it everywhere as he launched himself out of the chair.
“What people? What crowd? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Well, you should know. You’re the police chief. I don’t know who all is involved, but if I find out names, they’re going to be sorry.”
“Okay, okay, I hear what you’re saying,” Henry said. “But where are they? What are they doing? Are they destroying your property or what?”
“No. They’re in the street outside the front gates.”
Henry’s gut knotted.
“And what, exactly, are they doing?”
“Standing there. Protesting.”
“But why?” Henry asked.
Blake roared, “I don’t give a fuck why. I want them gone! Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, sir, and—”
The line went dead in Henry’s ear.
He hung up, cursing his toe and the fact that he’d ever let himself become involved with the Wayne family. They were ruthless when things didn’t go their way.
He dried off his foot, mopped up the splatters with the towel, and then put his uniform back on and headed out the door, pulling out his phone as he went.
Lonnie Clymer was the deputy in charge tonight, so Henry called his cell, taking care to keep this conversation off the radio. Henry was backing out of his drive as Lonnie answered.
“Hello, Chief. What’s up?”
“What the hell is going on out at the Wayne estate?”
“Aw, just a few people walking around with signs about seeking justice for Stanton Youngblood.”
Henry groaned. “And you let them?”
The tone of Lonnie’s voice shifted to nervous.
“I didn’t exactly let them, Chief. They just showed up. They’re not making a sound. There’s no shouting, no vandalism. They’re just standing on public property holding signs.”
“Did they get a permit to picket?” Henry asked.
“Well, no, but there’s no law against picketing in Eden, so technically they’re not doing anything wrong.”
Henry groaned and disconnected.
Now his belly was hurting as much as his toe.
He drove without flashers or siren, because he hoped to clear them out without a fuss. He was stunned that this was happening. He couldn’t remember anyone ever challenging any member of the Wayne family in any way—except Leigh, the one who got away.
He saw a small gathering, hardly more than a dozen people, standing beneath a street light as he turned the corner. They obviously saw him, but no one moved or even pretended to make a run for it. They just stood there holding their handmade signs, and as Henry got closer, he could read what they’d written on them.
Justice for Stanton Youngblood.
Murder in Eden.
Shame to the Waynes.
He groaned as he pulled up and got out.
“Whose idea was this?” he demanded.
They all raised their hands, refusing to let any one of them bear the blame.
Henry sighed. He wasn’t about to give Blake Wayne their names, but he needed them gone.
“Look, I don’t think I need to tell you that it’s not a good idea to get on the wrong side of this family.”
A small, clean-shaven man with dark, deep-set eyes stepped forward. He looked to be in his late forties and was holding a sign that read First our land, then our lives.
“They can’t hurt us anymore,” he said.
Henry frowned.
“Do I know you?” he asked.
“My name is German Swift. I was part of the crew that put the new roof on your house last year.”
“Oh. Sorry. I wasn’t home much when that was happening.”
“No matter.” German pointed to a skinny blond woman wearing threadbare jeans and a blouse. “This is my wife, Truva. My whole family has lived on the mountain above Eden all our lives. My wife and I were living in the home where I was born when she got cancer. About three years ago we took out a loan to pay hospital bills, but we got behind on our payments. It was all fine until recently, when the bank suddenly foreclosed and we lost our home. It had been in the family for over a hundred years. So you can threaten me all you want about what could happen from making an enemy of the Waynes and it won’t matter, because we have nothing left to lose.”
“Yeah, me, too,” a man said.
“The bank foreclosed on us, too,” a woman said, and started crying.
One by one, all the people there told the same sad tale.
Henry’s frown deepened.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see what the bank foreclosing on you has to do with the Waynes.”
“You would if you saw what’s happening to our land,” German said.
“Then tell me,” Henry said.
“Take a drive up to the north side of the lake and check out the land they’re clearing for that new resort. It all used to belong to us,” German said. “Ask around up there. Find out who the biggest investors are.”
“What does all of this have to do with Stanton Youngblood’s murder?” Henry asked.
“Polly and Carl Cyrus. Thomas and Beth Youngblood. That’s what,” German said.
“I don’t understand,” Henry said.
“Then it’s time you did your job and found out,” German said. “We’re going now.”
And one by one, they laid the signs they’d been holding at Henry Clayton’s feet and walked off into the night.
Henry sighed. This wasn’t his case, and he didn’t want any part of bucking the Waynes, but he’d grown up with Stanton. The man deserved his justice.
Henry began gathering up the signs and tossing them into the back of his cruiser. He would deal with them tomorrow. Tonight, he just needed to get home and take off his damn shoe.
* * *
The killer stood in the dark, watching from his bedroom window as the police car arrived and dispersed the protestors.
He was wondering who in Eden would have the guts to protest so openly, knowing full well what his family could do to them. Then he thought about the people who’d already been displaced. They had nothing left to lose, and obviously Stanton Youngblood had been their friend.
He frowned. Right now the family had only been called out by a grieving woman. But their lawyer had warned them that the authorities would soon be all over them. They would have no choice but to put up with the interrogations. The final word of a dying man was powerful.
He watched until the cop car was gone, and then stepped away from the window and sat down in the dark. He needed to think—to make sure there were no loose ends that would tie him to this. He was thoroughly disgusted that he hadn’t gone to make sure Stanton was dead before he ran. He frowned, thinking back to the day’s events. Even though he hadn’t seen this situation coming, he still wouldn’t change what he’d done.
* * *
Bowie woke up before daybreak to the sound of footsteps in the hall outside his room. He glanced at the time and frowned. It was barely five. He didn’t have to look to know who it was. Every time he’d turned over in the night