10

I tried three of the rooms before I understood what had happened. Or at least before I felt comfortable considering my theory of what had happened.

In the fourth room, which consisted of local history, true crime, and westerns, I found a window partially ajar. I raised it and leaned out, noting that the shrubs just below the windowsill had been mangled. I squinted past the shrubs, looking for a footprint in the small patch of soil, but didn’t see anything. Probably because whoever had climbed out had made the short leap to the concrete after getting tangled briefly in the shrubs.

Closing the window, I rushed to the front of the store and peered out one of the windows. My truck was the only vehicle in the lot. Shit.

So, what did it mean? I wasn’t sure, but my best guess was I’d been followed here. Whoever it was had decided to also follow me inside the bookstore. While eavesdropping on our conversation, he or she had hidden out in the true crime/western room before escaping out the window in time to avoid being seen.

All of that seemed reasonable enough. The problem I couldn’t get my head around was why. Why would someone would be following me? I’d told no one about the body I’d found. Unless, of course, the killer himself was following me, trying to make sure I didn’t trace things to him.

I felt a chill. What exactly was going on here? It was like being on the outside of a large house filled with secret doors and rooms. Until I could get inside, I was essentially in the dark, missing too much information. That was what was happening, I realized. Somebody wanted to make sure I didn’t find a key to get inside the house.

There were a lot of questions, and I didn’t have any suitable answers. I headed for the western/true crime room to look around again.

“I’m still here,” I called out to Claire.

“Oh, that’s fine. Take your time.”

The room consisted of two tables, where books lay faceup, and three bookshelves. I glanced at the bookshelves first to see if there were any gaps and didn’t find any. The tables likewise appeared undisturbed. Something caught my eye on the floor beneath the table. I knelt for a closer look and saw a small black piece of plastic. I picked it up and turned it over. On the other side, I saw a tiny flexible aberration on one end of the plastic. It looked like the battery door for a small electronic device.

Could someone have been taping my conversation with Claire? It seemed highly unlikely, but the piece of plastic seemed almost certainly to have come off the back of a mini recorder. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the intruder deciding to split quickly and knocking the device against the window frame as he or she climbed out.

“See anything good?” Claire said.

I jumped, shocked by her voice, the nearly soundless way she’d approached.

I turned and smiled, trying to play it off. “You lose this?” I held up the plastic.

She eyed it suspiciously. “No. Where’d you find it?”

“Underneath this open window.”

“Open?” She stepped closer for a better look. “Why, I didn’t leave it open.”

“I think we had an eavesdropper on our conversation.” I nodded at the plastic battery door. “And maybe whoever was here wasn’t just listening. Maybe they were taping us too.”

She scratched the side of her face, perplexed. Her eyes did something curious then. They seemed to go nearly blank, or at least clouded over, losing their focus. I felt as if she were riffling through all the knowledge she’d tucked away over the years in order to fit these possible events into some kind of decipherable framework. “Weird,” she said at last, as her eyes came back into focus. “Just very, very weird.”

*   *   *

I thought it was weird too. More than weird. I couldn’t help but go back to my brief conversation with Blevins. Had he taken it upon himself to investigate me? How could he, since I’d blocked my number? But maybe there was something I’d missed? He clearly had some connection with Joe’s murder. Maybe he’d sent someone to follow me to make sure I didn’t connect the dots.

On the way up the mountain to my house, I watched the rearview mirror nearly as much as I watched the road in front of me. Sure enough, I saw a pair of headlights once or twice when the long, winding mountain road straightened out behind me like a bullwhip before curling back into its sinister coil.

When I reached my house near the top of the mountain, I saw Goose trotting over to the truck, beating the wind with his big, bushy tail. I’d saved him from a rattlesnake not too far from the spot where he stood now. That had been over three years ago, and he’d already managed to return the favor, not just by saving me, but also through his boundless enthusiasm for my presence. I parked under one of the large oaks that stood like sentries on one side of the small house and got out, immediately kneeling to let Goose lick my face. I patted his head and neck and rubbed his belly until he flopped onto the ground with a contented sigh. Then I rubbed him some more, just the way he liked, until his back leg twitched uncontrollably and this upper lip stretched out, revealing his dark gums.

“Keep an eye out,” I said. “Something ain’t right in the world.” I patted his belly once more for good measure and headed into the kitchen to open a new bottle of whiskey.