“Have you seen him in the last few days?”

“Oh yes. He stopped by the real estate office right afterward with the news, really angry and irrational.”

“He blamed Denton and me?”

“Exactly.” Edie glanced at her watch. “One more thing. I told him until he got his act together, not to come near me, the kids, or my tenants. I realize he has no one to talk to, but I pray this pushes him into seeking professional help.”

“I’ll pray for him too.” I paused. “Edie, those who once chose violent means will return to the same behavior if they aren’t stopped or learn other means to control their behavior.”

She studied me, and I assumed she thought about my past. “Your faith pulled you through.”

“Yes. It’s all I have.” Someday I’d tell her about my journaling. “I asked the sheriff to return the bicycle.”

“You walked to work?”

“I found it refreshing.”

“You won’t in another two months when the temps are a hundred in the shade. I’ll get you a bike.”

“Please. It’s important for me to be self-sufficient.”

“What about getting groceries and things?”

I touched her arm. “I’ll be fine, and I’ll have another bicycle as soon as I’m financially squared away.” I stood to take my station behind the bakery counter.

“Which means you’ll either walk or pedal to and from the café in suffocating heat.” She inhaled deeply. “Randy could be behind your threats, but I guess you’ve discussed the same thing with the sheriff. He’s lost his temper too many times for me to doubt his capability of shooting my tire and whatever else. Be careful, my friend.”

“I’ve learned how to survive. But circumstances are getting harder. Some days I just don’t want to go on.”

She paled, but it was the response I needed to keep her safe.

29

DENTON

Last night I dreamed I’d missed something vital about Shelby. No idea if the “something” meant good or bad for her. But I couldn’t leave it alone. At least I didn’t have a stack of paperwork and other cases in my way this time.

Since talking to Shelby before sunup, I fed Big Red, drank a pot of coffee, inhaled bacon and toast, and went over the videos and photos of the trial again.

The sound of a car engine alerted me to a visitor. Randy Hughes slammed the door of his dark-green pickup, and I closed my laptop. He pulled back his shoulders and marched toward my front door. My mind stepped back to my pawpaw’s banty rooster that took out after everyone, sorta how Randy looked strutting his stuff toward the cabin. His boots pounded on the steps and porch, shaking the dishes in my cabinet.

I opened the door before he knocked. “Hey, Randy. What’s going on?”

“Occurred to me this morning you had a hand in getting me fired.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“You might have taken a few things I said seriously and pulled rank with your FBI buds.”