Page 42 of Dead Men Tell No Shells

She poured my coffee and slid it across the counter. I took it to my usual booth, where Josiah was already waiting.

He’d chosen a seat near the window, his back to the wall, with a clear view of the entrance and most of the room. The habit was probably a remnant of his years in law enforcement, though I remembered him choosing seats that gave him a good view of things even when we were teenagers. Back then, I’d thought it was because he liked people-watching. Now I wondered how much of his personality had always been there, waiting for life to shape it.

He stood when he saw me, and for one awkward second, I didn’t know whether we were supposed to shake hands, hug, or pretend we’d never spent years holding each other close.

We settled for a cautious smile.

“Thanks for coming,” he said.

“You asked me to meet you.”

“I know. I still appreciate it.”

I slid into the booth opposite him and set my cup on the table. He sat down again, resting his hands on the edge of the table. Up close, I could see the faint lines around his eyes, the stray bits of gray at his temples, and the tiredness he’d been doing a good job of concealing since the murder. He looked as though he’d slept about as well as I had.

“Have you been at the sheriff’s office all morning?” I asked.

“Most of it, since six. We’ve been following up on statements from last night and trying to put together a more accurate timeline. The festival grounds are still being treated as a crime scene in the area around the bandstand, but the rest of the site is being dismantled. We’ve got a lot of people to speak to, and we need to make sure we’re not overlooking anyone who might have seen something useful.”

I nodded. “I hope you get some answers soon.”

“So do I.” His expression softened. “But first, I wanted to hear what you remembered about the woman who spoke to you yesterday.”

I told him what she’d said, including the fact that she’d recognized me from my books and had mentioned hearing Harvey arguing with someone about something that had happened twenty years ago. I knew she’d already given her statement to the sheriff’s office as I heard her ask June to help her make the call, so I made sure I was clear about which details she’d told me in case there was something relevant she’d forgotten to convey later.

“She said she saw a man leaving a back room at the bank,” I explained. “He was wearing a dark jacket and carrying a folder under his arm. She couldn’t make out his face clearly. Harvey apparently told him they should discuss whatever it was privately, and the man replied, ‘You should’ve let sleeping dogs lie! That was twenty years ago!’ Then he left.”

Josiah listened without interrupting, his attention steady and serious. When I finished, he made a few notes in the small notebook he’d brought with him.

“That matches what she told us,” he said. “Okay, well, we’ll follow up on the details she gave us, including the timing. The wording is interesting, especially in light of the message Harvey received on Friday. It was right there on his phone, just like you said. But I don’t want to assume the two incidents are connected until we’ve established what happened.”

“Understood.”

“And I appreciate you telling me. I know you have no obligation to involve yourself in any of this anymore than you already have as a witness close to the scene.”

“I’m not involving myself. I’m passing along something someone told me.” I took a sip of coffee. “You’re the sheriff. It’s your job to figure out what it means.”

A small smile touched his mouth. “That’s a sensible distinction.”

“I’m a mystery writer. Sensible distinctions are practically a professional requirement.”

“I remember how curious you always were about everything.” The words were ordinary enough, but something in the way he said them made me look at him more closely.

“You remember a lot of things about me, I think,” I said before I could stop myself.

His smile faded into something more thoughtful. “I do.”

“I remember a lot about you too,” I said softly. The admission had barely left my mouth when June appeared beside the booth with a notepad in her hand.

“Now, Max, are you planning to eat something, or are you going to live on coffee all morning? I know you. You probably left the house without eating.”

I could have hugged her for the interruption. My cheeks were already warming, and I had no idea what Josiah might have said if we’d been left to stare at each other a moment longer.

“I think I’m going to need breakfast after all,” I said. “One egg, scrambled with cheese, bacon, and toast, please.”

“Coming right up.”

June glanced at Josiah. “And you?”