“They were good neighbors. We moved to the other side of town right after your mama had her first baby. My husband liked to move a lot. It was always a pain in the ass. Seemed like I always had to do most of the packing and unpacking.” She sighed. “I guess it’s time to do that again. Maybe I’ll hire some strong young arms to do that part for me.”

“You’re moving?”

“I’ve had a good offer for this property.”

“I didn’t realize it was for sale.”

“It’s not. But when someone knocks on your door and offers money for your home that has been feeling way too big, you take it as a sign from the good Lord above.”

“Where will you go?”

The woman tipped her head and looked off in the distance. “I think it’s time I find myself one of those old-people homes. The ones where you live on your own, but someone is always available to help you when needed. Sort of like an apartment complex, but specially run for us old biddies. I know how old I am. I’ve thought about what could happen if I slipped and broke a hip. I think that offer for my property came at a good time, and I intend to follow up on it. I hope he understands it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”

“You already told him you wouldn’t sell?”

“I did. I admit it was an emotional reaction. I didn’t care for him marching up to my front door and talking to me like I was some infirm old woman. I sent him packing. He came back a few days later and was politer, but I still wasn’t interested. He left his phone number. I’ll mull it over a few more days and then give him a call.”

“Only if you’re ready. And get the property appraised. He might believe he can get it for a steal.”

“No problem on that front. I’ve got a grandnephew who’s a Realtor. He’ll take care of me.”

Tilda’s earlier frankness had thrown Mercy for a loop, but talking real estate had helped get her brain back on track. “I read over the notes from your first interview, and you mentioned that the only person who’d come to the door recently was looking for a lost dog. How long ago did the man make the offer for your house?”

Tilda’s eyes widened. “Well, aren’t you a sharp one. You’re absolutely right. I forgot to mention that visitor to your man and that other FBI agent. The buyer first stopped by at the beginning of November. I remember because he commented on my fall wreath on my door. I’d already taken down the Halloween cat that’d been hanging there for a decoration.”

“Would you mind sharing the name of who made you the offer?”

“Not at all. I’ll find his card.” She stood stiffly but strode out of the room with the energy of a younger woman. Mercy glanced at the picture of the German shepherd on the fireplace, remembering how Truman said she’d claimed at the beginning of their interview that the dog was alive. She seems sharp as a tack today.

“Well now, I’m not sure where I put that number,” Tilda said as she returned. She scanned the room, looking for the offending piece of paper. “I swear I left it right by my phone. I threw it away at first, but I fished it out of the garbage thinking I might change my mind at some point.”

“Do you remember his name?”

Tilda tapped a finger on her chin as she thought. “I don’t. It was on the card. I hadn’t met him or heard of him before.”

It probably isn’t relevant. But it niggled at her. Arson had occurred on Tilda’s property after she’d refused to sell. It warranted a closer look.

“I’ll keep looking.”

Ready to leave, Mercy pulled out her card and handed it to Tilda. “Don’t lose this one. Call me when you find the other. I want to know who your eager buyer is.”

“You don’t think he set the fire to scare me away, do you?”

“That sounds a little extreme, don’t you think?” Mercy asked, hoping she was right.

“If they want me off the property, burning down that old barn isn’t the way to do it. I don’t miss that barn one bit. But try it on my house and they’ll be in for a surprise.” Tilda patted something in the baggy pocket of her overalls, and Mercy realized she’d been drinking tea with an armed woman.

Way to be on your toes, Kilpatrick.

Several sets of tires crunched on the gravel outside, and Cade stopped to listen. It was nearly 9:00 p.m. and he’d never worked so late before, but there was no point in rushing home, because Kaylie couldn’t meet him later anyway. Twice he’d had to pull apart work he’d completed because he’d made stupid mistakes. Both incidents were a result of him thinking about Kaylie’s aunt’s visit instead of focusing on his job. He’d decided he wasn’t going home until he had the damn thing right.

Multiple voices sounded outside, and he picked out Tom’s distinctive low rumble. The other voices sounded concerned and upset. Cade moved against the wall right next to the door of his bunkhouse and listened. Chip was mouthing off. Cade couldn’t make out the words, but his tone was higher-pitched than usual. He thought he heard “FBI” mentioned a few times. And Joshua Pence’s name. Tom answered in a soothing rumble, and footsteps sounded as the group headed toward the growing mess hall.

Cade exhaled, suddenly aware he’d been holding his breath as he tried to listen. No doubt Chip had conveyed the news of the FBI agents’ visit. Cade had nearly fallen over when Kaylie’s aunt showed up at his job. Finding his tongue to speak to her had been a hundred times harder than he’d imagined. It’d felt as if she knew all his secrets as she spoke to him, her green eyes penetrating his brain. He’d wanted to tell her that he knew Josh Pence. That the man had been working at the ranch before Cade was hired, and that he’d been kind and jolly but had gotten into arguments with some of the other men.

Then one day he hadn’t shown up for work. No one seemed concerned. Cade had asked Mitch, who’d simply shrugged and said, “Guess he found something better.” He’d noticed the quick exchange of glances between Mitch and Chip after the reply.

But now Josh had been murdered?

Cade tried to Google Josh’s name, wanting the details about his death, but the cellular service out at the ranch was temperamental. Tonight there was none. Nada. Zip. It’d have to wait until he got home. Wondering over and over what had happened to Josh had added to his distraction and faulty work.

Go eavesdrop.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

Something happened to Josh, and they know about it.

Cade opened the bunkhouse door and spotted the men still walking toward the mess hall. The sun had set hours before, and the light was poor. In the weak light above the mess hall door, they were a group of silhouettes in the dark night. The two guys who had taken to going everywhere with Tom walked right beside him. Cade never saw Tom without them anymore. They seemed like guards.

Is Tom at risk like Josh?

Is that why he never goes anywhere alone?

His feet were moving before his brain acknowledged that he was following the group. Cade scooted to the far edge of the gravel lot, preferring to walk on the silent dirt. His breath hung in the air as his eyes adjusted to the bad light. He broke into a slow jog, keeping his steps as quiet as possible. He reached the mess hall and slunk around to the back, where Mitch and Chip hadn’t finished the back door that led directly to the kitchen. If he bumped into one of the kitchen women, he’d say he was looking for something to eat on his way home. The unfinished door easily swung open, and Cade stepped into an empty, dark kitchen. Relief made his knees weak. Voices sounded from the other side of the wall between the kitchen and the larger seating area.

He dug through one of the cupboards and grabbed two pieces of bread and slathered some peanut butter on them, squinting in the dim light.

A sandwich for my alibi.

He bent down and followed the long counter to the pass-through, which let some light into the kitchen from the mess hall. It was a large window at the far end of the kitchen where the cooks could put up food to be easily grabbed from the seating area. Cade crouched below the raised counter of the pass-through and listened.

“The Davidsons can’t stay in town anymore. They fucked up and caught the notice of the cops.”