• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Dix said, “Tying it together will be the key to all of this.”

Marian walked to the window, turned, and looked back at them. “So much pain to bear now. I suppose I’ll have to deal with Sam’s pain, too. How can he possibly have loved her as much as I did? I wonder, Dix. Do you think my father cared at all?”

“Yes, Marian. I think he did.”

CHAPTER 24

DIX CALLED THE deputy assigned to follow Gordon Holcombe when he left Tara.

“Where is he, B.B.?”

“Weirdest thing, Sheriff. When Dr. Holcombe left Tara, I thought he was going to Stanislaus, then he seemed to change his mind. He drove straight out to the Coon Hollow Bar. He’s been in there nearly two hours. You told me I shouldn’t try to keep out of sight and I didn’t. He knew I was following him, and it didn’t seem to bother him. Right now I’m tucked in a mess of pine trees across the street.”

Dix told him to stay put, they’d be there shortly. He punched off his cell. “Gordon calls this place his sanctuary. It’s a pre-World War Two relic, all weathered wood, dark glass in the windows, and a rutted parking lot in front.”

Coon Hollow Bar was only a mile or so out of Maestro.

“It looks like a treat,” Sherlock said, admiring the old dark charm of the place. “A good number of customers,” she added, waving at four other cars in the parking lot.

There was no sunlight inside Coon Hollow. It smelled of beer and salty pretzels and cigarettes. There was one glowing sign for Bud Light above the bathroom door on the far wall. Gordon Holcombe was bellied up at the bar, head down, shoulders hunched. There were maybe six other folks at the bar, either talking in low voices or as silent as Gordon.

Gordon glanced up when the front door opened and sunlight poured in. He watched the four of them approach. Fact is, Ruth thought, he didn’t look the least bit interested in anything except the drink he was sloshing around in his glass.

“Gordon,” Dix said.

Gordon glanced at Dix briefly before looking back down. “Since you’re all cops, I doubt you know what this is.” He held up the glass, swirled the scotch around. “This is The Macallan, Highland scotch whiskey, eighteen years old. It’s considered the Rolls-Royce of single malts. Our barkeep’s father orders it special for me. My last bottle is low so I can’t offer you any. Dix, if you find out who murdered Helen, I’ll buy you a bottle of The Macallan for Christmas. Any of you want a beer?”

“No, Gordon.”

“Then perhaps, Dix, you can tell me why you’ve got B.B. following me? He’s sitting in his cruiser right across the street. Afraid I was going to take off since I’m so damned guilty?”

Dix said, “Tell us what Helen said to you when she called you last night.”

“Helen called me often.”

“Last night, Gordon, or do you want me to get a warrant for the phone records?”

Ruth thought she saw Gordon flinch, and then he stared down into his glass again and swished the scotch around, watching it film the sides of the glass.

“All right, so she called me. I didn’t tell you in front of Chappy. He would have laughed his head off while promising to visit me in jail. He’d also volunteer to stick me with a lethal injection.”

“Helen’s call, Gordon.”

He suddenly looked old, and somehow smaller. He sighed so deeply it made him cough. “It was only a short phone call, Dix, nothing more. God in Heaven, I can’t believe she’s gone. There’s some maniac out there, some crazy man who hates me, who hates Stanislaus, who wants to destroy everything.”

Ruth said, “How very odd, Dr. Holcombe. You believe it’s all about you, and no one else. Don’t you think that’s a rather narrow view? After all, you’re sitting here drinking your fine single malt scotch, quite alive, while Erin Bushnell, Walt McGuffey, and Helen Rafferty are dead.”

Dr. Holcombe looked confused for a moment, then said, “Of course I care, dammit. I didn’t mean—Are you sure you don’t want something to drink?”

Savich said, “No, thank you, Dr. Holcombe. Why don’t we all go over to that booth?”

There were half a dozen ancient booths lining two sides of the room. The vinyl was slippery and cold, the