“After all these years?”

“I worked the case as a rookie agent when she was arrested for murder. The money came from the Stovers’ nonprofit account.”

He shook his head. “I don’t have a thing to give you. She’s been here a week, and someone is trying to run her off. Is it you?”

Second person to ask me that. “Not my style. But Randy Hughes might be behind it.”

“Nah. He wants her out of Edie’s life. Claims she made a mistake in renting Shelby a cabin.”

“Do you think he’d confess his part?”

“He’s not behind the crimes against Shelby. Hughes can be a good cop.”

“Can be?”

“He’s wading through a few tough times.”

The sheriff wasn’t going to relay anything personal to me. I couldn’t blame him when I’d lied about my FBI position. “How many incidents do you know about?”

Sheriff Wendall frowned. “Three—the shot fired into Edie’s tire, the note shoved under Shelby’s cabin door, and the attempt to run her off the road. No leads.”

“There’s more. Yesterday she accused me of making threatening calls. I have no idea what was said to her. Thought I’d ask you to check her phone records.”

“Need a warrant.”

“Not if she gave you permission.”

“And why would she?” The sheriff raised an eyebrow.

“I told you she’d received threatening calls, and they weren’t from me.”

“Why did she suspect you?”

I told him about Shelby discovering my real identity. “She’s not happy with me right now. The other thing . . .” I produced the suicide-sympathy card from inside my jacket and told him how I came by it.

He took the card and snorted. “Let me get this right. You broke into her cabin, and while you’re there, someone slides this under the door. You take out after ’em, but you lose the trail and never see the person’s face.”

“Right.” Put that way, my actions sounded worse than I intended. “Take a look at the card’s contents.” I’d just confessed to breaking and entering, and the sheriff had valid reasons to arrest me.

He read the card and eyed me. “Someone is messin’ with her head.”

“Her past indicates a propensity to depression.”

The sheriff stood and arched his shoulders. He might be small in stature, but his countenance emitted power. “Are you justifying a crime by stating you stole the card to protect her from herself?”

“Guess so.”

“Why? Looks to me like you’d be the agent on record if she spilled her guts or if she killed herself, you’d have no money trail.”

“Probably both.”

“Our line of work means gathering evidence, but this is low. Unethical.”

I rubbed my palm on the side of my pants. “I’m beginning to think she has no knowledge of the money.”

“That means a lot of your years down the drain. What about your gaining access to her cabin? What’s the motivation there?”

“None. I’m guilty.”

He sat and laid the card between us. “What do you expect to accomplish by coming to my office?”