The Liar

“Yes. He was visiting the area and wanted . . .” She shut her eyes. “Oh my God, I’m an idiot. Yes, he asked me for directions, and I showed him on his map, and I had my hands full with the lunch bags. I went right in after, set down the orders, put my purse away, then went around handing them out. It’s the only time somebody could’ve gotten in my purse. When it was hanging right on my own damn shoulder.”

“What did he look like?” Griff demanded, then glanced at Forrest. “Sorry.”

“No need. That’s the next question.”

“He was tall. I had to look up. Ah . . . give me a second.” She carted the potatoes to the sink, washed them off, laid them on the cutting board to quarter them. “White, maybe early forties. He had sunglasses on. So did I—it was a bright day. He had on a baseball cap.”

“Color? Logo?”

“I think it was tan. I don’t remember if it had a logo or anything. He had dark hair—not black, but dark brown, longish. Kind of curled up over his ears. A little gray in the mustache and beard. Very trim, short beard. He looked . . . like a college professor who played football.”

“Big guy, then?”

“Yeah. Big, solid build. Not fat or flabby.” She put the potatoes on to boil.

Nodding, Forrest took out his phone, scrolled through. “How about this?”

She looked at the phone, and the photo of James Harlow. “No, he was a little older than this.”

“Gray in the beard?”

“That, and . . . He had that professor look to him.”

“Take another look, try to see him with the beard, the longer hair. Do a Wooly Willy.”

“I used to have one of those,” Griff commented, and studied the image over Shelby’s shoulder.

“I just don’t . . . He had thicker eyebrows—dark like his hair, and . . . Oh God, I am an idiot.”

“I’m happy to call my sister an idiot at any time. It’s part of my job, but you’re not on this.”

“I was standing on the sidewalk, talking to Jimmy Harlow, close as I am to you now, and I didn’t even think, never had a twinge about it. Even when he was stealing the keys out of my purse.”

“It’s what he does,” Forrest reminded her. “He changed his appearance, and he caught you when you were distracted, asked a common type of question. Got you going over the map so he could pick your pocket, and when he was done with the keys, he made sure you’d find them in a logical place. You’d have put it down to rush and accident, and never checked your laptop.”

“What was he after? What’s he looking for?”

Forrest cocked a brow at Griff. “What do you think, son?”

“I think he was looking to see if between us we’ve got millions of dollars tucked away, or know where to find it.”

“Why you?” Shelby demanded. “I understand why he’d think I might know. Even believe I had to know.”

“We’ve been spending a lot of time together since you got back.”

“I know you’re sleeping with my sister,” Forrest commented. “Your euphemisms are wasted on me. You move back to the Ridge, and pretty quick you hook up with this one,” he said to Shelby, “who relocated here not that many months ago. A person, especially one who lives on the grift, is bound to wonder if the two of you don’t go back a ways further.”

“He killed Melinda Warren, so it’s just him now.” Griff considered. “He’d get it all, but he has to find the jewelry, the stamps first. You’re his only link to it, Red.”

“I don’t know where it is, or if Richard sold it and blew the money, buried it or put it in some Swiss bank account. And this Jimmy Harlow wouldn’t find anything otherwise on my computer. Or yours, Griffin.”

“We can hope that’ll be enough for him,” Forrest said, “but we’re not going to count on it. I’m going to contact the sheriff, run all this by him. What’s for supper?”

“Ham, mashed potatoes, butter beans.”

“Sounds good. That your dog out there, Griff? The pup you got from Rachel Bell over your way?”

“Yeah. Snickers.”

“He’s starting to dig in my mama’s delphiniums. She’ll skin you both for it.”

“Oh shit.” Griff bulleted outside, calling for the dog.

Forrest grinned, leaned back on the counter. “I don’t much like thinking about my sister having sex.”

“Then I advise you not to think about it.”

“Doing my best not to. Some people,” he continued, “it takes you a while to warm up to, then maybe you make a friendship, or maybe you don’t. Other people, something just clicks, almost like you think, Hey, I remember you. From where, who the hell knows, but there’s that click. You know what I’m saying?”

“I guess I do.”

“With Griff, something clicked. Took a little while with Matt, but I think we’d have gotten around to it. It was Griff who shortened the time it took.”

Taking his phone off his belt, Forrest keyed in a number. “What I’m saying is, he’s a friend, and a good one, and knowing the kind of man he is, I’m adding on he’s a lot more what you deserve than the last one.

“Yeah, Sheriff, hope I’m not disturbing your supper,” Forrest began, and wandered away as he made his report.

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