“I’d like to speak to the owner or editor in charge.”

“Do you have an appointment?” Still no eye contact.

“No, ma’am.”

“Then there’s no point in being here, is there, Ms. Pearce?”

“The associate editor will do. I only need five minutes.”

“I assume you don’t have an appointment with him either?”

“Correct. Please ask if I can speak to him.”

“He’s busy.”

I pointed to a small seating area. “I’ll wait.”

She tapped a manicured nail on the counter. “I’ll check but I make no promises.”

I thanked her and took a seat. Within ten minutes the door opened to a man in jeans and a black T-shirt who reminded me of a rock star minus a guitar.

“Ms. Pearce?”

I nodded, and he joined me in one of the metal chairs. “How may I help you?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for seeing me. Saturday’s paper ran an article on me. I understand freedom of the press, but I’d like to know who wrote it.”

“No idea. The article came to me via email, and when I attempted to respond to the writer, I got a mail-delivery error stating the email address was bogus.”

“What happened then?”

“I verified the contents and chose to print it.” He ran his fingers through three-inch-spiked red hair. “Do you want to write a rebuttal?”

“No, sir. The contents were factual. I simply wanted to talk to the writer.”

“Why?”

The thought of telling him I’d been threatened and run off the road nudged me as a mistake. Exactly what I wanted to avoid.

My silence must have made the man uncomfortable because he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I can’t help you. Have you experienced more difficulty because of the article?”

“Some.”

He stood. “I’m sorry. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Summary dismissal could be welcomed or scrape at a nerve, and I refused to cause a scene. I’d find the writer on my own. “No, sir. Thank you for your time.”

I left the Valleysburg Gazette with a repeated reminder that the same laws informing the public of my prison release had also given me a second chance at life.

22

DENTON

If I were to learn the truth about Shelby, even if I’d been wrong all these years, I needed to investigate who’d targeted her. Midafternoon, I drove into town to talk to Sheriff Wendall. Time to come clean with him.

We met in his office with the door closed at my request. “I need to explain why I’m in Valleysburg.”

Not a muscle moved on his face. “What’s going on, Denton? Aren’t you a math teacher who needed to recover from your wife’s death?”

“No.”

He moved his Stetson to the corner of his desk and folded his hands. “Whatcha hiding?”

“I’m FBI Special Agent Allen Denton McClure on assignment. Not a math teacher or a widower. I work out of the Houston office.” I showed him my ID and continued with my mission to find out where Shelby Pearce had stashed the missing money.