“Arthur Pendelton told me a bank draft going to Tyler was none of my business,” I said.

Carl tapped his clipboard against his knee two times, gazing out at the gas pumps.

“We could look up property tax records right here on my phone if you want, boss,” Carl said.

“The state keeps those old county filings open to the public.”

He took a black cell phone out of his shirt pocket and swiped his thumb across the bright glass.

I came around the end of the register counter to stand right at his shoulder.