Ephraim licked his lips nervously. “The original?” he asked carefully.

“The original,” the doctor confirmed, his tone smug. “I made the copy for her. Before you took the original, obviously.”

Ephraim’s blood ran cold. This man knew too much. “You’re lying.”

“I think you know that I’m not.” Burkett spoke calmly. Confidently.

Ephraim wanted to break his fucking neck. “Why did she make a copy?”

“Because she was becoming forgetful and was afraid she’d lose the original. I didn’t realize at the time that the key had belonged to you.”

“Get to the fucking point,” Ephraim growled. “What do you want?” Because if his mother had given the copy to Mercy, there was nothing the doctor could do to him that was worse than what Mercy could do.

“My goodness. No need to be so hostile. The point is, I made more than one copy.”

Shit. Shit, damn, and fuck. Ephraim took a deep breath, forced his voice to be as calm as Burkett’s as he adjusted his plans to include silencing this doctor who knew too much. “Still not making a point, Doc.”

“My point is that now I realize that the original key belonged to you, I thought you might like the other copy I made.”

A shiver of relief loosened some of Ephraim’s dread. This would be about money, then. “What do you want?”

“I think that’s a conversation best had in person. When can I expect you?”

When can I expect you? Seriously? Could Burkett truly believe that Ephraim would negotiate with him? Didn’t he watch the goddamn news? Was the man truly that stupid? Did he think Ephraim was that stupid?

Not that it mattered what Burkett thought. It also didn’t matter if Burkett really had a key to his safe-deposit box or not. Nor did it matter if Ephraim got the damn key back. It only mattered that Burkett wasn’t allowed to use it or tell anyone else about it. And, should the good doctor die tonight, Ephraim would have accomplished both goals.

Santa Rosa was only a few hours away. “I’ll be by your house by ten at the latest.” With my gun loaded and ready to shoot your fucking head off.

“See you then, Harry.”

TWENTY-SIX

GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

TUESDAY, APRIL 18, 7:05 P.M.

DJ was talking about me?” Mercy asked. It wasn’t unexpected after their trip to Snowbush, but hearing Amos confirm it was disconcerting.

“It was likely a call from the owner of the Snowbush general store,” Molina told them. “The time frame matches up to the call you saw the man make after you all left the store on Monday.”

“He was telling DJ that I was in the store,” Mercy said. “So it was DJ who killed Ginger and the store owner. And his wife?”

Molina shrugged. “Maybe. We don’t have direct evidence yet, but the facts line up to give us a helluva lot of circumstantial evidence. Mr. Terrill has accurately described Ginger’s house as their first stop after leaving the compound.”