The next morning she followed Caitlyn’s advice and took advantage of her family connection to the distinct attorney. Though it came at a price, Laurel calling in sick to work for the first time ever. And probably at the worst time ever. She tried to stop thinking about that, and about Sentry’s increasing workload and approaching deadlines, the suspicions swirling around there, and instead focus on the task at hand—a phone call to her uncle for which she had to sound calm and coherent. Much different than the weak cough-filled voicemail she’d just left to Sentry Systems. She would have to put that out of her mind, too.

“Dang, it’s early,” he said, his voice full and groggy with sleep.

“Sorry.”

“It’s still dark out.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her uncle started coughing for what felt like a minute, then said, “What’s up?”

“I have an early meeting today, and then I’ll be too busy to talk.”

“Well what about me? I was too busy to talk. I was finally trying this sleeping-in thing I hear so much about.” There were noises on the other end, like he’d been shuffling out of bed and into a pair of clothes. Drawers, doors, and then a running faucet. And him sighing, saying, “Good God, it’s already five?”

“Were you at that thing for Abe Hudson yesterday?”

She had missed a midday press conference about Abe’s passing, followed by an informal happy hour at Whitby’s Olde Tavern. It was probably why Pat had been so drunk when Laurel finally showed up six hours later.

“I couldn’t go,” her uncle said. “Couldn’t get out of my meetings. It’s a damn shame, though. You know that Abe and I just went out to lunch a few days ago?”

“What did you guys talk about?”

“Oh, I dunno, just the usual. Shootin’ the shit. Why?”

“Did he mention anything about, um, being nervous or anything?”

“Nervous?”

“Did he mention the scandal?”

There was a pause on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Laurel? Go on and tell me why you woke me up.”

“Well, he knows about my job, obviously, and so he thinks . . . he thought I was a computer expert. He had some questions about files and stuff.” Laurel checked her mirror again. The same style and shade of headlights had been following her through a half dozen turns. She looked back to the road just in time to catch a light turning red.

“What files and stuff?” her uncle asked.

“He was worried about some illegal activities at AIDA, something that might point back to him.” In the background of the call, a door creaked open, and then the clucking of chickens came down the line. “Are you in the chicken coop?”

“I’m feeding them,” he said. “So my question to you is, what’s all this matter now? He’s gone.”

“So he didn’t say anything to you?”

“No. And I’ve got nothing to do with it . . . and neither do you.”

“He asked me to look into it for him.” She checked her mirror again. The car was still there.

“But Laurel, he’s gone. And now you don’t have any obligation. Except to yourself, and keeping your nose out of that kind of business.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not still snooping, are ya?”

“No.”

“Too busy for that, right?” The clucking in the background grew louder and there was the distinct clanking sound of a metal scoop sliding into a bucket of chicken feed. “Right, Laurel? How’s work going?”

“When was the last time you talked to Pat?”

He sighed. “Good ol’ Pat?”

“Yeah, from Georgia Power.”

“Why?”

“I saw him last night, when I was at Whitby’s. I missed the memorial for Abe, but Pat was still there.”

“I’m sure he was. And probably long after you left, too.”

“No,” Laurel said. “He was kicked out.”

“I’m sure he was. Good ol’ wet brain Pat.”

“Well, drunk or not, he knew about the stuff Abe was talkin’ about. And he was scared.”

“Let me guess . . . He thinks Abe was assassinated at the spritely young age of seventy-three?”

An image of Abe Hudson flashed through Laurel’s eyes. Abe in bed. Abe struggling. “Well, what about the defensive wounds and everything? Are they even running an investigation?”

“The police? No. And the family hasn’t requested anything, either.”

“That’s crazy.”

“What’s crazy is Pat thinking he’s important enough to be offed by anyone.” Her uncle started laughing. “You’re not getting worried, too, now, are you?”

Laurel tried avoiding the rearview mirror, but her eyes kept flashing back to it. Only this time, the car was gone. Her shoulders felt ten pounds lighter.

“Laurel?”

“Yeah. No.”

“You’re not goin’ crazy, right?”

“Right.”

“Got enough stress from work, that new position.”

“Abe helped me get that.”

“I know. So don’t mess it up worryin’ about stuff you shouldn’t be worryin’ about.”