She flushed angrily and turned to start the truck. “I think it would be better if you just minded your own business,” she said and drove quickly away, nearly knocking him down.

Howell watched the truck disappear, then walked to his own car. The grocery boy was putting the last bags into the rear of the wagon. He started the car and drove toward the Kellys’ house. Leonie and her family, he was now beginning to realize, were people he had become fond of, indeed, the best people he had met in this town. He felt particularly for her, an attractive and intelligent woman, trapped in circumstances that were not of her making, who had paid him the compliment of wanting to make love to him. He had given precious little back, and he felt badly about it. He wanted to help. He didn’t want Leonie stealing in order to make ends meet for her family while her mother was dying a slow and painful death.

But by the time he was nearing the Kelly house, he was reconsidering. A direct approach when she was embarrassed and angry might not be the best way. Perhaps he should wait and talk with her later, instead. When he came to the Kelly driveway he drove on past, idly following the road.

He had driven only a couple of hundred yards when an enormous roar from above made him duck reflexively. He leaned forward and looked up to see a light airplane passing over very low, gaining altitude slowly. Where the hell had that come from? A moment later, he knew. He stopped the car and stared at the sign in front of him. It read:

SUTHERLAND COUNTY AIRPORT

Howell knew where to find Bo at this hour of the day. He tapped the sheriff lightly on the shoulder as he slid into the booth with him. “Join you, Bo?”

“Sure thing, John. Make yourself at home.” Bo seemed just a bit cooler than his usual self.

“Cheeseburger and a beer, Bubba,” Howell called across the room. Bubba nodded.

They traded idle chat until the food arrived. Then Howell took a deep breath. “Bo, there’s something we have to talk about.”

Bo looked wary. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s been bothering me ever since we had the conversation about the credit card.”

“Yeah?” Bo sipped his coffee and waited.

“The credit card is Scotty’s, Bo.”

Bo lifted an eyebrow, set down his coffee cup and looked at Howell for a moment. “Tell me about it,” he said, finally.

He was good, Howell thought, Academy Award good. “Scotty’s name is MacDonald, not Miller. Heather MacDonald. She’s a reporter at the Constitution, or at least, she was until recently.”

Bo sat back and looked at Howell, all amazement. “You kidding me, John?”

“Nope, afraid not. She heard some rumor or other about your being dirty…”

“Where did she hear that?” Bo interrupted. His curiosity was not feigned.

“I’m not sure, from somebody at the capitol, I think. Anyway, there was nothing to back it up. Scotty just got a wild hair up her ass about it. There can’t have been much to it, because the paper wouldn’t send her up here to work on it. In fact, they fired her for being a pain in the ass.”

“Then what’s she doing here?”

“Oh, she had grand visions of breaking a big story all on her own, so she quit her job, got together some tame job references, and just came on up here. She reckoned if it panned out, they’d welcome her back with open arms.”

“Well, that’s the damndest thing I ever heard,” Bo laughed, slapping the table. “She sure had me for supper.”

“Oh, you’d have figured it out already, but she swiped the reply to your letter to Neiman’s.”

“Funny you should mention that; I was getting ready to call that guy in Dallas.”

“I figured you would, eventually. That’s why I wanted to tell you this now.”

Bo wrinkled his brow. “Why is that? Why are you telling me about it?”

“Well, I didn’t want you to fly off the handle when you heard about it. She hasn’t really done any harm, and she’s on the point of giving up the whole thing and going back to Atlanta. She’ll be coming in any day, now, telling you her mother’s sick or something, and that she has to leave.”

“You been working on this with her? Is that why you’re up here?”

“Oh, hell, no. I’m up here to work on a book, just like I told you. Well, not exactly like I told you.” Howell looked around and lowered his voice. “I’m not working on a novel. I’m ghost writing an autobiography for Lurton Pitts.”

“Fried chicken Lurton Pitts?” Bo looked skeptical.

“The same, and if you ever tell anybody about it, I’ll kill you, Bo. It’s hack work for some fast money, and I don’t want anybody ever to know I did it. Neither does Pitts, for that matter.”

Bo still was unconvinced. “Listen, John, it’s time you were straight with me all the way.”

“Denham White is Pitts’s lawyer. He got me the job. I kid you not, Bo, come on out to the cabin and I’ll play you the tapes and show you the manuscript. Wouldn’t you like to hear from the horse’s mouth how ol‘ Lurton found God?”

Bo laughed and shook his head. “No thanks, I’ll take your word for it.” His laughter faded. “How long you known Scotty?”

“I recognized her the first time I walked into your office – she started on the paper a few months before I left, and I’d seen her around the newsroom – so I went along with her.” Howell chuckled. “I can tell you she’s been going nuts and getting nowhere.”

“Well, of course not,” Bo laughed. “I told you I’m as clean as a hound’s tooth, didn’t I? What was she hoping to find out?”

“I don’t know – fixing speeding tickets, taking bribes – half the sheriffs in Georgia are into that sort of stuff, I guess.”

Bo looked vastly relieved. “Well, she could grow old trying to pin any of that shit on me.”

“Look, Bo, I don’t want you mad at her. I mean, she’s harmless. She’s gotten to like you a lot, and I think she’s pretty much ashamed of herself.”

“Well, I ought to kick her little ass, I guess, but I’m not mad.”

“Well, look, can you just let it ride? She’s already given up, really; she’s just hanging on because of her pride – you know how she is.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty cocky, all right.”

“She really thinks she’s pulled the wool over your eyes. Leave her that, anyway. She’ll go back to Atlanta and beg her job back thinking she’s the ace undercover reporter; that there just wasn’t anything to find. And if your name ever comes up again at the Capitol or at the paper, she’ll defend you to the death on the grounds that if she couldn’t pin anything on you, nobody could. Anyway, if she ever knew I told you, she’d kill me in my sleep.”

Bo roared. “Oh, Jesus, she sure would, wouldn’t she?” He laughed until the tears ran down his face.

He was biting, Howell thought. Hoped. “We got a deal then? Not a word to her? Not ever?”

“All right, buddy. She’ll never know I knew. But you realize, I’ve got something on you, now. You ever cross me, and I’ll tell her you told me. You wouldn’t live another twenty-four hours!” He dissolved in laughter again.

Howell left Bubba’s a few minutes later thinking he’d done the right thing. After all, he hadn’t told Bo much of anything he didn’t already know. If things worked the way he hoped they would, most of the heat would be off Scotty, and Bo might think he was home free.

He’d be damned if Bo would be home free. With what Howell knew, now, he and Scotty had a chance of taking him. Just a chance. Howell didn’t feel as good about that as he should have, he thought. He genuinely liked Bo; he wished the man were as clean as he said he was.