So I changed the subject. "I had a really wonderful time last night, Jack. I still can hardly believe you took me to Atlantis. And Ven and Erin were great. It was so much fun. I can't wait to tell Molly. And Aunt Ruby. And Uncle Mike. And Eleanor. And…"
He reached out and took my hand. "We could just put a notice in theDead End Gazette."
"I know you're teasing me, but my first time out of the country and it's to Atlantis. It was like a dream."
His grin faded and his eyes warmed. "I felt that way too. Tess—"
"Six specials," Lorraine announced. "And four milkshakes."
She and the new waitress—one of Susan's cousins, maybe?—unloaded the food, leaving our table completely covered with plates and glasses.
"Thanks, Lorraine," Jack said. "You're a peach."
"I know," she said airily.
We ate in silence for a while—Beau's burgers deserve all of a person's attention—and then Jack finished off his second burger and wiped his mouth.
"Tess, I got a call on the way here from Dallas. He was looking into the Brigham Hammermill the Fourth thing, and he found something funny."
"Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar?"
"Funny peculiar."
Jack's friends—now my friends too—Dallas and Austin Fox were two ex-Special Forces guys who lived out on the edge of the swamp with Lucky. I called them the swamp commandos. They'd liked the name enough that they'd named their new business Swamp Commando Airboat Rides.
Dallas and Austin were also computer geniuses.
"Peculiar how?"
Jack nodded. "Apparently there has been some almost untraceable activity on some accounts that are tangentially related to Hammermill's. Which shouldn't be happening unless one of two things are true. Either he had business associates who are raiding his accounts now that he's gone—"
"Or he's not really dead," I said.
"Or he's not really dead."
"Wow. The plot thickens."
"I don't think you can say things like 'the plot thickens' unless you're a character in an Agatha Christie novel," Jack said.
"Tough. Wow. So what now?"
"I'm not sure it's anything, but after our conversation with the sheriff this morning, I conveyed the news. Since Dead End doesn't have access to computer specialists with Dallas's skills, she asked me to investigate and let her know, which we plan to do." He started on his third burger.
"What if he faked his own death to avoid all his debts?" I pushed my plate away, not hungry anymore. "Still. Even if all of that is true—and it's just wild speculation at this point, I get that, but even if it's all true, what reason would he have to be chopping off fingers and sending me presents? That makes no sense at all."
"The kind of person who would chop off fingers isn't necessarily the kind of person who makes sense in the way normal people would understand," he pointed out, his eyes darkening. "The things I've seen… Tess. There are evil people in the world. You are too good to ever understand that kind of person."
I glanced out the window and saw Andy. He walked in, scanned the room, and saw us. He paid Lorraine for a big carryout bag and then headed over to our table.
"Tess, Jack."
"Deputy Kelly," Jack said. "Any news?"
Andy shook his head. "No, and it's damn frustrating." He looked around at the people seated nearby, who were all watching us in case there was a hint of gossip, and then he took a chair from an empty table and brought it to ours and sat down.
"No fingerprints on the candy wrappers," he said quietly. "Not even partials. Whoever it was must have been wearing gloves."
I debated telling him my suspicions about Pastor Nash, but Jack, who evidently knew what I was thinking about, shook his head. He was probably right. A fondness for peppermint candy is a very slim clue when you're accusing a beloved town pastor of being a finger-chopping-off stalker.
