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Back We Were Killers Once Save as PDF
Chapters (65)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty–one
  25. Twenty–two
  26. Twenty–three
  27. Twenty–four
  28. Twenty–five
  29. Twenty–six
  30. Twenty–seven
  31. Twenty–eight
  32. Twenty–nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty–one
  35. Thirty–two
  36. Thirty–three
  37. Thirty–four
  38. Thirty–five
  39. Thirty–six
  40. Thirty–seven
  41. Thirty–eight
  42. Thirty–nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty–one
  45. Forty–two
  46. Forty–three
  47. Forty–four
  48. Forty–five
  49. Forty–six
  50. Forty–seven
  51. Forty–eight
  52. Forty–nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty–one
  55. Fifty–two
  56. Fifty–three
  57. Fifty–four
  58. Fifty–five
  59. Fifty–six
  60. Fifty–seven
  61. Author’s Note
  62. Acknowledgments
  63. Also by Becky Masterman
  64. About the Author
  65. Newsletter Sign-up

“I don’t think I can reprogram it easily. Would you like me to disengage it altogether?”

Nice man. I said yes. Visitors could knock. Carlo wouldn’t mind. Neither of us was very social, and so few people came to the house he probably wouldn’t even notice. That made me think, who, besides the occasional salesperson or evangelist, had rung the bell in the past six months? And who had made nice with the pugs?

I started to link together all the little points of the past couple of weeks like a dot-to-dot picture. Showing up at the back fence. Living within walking distance. Being so helpful with moving the telescope. Happening to see Carlo at Bashas’. Getting an invitation to dinner. Not mentioning the woman he lived with, let alone asking if she could join him. Lying about where he was born or lying about where his family went to church. Lying about being a jockey. Ingratiating himself with the pugs.

I got down on the floor, which was the signal for Al and Peg to rush me. I sniffed them as if I could detect cheese on their breath, silly, I know. They both tried to French my nose.

“What do you know, pups?” I asked them. “Come on, talk to me.”

They remained inscrutable. As I belly-rubbed them simultaneously, one on each side, I wondered what Jeremiah Beaufort wanted from me. Was it revenge? Or was it something I had in my files that could incriminate him for something far greater than the risk of getting caught for burglary? Was that his goal, to search the house? And in order to do so without anyone around, would he have set up the whole charade of making it look like gang members were breaking into neighborhood homes for the sole purpose of finding something in ours? If so, what was that thing he was looking for?

Thirty–two

Max agreed to meet me at Carlota’s, which up in Catalina was about as far as you could get from Tucson proper without leaving the county. But we didn’t meet on Taco Tuesday when the place was packed. And not even at lunchtime. Three in the afternoon found the restaurant empty, and even so we sat at a table in the back corner behind a pillar with some vines painted on it. He showed no surprise when I said, “I know who committed the burglaries.”

“Who?”

“This man.” I put the most recent mug shot on the table. “He’s close to seventy now, but this was him about thirty years ago. He goes by the name of Jerry Nolan, but his real name is Jeremiah Beaufort.”

Max shook his head. “I can’t believe what you’re telling me. A seventy-year-old man broke into three houses and painted gang signs?”

“I know, improbable. But he’s been stalking us. And maybe worse.”

“Stalking. Give me more.”