The news vans departed. Lacey’s emptied till only the locals remained, and over sweet cream pancakes, sausage links, and coffee Saint listened as talk finally turned to Nix.
The pace would slow enough for them to mourn the man who had kept order for near thirty years. A couple of old guys raised cups of coffee.
Charlotte picked at her French toast, then the two walked to Monta Clare High.
“It’s tonight,” Charlotte said. “They execute the man that took Patch.”
“Yes. You want to talk about it?”
“Will it hurt?”
“No.”
Charlotte stared at her, mouth tight. “It should. Why does he get to go out easy?”
“I’ll bet there hasn’t been much that’s been easy for Marty Tooms these last years.”
At the station she took a call from Himes, who told her Patch was likely headed to North Dakota, where Warden Riley said he had a girl. Saint rolled her eyes, then filled him in on Cooper Strike.
“Joseph Macauley brought his missing sister home,” Himes said.
“Gave her life back.”
Saint hung up in time to watch Jasper stroll out of his law office and cross the street. He took the seat opposite her and dusted lint from his lapel.
“Nix left you his house.”
“Excuse me?”
Jasper took a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and wicked the sweat from his forehead. “He dropped off his last will the morning before…before it happened.”
“Why?” she said, a question he could not answer.
He placed a stack of papers and a set of keys down on her desk. “It’ll take a while to go through, but in case you want to keep the place tidy. I know he’s got horses.”
“What the hell I am supposed to do with a horse?” she said.
He checked his reflection in the glass cabinet behind her, his salt-and-pepper hair lending him an air of distinguished, despite the ambulance chasing. “I don’t believe he had anyone else.”
Saint walked home alone, where she met a forensic examiner named Stevie Harris in the yard, her tech van across the driveway. Saint had almost forgotten about the bones they had found in the yard.
The two walked down to the clearing, work delayed a few days.
“You building?” Stevie said.
“A studio.”
Stevie had been there an hour, dug out a little but stopped when the picture cleared enough. She had not brought a team; the job was of low importance.
“The bones…canine,” Stevie said. Her hair was long but tied, her eyes dark and tired. “Been there a long time.”
Saint thanked her, walked back to the van to see her off when Stevie fished something from a clear bag and handed it to her. “Found this beside them. You can toss it out.”
Saint looked down at the simple gold tag, caked in grime, a couple of strands of leather entwined it. Inside the phone rang and she made it just in time to catch the call.