Gene checked his gold wristwatch, pressing his thumb hard against the bezel.

“You set foot on store property again without a warrant, Mara, and I’ll have you hauled out in handcuffs.”

I turned around, walked down the narrow back hallway past the stacks of power tool boxes, and drove straight to Pine Ridge.

Arlene Vance was waiting in the corner booth of the Pine Ridge Diner with a yellow legal pad spread out between her coffee cup and a plate of rye toast.

She pushed her reading glasses up onto her head as I slid into the vinyl seat across from her.