The Liar

He watched Privet come out, cross over to the bar and grill. Doubtful he’d find the same well of information in there, but if he was any good—and from the run it seemed he wasn’t bad—he’d pull out some.

Making the rounds, Forrest concluded as, fifteen minutes later, Privet came out of the bar and grill, walked down and into the salon.

Following Shelby’s path from earlier in the day, which meant Privet had trailed her through the morning.

That put a knot in Forrest’s craw.

This stop took longer, but when Forrest did another stroll by, he noted that Privet sat in a chair getting a haircut. At least he put some money in the local pot while trying to mine information.

Forrest settled back in his truck, patient, waited for Privet to come out, get back in his car.

He pulled out after him, paced him easily in the light town traffic. Privet took the fork toward Shelby and home. When the Honda drove straight by, Forrest calculated, turned off—did a three-quarter turn to face the road again.

He dug out his Kojak light, fixed it to the roof, and waited.

When Privet drove by a second time, eased to the side of the road a few yards down from the house, Forrest pulled out, hit the light so Privet would see it in his rearview.

He eased up behind the Honda, walked up to the passenger window—already rolled down.

Privet had a map out, and a frustrated expression on his face.

“I hope there’s no problem, Officer, and that you can help me. I think I made a wrong turn somewhere. I’m looking for—”

“Don’t waste my time. I believe you know who I am, and I sure as hell know who you are, Mr. Privet. I want your hands on the wheel where I can see them. Now,” Forrest said, setting his hand on the butt of his weapon, “I know you’re licensed to carry, and if I don’t see both your hands on the wheel, we’re going to have some trouble here.”

“I’m not looking for trouble.” Privet held his hands up, placed them carefully on the wheel. “I’m just doing my job.”

“I’m doing mine. You went to see my sister up North, and entered her home on false pretenses.”

“She asked me in.”

“You cornered a woman with a small child in her home, then you followed her across several state lines where you’ve spied on her, followed her.”

“I’m a private investigator, Deputy. My license is in my—”

“I said I know who you are.”

“Deputy Pomeroy, I have a client who—”

“If Richard Foxworth swindled your client, that’s nothing to do with my sister. Foxworth’s dead, so your client’s out of luck there. If you spent ten minutes with Shelby and think she had anything to do with it, you’re a damn fool.”

“Matherson. He used the name David Matherson.”

“Whatever name he used, whatever name he came into this world with, he’s dead. Personally, I hope the sharks had a good meal off him. Now, if it’s true you’re not looking for trouble, you’re going to stop following my sister, stop asking about her around town. I expect I could go into The Artful Ridge, the bar and grill and my granny’s place and they’d all tell me how when you were in there somehow the conversation came around to Shelby. That stops. I catch you at it again, I’m taking you in. Around here we call what you’re doing stalking, and we got a law against it.”

“In my business it’s called doing the job.”

Forrest leaned conversationally on the bottom of the window. “Let me ask you something, Mr. Privet. You think if I was to arrest you right here and now, and take you in, the judge around here is going to say there’s no problem with you sitting here—with those binoculars on the seat beside you?”

“I’m an amateur ornithologist.”

“Name me five birds indigenous to the Smokies.” Forrest waited two beats while Privet scowled. “See, you could say that bird, it won’t fly. I tell my boss, and we tell Judge Harris—who’s a third cousin, twice removed—that you’ve been sitting here watching my family home and my sister, been following her and her little girl around town, been asking questions about my widowed sister with her fatherless child, you think he’s going to say, ‘Why, that’s just fine. Live and let’? Or do you think you’ll be spending the night on a jailhouse cot tonight instead of your hotel bed?”

“My client isn’t the only one Matherson swindled. And there’s a matter of nearly thirty million in jewelry he stole out of Miami.”

“I believe you. I believe he was a fucking bastard, and I know he did a number on my sister I won’t forget. I’m not going to let you do the same.”

“Deputy, do you know what the finder’s fee is on twenty-eight million?”

“It’s going to be zero,” Forrest said equably, “if you’re looking for it through my sister. You stay away from her, Mr. Privet, or you’ll have plenty of the trouble you don’t want to have, because if I catch you at it, I’ll make sure of that trouble. You can tell your client we’re all sorry for his bad luck. If I were you, I’d head back to Florida and do just that. Tonight. But it’s your choice.”

Forrest straightened up again. “We clear on that?”

“We’re clear on that. I’ve got one question.”

“Ask it.”