“How did he know that?”

“No clue. He said that sooner or later y’all’d show up at the house behind the beauty parlor and for me to be waitin’. I didn’t mean to—”

“Sure you did, Dwayne. You meant for us to be chewed to pieces.”

“I got nuthin’ against you,” he repeated. “Her, either.”

“Well, I’ve got something against you now.” Ledge’s voice had the quality of an icicle. “Do you know what I did in the army?”

“Heard you was in the war, but—”

“Sniper.”

Dwayne whimpered. His Adam’s apple slid up and down.

“That’s right, Dwayne. I could target your eye socket from a mile away. Any. Time. I. Want. And I swear to God I will if you don’t disappear.”

“Disappear? Run off, you mean?”

“That’s what I mean.”

“I cain’t. Dyle said if I double-crossed him, he’d kill me.”

“Then you’re up shit creek, Dwayne.”

“Dyle’s got Mex’cans with cartel experience.”

“And I’ve got a sniper rifle with a telescopic sight. If it’s any comfort to you, you’ll be dead before you hear the report. When you look at it that way, you’re probably better off sticking around and sucking up to Dyle until—well, until I take a notion.”

Hawkins hiccupped a sob, and snot trickled from his nostril.

Ledge hitched his head back toward the cages. “I ought to shoot you right now for animal abuse. But if you stay in the neighborhood, in the state, you’re on borrowed time.”

Ledge lifted the muzzle off Hawkins’s forehead, walked over to the shotgun, and removed the shells. He put them in the breast pocket of his shirt. Giving Arden a fearsome look, he nodded her toward the truck.

She walked to it quickly. Ledge walked backward, keeping a bead on Hawkins as he picked up the empty shell casings. When he reached the truck, he got in, replaced the rifle on the floorboard, and put the pickup in reverse.

He said, “Rusty put him up to it. You heard that, right?”

“I heard.”

“Do you believe me now? He killed Brian Foster.” He thumped the steering wheel with his fist. “I goddamn know it.”

Chapter 32

That night in 2000—Rusty

It never would have occurred to Rusty that the pipsqueak bookkeeper would turn brave in the amount of time between when the band of burglars had split up in the parking lot of Burnet’s bar and now, when Foster arrived at their designated meeting place to hide the booty.

Even when Rusty had talked to Foster on the phone half an hour ago to tell him about Ledge’s arrest and the jeopardy it placed them in, Foster had seemed his ordinary self. That was, uncertain and indecisive, anxiety and fear bringing him close to his breaking point.

Which was exactly where Rusty wanted him to be.

But as he watched from his hiding place on the other side of a narrow channel, he saw Foster plowing through the dark woods with less trepidation than one would expect. The beam of his flashlight danced among the trees and bounced over the marshy ground as he walked with a purposeful stride that was out of character with his scared-rabbit personality.

He didn’t slow down or stop until he reached a barricade of cypress knees in the shallows, where he stopped and shone the flashlight around. He aimed it at the grouping of picnic tables a short distance away, apparently believing that he would find Rusty there waiting for him, as he’d been doing the first day Foster had followed Rusty’s instructions and had arrived with a six-pack of cold brew.

“Rusty?”

The dark, sultry stillness of their surroundings absorbed Foster’s voice like a velvet muffler. He cleared his throat. “Rusty?”

On that second try, Rusty detected a trace of misgiving in his tone. He smiled, thinking, That’s more like it. He stepped out from behind his cover of low tree branches, cupped his hands around his mouth, and called in a stage whisper, “Here.”

Foster swept the flashlight beam across the channel, swinging it from side to side until it lit on Rusty, who raised a hand and made a staying motion intended to communicate that Foster was to sit tight.

“Where’s the money?”

“Shh!” Didn’t the idiot realize that sound carried over water?

Rusty unwound the line from around a sapling that he’d used to tie down the canoe, although there was little danger of it drifting. The current here was sluggish at best.

