I flipped through the pictures, calling Dale every sort of bad name for cheating on Kate, until I spotted a shiny anklet on Dale’s partner’s ankle.

I knew that anklet.

Kate was the woman with him.

I silently took back the bad names as I remembered what Dale had said about Kate, about how shy and prim she was.

A good Catholic girl.

If Greta had threatened to spread these pictures around the neighborhood, I could see why Dale would have gone to any lengths to protect her modesty.

My God. A man who loved his wife. Amazing.

I stuck the pictures into my back pocket and told myself I’d hold onto them until Dale was cleared as a murder suspect.

When—and if—that happened, he’d get them back.

As Tam loaded BeBe into her car, my cell rang. It was Kevin. Reluctantly I answered.

“Hypothetically,” he said.

“What’s with you and hypotheticals?”

“Bear with me.”

Tam waved and drove away, BeBe hanging her head out the passenger window.

“I’m bearing.”

“Hypothetically, if there were a search warrant to be served at Growl tonight, is there any possibility the missing accounting books might be found?”

“Hypothetically?”

“Of course.”

222

Heather Webber

I could drop them off there when I dropped Riley off for work. Hide them, maybe, so Bill wouldn’t find them before the police did.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe yes or maybe no?”

“Hypothetically,” I asked, “if my prints are found on the books, am I going to be charged with anything?”

He groaned.

“Or Tam’s prints?”

“You brought Tam into this?”

“I can wipe the books clean . . .”

“No! Don’t do that. I’ll deal with the fallout of the prints.

Just be sure the books are there before eight tonight.”

“A search, huh? Are you looking for anything else?”

“Good-bye, Nina.”

I flipped my phone closed, noticed I had a message waiting.

“Hey. It’s Bobby. I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon. I was hoping we could meet up tomorrow night . . . to talk.

’Bye.”

I clipped my phone to my pocket and caught my reflection in the window of my truck.

I was smiling like a fool.

A lovesick fool.

I pounded on Ana’s door. Her SUV was in the lot and the lights were on. She had to be home.

“Let me in!” I shouted. “I have a key and I’m not afraid to use it!”

I heard the lock turn. The door opened slowly, and Ana stood there, wrapped in a robe, a bashful look on her face.

“I was going to call.”

I barged in. “Before or after I worried to death?”

Digging Up Trouble

223

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