BooksBarbecue
Back We Were Killers Once
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

Beaufort slapped him, not hard, just enough to show they had reached the real business part of the meeting. “It’s what went with the sketch of Hickock. Santangelo told me about you. That’s why I’m here. I want to see what else you have. I want to know why Brigid went to Florida.”

“But that’s—”

“You don’t want to spoil your honesty record.” He motioned with his gun again, this time for Carlo to get up from the chair. “I want you to show me where you kept the sketch.”

Carlo did not rise. He shook his head, and on the second shake Beaufort backhanded him again. “That would hurt a lot more if I used my gun,” he said. “Now show me.”

Carlo rose now and led the way into the library. He went to the closet there and pulled the left door to the right side. Beaufort silently cursed himself for not continuing to search the closet on the day he’d broken in. But the time was running out then as it was now.

“Whatever you do, do it very slowly,” he said, as Carlo reached for the plastic bin on the top shelf.

Carlo pulled it down and set it on the floor.

“Take the top off and dump it,” Beaufort said.

Carlo obeyed, standing the plastic top against the wall behind him, and overturning the bin. It was paper. All paper. In a heap so high some of the papers slid off the top like an avalanche. Beaufort stared at it. Carlo looked up, and Beaufort almost thought he could detect a gleam of sympathy in the man’s eyes. “I don’t think there’s anything here,” Carlo said. He sorted through the mass of material and said, as if he were an archaeologist at a dig, “This is the level where I pulled out the sketch of Hickock. Remember when I showed it to you, it was taped to a piece of cardboard, and we never even knew there was a letter behind it until I took it to be framed. See, Brigid has always had a fascination for—”

“I know, I know. Shut up and let me think,” Beaufort said. Was there enough time to make Carlo go through every single file folder and sheet of yellowing pad before someone came to the house? Could Carlo, with that claim of honesty, be making a fool of him? Trying to stall until his wife got home?

There went that damn phone again. Beaufort made Carlo go ahead of him back into the kitchen and by the time they got there it had already gone to messaging.

Brigid shouted, “IF YOU DON’T PICK UP I SWEAR I’M CALLING NINE-ONE-ONE!”

Beaufort picked up the phone. He might have said something threatening but didn’t get the chance.

“CARLO!” Brigid shouted.

“Could you stop shouting like that?” Beaufort said.