The canoe rocked when he stepped into it, but he maintained his balance. On his knees, he began paddling toward where Foster stood, still aiming the flashlight directly at him.

Speaking only loud enough to make himself heard, Rusty told him to turn it off. “You’ll signal to somebody that we’re here.”

“Nobody’s around.”

“Kill the light, will ya?”

Foster switched it off. Rusty paddled as soundlessly as possible, making shallow dips into the water. As he drew closer, Foster said in a whisper, “Can you see where you’re going?”

“My eyes have adjusted. Catch this line.”

He was about to pitch it when Foster said, “Hold on. Where’s the money?”

“Right here.”

Rusty pointed down to the bag in the hull. He grinned up at Foster. “Look familiar?”

“Open it.”

“Waste of time, but if you insist.”

Rusty heaved a sigh as though he were being unnecessarily inconvenienced, but he was playacting. He had counted on Foster being bright enough to ask to see it before committing himself wholeheartedly to this linkup. Leaning far enough forward to reach the bag, he unzipped it and held it open.

Foster flipped the flashlight back on and aimed it into the bag.

“Satisfied?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Then turn off that goddamn light.”

Foster fumbled in his effort to click it off, almost dropping it.

Rusty couldn’t resist taunting him. “How come you’re so nervous? Are you afraid of the dark?”

“This place looks different in daylight. I’ve never been out here at night.”

“Well, we’ll have to remedy that.” Now that he’d reestablished that they were accomplices and had regained Foster’s shrinking trust, he needed to reel him in. “This is a great spot to have all kinds of fun.”

“Like what?”

“If I confide, you won’t tattletell, will you?”

“No.”

“Me and my buddies come here and get stoned out of our minds.”

“Oh.”

“Next time, you’ll have to join us.” He hitched his head. “Those picnic tables? Great for making out on, if you remember to bring a quilt. But even if you don’t. This girl Crystal?” Rusty smacked his lips. “Too many times to count, my friend.”

“Crystal?”

At Foster’s surprised tone, Rusty’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, Crystal. Why?”

“It’s just that I overheard some of the women in the office talking about a Crystal. One’s son has a crush on her, but she said she told him that he had just as well stop pining. He doesn’t stand a chance with her because of Ledge Burnet.”

Rusty ground his teeth. “Him and Crystal are over. She’s with me now. Anyhow, enough of that. We’d better get moving. Watch your step as you get in.”

“Get in? In the canoe?”

“I found a perfect spot to hide the bag.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “Trees are so close together over there, you feel like Daniel Fucking Boone. You should’ve worn different shoes.”

“Is there a road leading to it?”

“Sure. We’re on it. It’s what we locals call a boat road.”

“I don’t like the sound of that. What about a regular road?”

“It’s a wilderness, Foster. A fucking swamp. That’s what makes it an ideal hiding place.”

Foster took an anxious look around. “Trees are dense on this side, too. And it has access to the road. Why not hide it over here? Temporarily, at least. It would be easier to get to in case we have to move it again.”

“Also easier for somebody to find. Accidentally. Like I said, people come here to use the picnic tables. All we need is for some potheads to find this bag of cash and make off with it. Or a do-gooder who would hand it over to the law.”

“I’ve never seen anybody else around. Not once in all the times we’ve met out here.”

The accountant had acquired some courage, plus developed a stubborn streak, and both were beginning to grate. Had he taken a damn tonic or something? Rusty let his irritation show. He stood up, standing with legs straddling the bench so as not to tip the canoe. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing. I just think we need to think this through a little bit more.”

“I’ve thought it through.”

Foster flipped the flashlight back on and slid the beam along the side of the canoe from bow to stern. “Where’d you get the canoe?”

“That old tin shed at the boat dock down the road? Sheriff’s office uses it to stow boats they’ve impounded for one reason or another. Usually because somebody was operating a craft while intoxicated.