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

The dogs inside knew him well enough to remember he was the Treat Man. From his pocket he withdrew a gallon-sized plastic bag and dumped some cubed cheese on the living room carpet after giving both the dogs a brief belly rub. While he did one belly the other one waited his turn. These were a couple of well-behaved dogs. And boy, could they eat. “Achilles sends his greetings,” Beaufort told them as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He was pleased that a few lights had been left on, probably for the dogs. That meant that Brigid had intended to come home after dark. She had no idea.

First: The bedroom was the most likely place to go to make it look like the other jobs. There was the jewelry box on the dresser in there. He was careful to grab a random handful of the junk and leave one or two things that looked real. He wanted to make it look like he was not a gem expert, but only some punk. He shoved the items into the plastic bag that had held the dog’s treats. He pulled out a couple of drawers and left the contents, mostly women’s accessories here, men’s underwear there, scattered on the floor. The bedside tables yielded something better. Third down on the right contained a box with a gun. That would be taken, of course, no matter who the burglar was. He checked the chamber and found it unloaded but didn’t waste time finding the ammo. He could always get some. He put the weapon in the bag with the jewelry.

To make it more realistic he coursed through the other rooms in the house, making a little mess here and there, too. Take a butcher knife from the kitchen? That seemed authentic. No, waste of time. Overthinking it, Gloria would have said, with that new talk he was learning.

The dogs ignored him, engaged as they were in licking the cheese residue off the carpet.

With the can of red spray paint from his backpack, he made a mark on the wall leading to the master suite. It was distinctive without being too complex. A circle with two lightning strikes through the center.

Now for the real part. He went first into the most apparent room of the house, the priest’s office. Only when he got there he discovered it wasn’t his office at all. Awards hung on the wall and photographs, good God, was that one of her shaking hands with Ronald Reagan? Much, much younger, but unmistakable. This was her office, a business office where she did her private investigating work. Maybe they shared that file cabinet.