Page 71 of Trace of Doubt
“The meds help.” I laughed when I wished she sat in the car with me.
“I’m not far from a bus stop, so I’m returning to Valleysburg in a couple of hours.”
What was she thinking? “Tell me you’re teasing.”
“This makes sense to me. I’m finished with exchanging one cell for another and endangering others’ lives.”
Mike huffed and took over. “We’ll pick you up once we’re done in Sharp’s Creek.”
“Take a long look at Denton, Aaron, and Isaac. Once I’m backat the cabin, I’ll figure out the next step. I don’t need you two to pick me up.” She clicked off.
I whipped my attention to Mike. “I’m calling Isaac. I want to hear from him what happened.”
43
Each excruciating limp to the Pearces’ door instilled the need for one of Nurse Giggle’s wonder injections. And the need to find who was behind these crimes. Robins sang from a perch on a power line. The sky shone a bright, clear blue. A small boy pedaled a bike down the street, and a woman busied herself in a flower bed.
Isaac had given me the rundown on his exploits with Shelby. The two men who’d attacked him in the hotel’s parking lot and then in the stairwell had been identified as low-life thugs. One dead and the other lawyered up.
Clay must have seen me coming because the door opened before I raised a fist to knock. “Morning, Clay. This is Agent Mike Kruse. You probably recall him from Shelby’s case.”
Mike reached out to shake his hand, but Clay refused. His face hardened. “I remember. What’s the reason you’re back?”
I took the lead unless the interview went south. “We’d like to talk, ask a few questions.”
“About?”
“FBI business.”
“Why not a phone call?”
“It’s a sensitive conversation to have and one we prefer face-to-face.”
Clay stepped aside. “Make it quick. My wife’s sleeping, and when she wakes up, I need to be with her.”
I clumsily maneuvered my crutches by him and Mike followed. “Appreciate this,” I said. “How is your wife?”
The lines deepened in his face. “Not good. She sleeps most of the time. Heavily sedated. Hospice is a 24-7 job.”
“I’m sorry. Can’t imagine how hard this must be.”
Clay gestured into the living room. “We can talk in here, Agents.”
“Denton.”
“Mike.”
Clay nodded and eased onto a worn corduroy recliner where I’d sat previously. We sank onto a threadbare sofa. The tension in the room equaled when Shelby and I were there.
He pointed to my crutches. “How did you get beat up?”
“Rear-ended. Hit-and-run.”
“A drunk?”
“Doubtful.”
Clay drew in a heavy breath. “Do the questions have anything to do with your accident?”
