flipped on all the lights, including the case lights.

Jack perused the display of old weapons—tomahawks and spearheads and knives—some not necessarily what he would consider ancient. But they were artifacts, the museum claimed.

“This one.” Jack pointed at one of the knives.

Dr. Bellinger pursed his lips as he cleared his throat. Then he adjusted his spectacles and leaned in for a closer look. “What about it?”

Jack pulled out a folded piece of paper—the picture the deputy coroner had printed off for him. He lowered it closer to the knife. “Does this broken-off tip look like it would complete this knife?”

SIXTEEN

Chance stood under a dark canopy that protected him from the rain and watched the bar across the street.

After the cab left him, he’d limped along until he found one of the motels with individual cabins at the edge of the forest. His leg needed rest after that, but his mind needed rest too.

So he waited.

All the pain and hard work it had taken to start over and become a new person had brought him back to this one small county that he’d left behind. Had been forced to leave years ago—what seemed like a lifetime now.

Blevins strolled across the street and entered the bar.

Showtime.

Chance shoved from the wall, yanked his cap a little lower, and crossed the street for his impromptu meeting. Just a couple of guys having a few drinks in the dark corner of a western honky-tonk. No, wait. Not anymore. Now it featured Star Wars stuff. Maybe one of the old Star Wars actors had bought a ranch near town. Chance didn’t know and didn’t care, but he was surprised to see the bar was crowded. And glad too. Nobody would pay them any attention.

Today, he called the number on that strip of paper he’d found, and the guy answered. Didn’t give his name. The instant the man said hello, Chance knew who he was. That face he’d wished for earlier in the day when he’d stood in the building at the small airstrip had finally popped into his head.

Chance had taken up residence under the awning two hours ago, mostly because it had taken him all day to walk back and rest his aching leg. And then he’d had to work up the fortitude to walk into town. No more cabs for him on this side of his nightmare.