Private Affairs

She shook her head. “No. Not yet.” She took a deep breath. “It gets hot so seldom that I just want to enjoy it.”

“It never gets this hot.”

She smiled. “Exactly.”

The radio handset hooked to his pocket gave off static. “Barnaby, you there?”

“Sorry, official business calls,” he said, giving Penelope an apologetic look. He turned slightly away and pressed the button to talk. “Sheriff here. What is it?”

“You coming back with those muffins anytime soon?”

Penelope laughed. “Real important business.”

After telling Dispatch that he’d return shortly, he turned back toward her. “Call you tonight at home?”

She immediately averted her gaze. “Sure.”

If he hesitated, he didn’t share the reason. He merely told her to have a nice day, and suggested she not leave the door open too long in case the old air conditioner she had was unable to cool the room, and then left.

She sighed, watching as he got into his patrol car parked outside and pulled away, giving her a small wave.

What in the hell was she going to do?

PALMER STOOD WATCHING the construction foreman drive off in the same direction as the previous truck, holding his breath briefly to keep from inhaling the dust he left in his wake. He hadn’t known John Nelson well, but he was familiar with his family. Their fathers had worked at the mill together and sometimes the two families would have barbeques with other mill workers’ families. He’d been happy to award him the foreman contract when a line fifty men deep had appeared outside the trailer door that first day. And they’d both put their heads together to put the rest of the forty-nine to work by month’s end.

So what in the hell had happened?

He stared at an unfamiliar car that had been parked on the other side of Nelson’s truck, blocking it from view until now. An upscale, late model that few in the small, blue-collar town would be able to afford.

Palmer turned toward the trailer and pulled open the door, not stopped until he stood staring at the man taking complete liberty behind his desk inside.

None other than Manolis Philippidis himself.

“No work here,” the older Greek said without looking up.

Palmer grimaced and rubbed his chin. “That’s funny, because I thought I was the one hired to say that.”

Manolis looked up. “Palmer!” He rose to his feet and edged around the desk to give him one of those halfhandshake, half-hug deals that Palmer found annoyingly noncommittal. Go one way or the other, was his take.

“What brings you to Earnest?” he asked, stepping back.