Sheriff Wendall walked to the door. “Is there anything here in the cabin or stashed on the property that could be used against you or is of value to someone else?”

“Nothing.”

“I want to be informed of everything, no matter how insignificant it seems. But not on this phone.”

“Yes, sir.” Fear rattled my bones. Intuition told me if I left Valleysburg, the problems would stalk me. Staying here threatened those whom I’d grown to cherish, but according to the threats, I was running short on time. At what point would the caller run out of patience?

A plan swept through my mind . . .

24

After Sheriff Wendall left, weariness settled around me, and hopelessness invited my old enemy called despair to come calling. The person or persons urging me to commit suicide had to stop before depression sent me spiraling. How could I react in a way that would take the satisfaction out of the stalker’s game? An idea from earlier in the evening made more sense. The details would take time . . .

Someone pounded on my door. I froze, and a thousand scenarios bombarded my mind.

“Shelby, it’s Denton. Can we talk?”

I made my way to the door and leaned my head against it. “Please, I’ve had enough for one day. Just leave me alone.”

“I get it. I’m a jerk. Don’t blame you at all. Except I’m asking if you will hear me out. Have I been wrong all these years?”

“Ya think?” But a chilling fear left me pondering if his revelation focused on the money, Travis’s murder, or another ploy.

“I won’t stay long.”

“Denton, I’m tired, furious, and my shift starts at 5:45 in the morning.”

“Ten minutes, please. The truth is, I’ve been involved with this mess almost as long as you have, and in a week’s time, you’ve shaken my convictions. Yes, I lied to you, but I haven’t sent you threatening calls.”

“Any of your speech include an apology?” I longed to hear him clomp down the porch steps.

“I admitted I was a jerk, and I’m sorry. I’d like to start all over as friends.”

“There’s that friends pitch again. Why?” I hesitated at Denton’s second plea to hear him out. Dare I give him the grace he hadn’t shown me? I thought about Mrs. Emory . . . Losing my temper appealed to justice and fairness but not my commitment to faith. As much as I detested my own actions to yield to his request, the metal doorknob twisted in my hand. “All right. Ten minutes.”

“Thank you.” Once inside, he sat on my sofa, and I slipped into the chair opposite him. A few smile lines fanned out from his brown eyes. “I’ll start at the beginning . . . with honesty.”

“That’s one minute for the past fifteen years, not ten.”

He pressed his lips together, no more amused than I. “You remember me as an agent who worked the original case. Your arrest was my first opportunity to investigate a major crime, not the murder charges but the theft. The police requested FBI assistance, and my partner and I were assigned. I desperately wanted to prove myself to the FBI. Instead, I failed and blamed you. My pride took a beating. My dad and two brothers were highly decorated police officers, and earning their approval meant everything to me.”