“Proof that I’ll share with you as soon as I can,” I said. “With you—not any of the other reporters swarming into town even as we speak. Assuming you help us.”
“Help you do what?”
“Find the real killer.”
She rolled her eyes.
“It’s not impossible,” I said. “There’s a limited pool of suspects.”
“People who aren’t friends of yours?” she said.
“People with access to the courthouse. Did we just stroll in yesterday?”
“You think it’s one of the guards?” Her eyes had grown wide.
“Or someone the guards wouldn’t think twice about letting into the courthouse.”
“Like someone who works for First Progressive Financial?”
I nodded, and waited a few moments while she digested this.
“And of course you realize why you can’t even share this with your management yet, right?” I asked.
I could tell this was uncomfortably reminiscent of her all-too-recent days in journalism school. She considered it, clearly suspecting a trick question, and then shook her head slightly.
“First Progressive Financial—large corporation.” I said. She nodded. “Star-Tribune—large corporation. These days, more and more large corporations are getting snapped up by enormous multinational corporations. Or they have overlapping board members. Or one is a big advertiser with the other. Do you know for sure whether or not the Star-Tribune and our Evil Lender are connected in some way?”
“I have no idea,” she said.
“Neither do we,” I said. “So until we find out—let’s not tell one large corporation that we suspect the other.”
“That makes sense,” she said. “But unless I can tell them I have a scoop, they’re going to send me home.”
“Not when you tell them how well you’ve insinuated yourself into the town,” Michael said. “Why don’t you stay here? Invited to stay with your new, well-connected local sources—that would certainly impress your paper. And we’ve got plenty of room, and it will be a lot more comfortable than sleeping in the back of your car.”
“How did you— What makes you think I’m sleeping in my car?”
“You’ve got that little dent from the door handle in your left cheek,” Rob said.
Her hand flew up to the cheek in question.
“He’s kidding,” Michael said. “Actually, one of the deputies spotted your car in the lot behind the Quick Mart. The chief scheduled increased patrols of the lot to make sure you were safe, but it must have been rather uncomfortable. Horace told me last night,” he added, in response to my puzzled look.
“I couldn’t get a room at the Caerphilly Inn,” she said. “And that seems to be the only hotel in town. If you’re serious, then yes.”
“Let me help you with your luggage,” Rob said. He drained his cup and leaped up with a great deal more enthusiasm than he usually showed for being up at this time of day.
“And then we can fix you some breakfast,” Michael said.
“You realize that you haven’t really given me any proof,” Kate said.
“What do you think will happen if the killer finds out that there’s one bit of evidence that can overturn the case against Mr. Throckmorton?”
“He’ll go after that evidence,” she said.
“And while we’d like to believe you’re trustworthy, we don’t really know you that well yet. So you can understand why we’re keeping the evidence under wraps for the time being. Rob, get her settled in the room next to Caroline’s.”
Rob saluted—which I hoped indicated not just that he knew where to put the reporter but also that he knew better than to spill the beans to her just yet about his being Phineas Throckmorton’s alibi. Then he bowed to the reporter and gestured to the doorway.
“Is having her stay here really a good idea?” I asked Michael, when I’d heard the front door shut behind them.
“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer,” he said.
“By which you mean that it will make it easier to keep tabs on what she’s doing,” I said.
“And easier for her to get to know us and come over to our way of thinking,” he added.
“We should warn Festus’s legal team that she’ll be around,” I said.
“Will do.” He pulled out his phone and began texting. Not his typical way of communicating with people, but I supposed he wanted to make sure he wasn’t overheard if Kate came back in.
“What a lovely morning!” Caroline Willner bounced in. Clearly she, too, was a lot more of a morning person than I was. Maybe it was a generational thing. I didn’t know Caroline’s precise age, but she and my ninety-something grandfather were not only good friends but approximate contemporaries. And they both seemed to consider getting up at dawn a virtue on a par with kindness to animals. Or maybe they’d just gotten used to doing it because the animals did. Caroline ran a wildlife sanctuary near Caerphilly, and my grandfather, an eminent zoologist and environmentalist, now spent much of his time with his new toy, Caerphilly’s small but rapidly expanding private zoo.