“Has he been declared dead yet?”

“Years ago.”

“Huh. I’d lost track.”

He was lying about that, too, and she couldn’t wait to get away from him. “If you’ll excuse me, I really need to—”

“They take care of you in there?” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder toward the building, then pointed at the envelope she carried. “Get what you came for?”

“Yes.”

“Anything I can do to assist?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well, if you think of something…” He reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, withdrew a business card, and passed it to her. “At your service. Anytime.”

Arden thanked him with a nod and slid the card into her handbag. “Now, I really must go.”

“Sure, sure, sorry to have detained you. I just wanted to say hi and introduce myself. You have a good day now.”

Congenial smile in place, he went back to his car and got in. He gave her a little wave as he drove away.

Arden got into her car, tossed the envelope containing the investigation reports onto the passenger seat, then gripped the steering wheel with both hands, and laid her forehead on the backs of them. “Lost track?” Hardly.

As she’d told Ledge last night, she wanted answers.

She now had one. The individual routinely driving past her house was District Attorney Rusty Dyle.

Arden’s initial impulse was to alert Ledge to her discovery. But, considering the hostility with which they’d parted the night before, she decided against calling him.

She must speak with Lisa, however. She needed to dismiss the remote possibility that their father was alive and well and keeping tabs on them.

Yesterday, Arden had been hesitant to bring up her childish dream that he would one day come back, afraid that Lisa would either chide or pity her for clinging to such an implausibility.

Learning that Lisa had secretly shared that same vain hope had forged a stronger bond between them. It had been freeing for Arden to see proof that Lisa, the indomitable one, wasn’t totally without vulnerability. She had left Lisa’s office feeling that they had been equalized. The difference in their ages, all the differences between them, had been spanned by a common heartbreak.

But did she wish for Lisa to know that she had identified the district attorney as her “stalker”? Lisa would want to act on it immediately, notify the authorities, assemble the militia.

No. Arden didn’t want to reveal what she had discovered about Rusty Dyle until she knew why he was spying on her. Since he and she had never even met, his interest couldn’t be personal. Which meant it was official and must pertain to her father and two unsolved crimes, one a probable homicide.

She had obtained the investigation reports in the hope they would yield something she could use to defend against the accusations against her father.

By the time she got home, she’d decided on the tack to take with Lisa. She got herself a Diet Coke, sat at the table with the police files in front of her, and put the call through. When Lisa answered, the background noise indicated that she was on speakerphone in her car.

Arden said, “Evidently I’ve caught you at a bad time.”

“I’m only running errands. What’s going on? Did your pervert drive by last night?”

She wasn’t certain Rusty Dyle could be classified as a pervert. Snake oil salesman, maybe. He had that kind of pointy-mustache leer and mannerisms. He’d clasped her hand a little too long for what should have been a polite handshake between strangers. Thinking about him made her shudder.

“Arden?”

“I don’t know for sure if he came by last night or not. I was exhausted. The round-trip drive to Dallas and all.” The “all” being her go-rounds with Ledge. Fighting with him, kissing him, fighting some more. “I was history the instant my head hit the pillow.” She pushed on before Lisa could grill her.

“I’ve given a lot of thought to our conversation yesterday. Speaking for myself, and I believe for you, it was like undergoing open-heart surgery. Grueling and painful, but healing in the long run. I don’t want to dim the afterglow.”

“But?”

“I went to the courthouse this morning, the sheriff’s office, and got the investigation reports on the Welch’s burglary and Brian Foster’s death.”

“You did? Why? If you wanted to see those reports, you should have asked me for them yesterday.”

“You have them?” Arden exclaimed. “Since when?

“Since forever. I got them before I even moved us away.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Lisa repeated, sounding dismayed by the question. “The investigators were alleging, and people were accepting, that Dad was guilty of both. I wanted to know what evidence they had to base such accusations on. Isn’t that why you wanted the reports?”

“Precisely. Which makes it all the more flabbergasting that you never shared them with me.”

“Arden, you were ten years old. The description of Foster’s remains wasn’t for the faint of heart. If either had contained something vital, I would have shared it with you. Neither did.

“There was no evidence placing Dad at either the store or where Foster was discovered. The authorities based their allegations solely on Dad being an embittered former employee, who had butted heads with Foster the day he was fired. That was their only substantiation.”

“That wasn’t the only substantiation, Lisa,” she said softly. “Rather than answer to the charges, he vanished, and so did an estimated half a million dollars.”

It pained Arden to say that, and her sister couldn’t dispute it.

“True,” Lisa said. “Those facts do point a finger at him. Collectively, it’s compelling, but it’s all circumstantial. Every scrap of it. When you read the reports, you’ll see what I mean.”

Musing aloud, Arden said, “I wonder what a prosecutor today would think of them. How much stock one would put into them?”

“Probably none if Rusty Dyle is still the DA.”

Arden couldn’t believe that Lisa had spoken the name that, not five minutes ago, she had determined not to mention. “What do you know about him?”

“Only that he’s irksome. You remember Sheriff Dyle?”