Andrew made a left onto the street that led to the town’s center, then parked in front of the hardware store. He pointed to the sign above the door. FEENEY’S HARDWARE EST. 1886.

“Let’s go see if the proprietor is here.” Andrew got out of the car and dropped a quarter in the meter.

They walked from the oppressive heat of the afternoon into the air-conditioned cool of the old building.

“Nice.” Dorsey observed as they looked around. The store had wide-planked oak floors and old-fashioned displays and fixtures, but the lighting and the cooling system had obviously been updated.

“Something I can help you find?” a young clerk asked them.

“We’re looking for Jeff Feeney,” Andrew responded.

“Jeff’s right back there near the office.” The boy pointed toward the rear of the store. “Blue shirt.”

“I see him, thanks.” Andrew motioned to Dorsey to follow him.

Jeff Feeney looked up from his conversation and watched the pair approach. He was a tall, burly man of around forty, and his arms, chest, and neck broadcast that he still worked out on a frequent basis.

“Mr. Feeney?” Andrew had his badge out of his pocket, and Feeney’s eyes were on it.

“That’s me.” Jeff Feeney’s smile was clearly disingenuous. “Help you with something?”

Even as Andrew held up his badge, he had the distinct feeling that Feeney knew exactly who he was. Feeney took the badge and pretended to look it over. He gave Dorsey a long look, top to bottom.

“And you, pretty lady? You have something to show me?”

“It’s Agent Collins.” Dorsey passed her credentials to him. He took a long time studying them before handing them back.

“We can step into my office.” He turned and walked through an open door to his left.

He closed the door after the agents and folded his arms across his chest.

“What can I do for you?”

“We’re in town-”

“I know why you’re in town. I suspect by now, everyone else does, too.” He waved off Andrew’s explanation.

“Word travels fast,” Dorsey remarked dryly.

“Not really, pretty lady, it’s taken-”

“Agent Collins,” she repeated coldly. “My name is Agent Collins.”

“Ahhh, right, of course. My apologies,” he drawled without sincerity. “I was going to say, word has actually traveled a bit slowly, by Hatton’s standards. You’ve been here, what, three days now, and people are just starting to talk? Why, that’s near unheard of.”

“What exactly have you heard?” Andrew asked.

“Well, they’re saying you’re looking into the Shannon Randall case because somehow she’s been alive all this time, but turned up dead for real a few weeks back down in Georgia.” He shook his head. “Imagine that. Alive all these years, and no one knowing. And that kid being executed and her not even being dead.”

“Eric Beale,” Dorsey said pointedly.

“What?” Feeney frowned.

“Eric Beale. The boy who was executed was Eric Beale.”

“Oh, right. Beale.” He nodded.

“We understand you had a run-in with him not too long before he was arrested for Shannon ’s murder.”

“Did I?” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I may have. It was a long time ago. I don’t really remember.”

“You remember having been involved somehow in a bar fight with his brother sometime before that?” Andrew asked.

“Agent Shields, that was a long time ago. I’m afraid when I was younger, I did more than my share of hell-raising and got into more than one barroom brawl. It may be one of them involved this kid’s brother-Tim, was it?-but like I said, it was a long time ago.”

“You were a witness in the case against him. He went to prison for assault. Served time.”

“Oh, that fight.” Feeney nodded as if a light had just gone on in his head. “That was out at the Past Times. I do remember that. Tim Beale got into it with a buddy of mine.”

“Do you remember what the fight was about?”

“’Fraid not.” Feeney perched casually on the edge of his desk.

“Where’s this buddy now?” Dorsey asked.

“In the churchyard, First Baptist of Hatton,” he said smugly. “Motorcycle accident. Knoxville, nine, ten years ago.”

He stared at Andrew. “Anything else I can help you with, Agent Shields?”

“I think we’re good for now.”

“Well, then, I hope you find what you’re looking for.” Feeney reached out one long arm and opened the door.

They left without thanking him for his time.

“I swear I feel his eyes burning a hole right through the back of my head,” Dorsey mumbled as they stepped back into the sunshine.

“I don’t think it was the back of your head he was staring at.” Andrew unlocked the car with the remote.

“What an asshole,” Dorsey said when they were in the car. “Creepy and arrogant.”

“Yeah, but that just makes the picture more clear.” Andrew checked the time. “We have time to get a quick bite before we head out to Aubrey’s. Let’s grab something at that diner across from the post office.”

“Fine. What do you mean, the picture’s more clear?”

“We have two cases to solve here. The first one being what happened twenty-four years ago, the second being who killed Shannon. Let’s just look at the first one for now.”

He drove to the municipal parking lot and took a spot.

“Let’s assume that whatever happened to put Tim Beale behind bars had something to do with Jeff Feeney.”

“That feels right.” She nodded. “So Tim’s behind bars, then something’s going on between Feeney and Tim Beale’s little brother.”

“Okay, hold that thought.” Andrew turned off the car but didn’t move to get out. “Not too long after whatever confrontation there was between Feeney and Eric Beale, Shannon Randall runs away from home. Kimmie White tells Chief Taylor that she saw Shannon in Eric’s car. Eric’s picked up and questioned, and when the bloody shirt is found in his car, Taylor concludes that Eric killed Shannon.”

“To get back at Eric somehow for having gotten into something with his nephew?” Dorsey frowned.

“With his wife’s nephew.” Andrew let that sink in. “Is there any doubt in your mind that Taylor ’s wife held the reins in that house? The house bought and restored with money she inherited?”

“So, you’re thinking that after Eric appeared to be a suspect, his wife leaned on Taylor to turn it on full blast, to get Eric out of the way for some reason?”

“Think about it. Both Beale boys get into seriously hot water with the law, after each of them had a run-in with Jeff Feeney.”

“Maybe Tim and Eric had something on Jeff, or maybe knew something that Jeff-and his aunt-didn’t want anyone else to know.” Dorsey thought for a moment. “Or it could have been the other way around.”

“Could be either. Having Eric arrested for Shannon’s murder was the way Taylor shut him up.”

“But why wouldn’t Eric have spoken up back then?” Dorsey frowned. “Why didn’t he say something at the trial? It doesn’t make sense that he’d keep quiet and let them execute him if he knew why he was being railroaded.”

“I agree. It doesn’t make sense at all.”

“And how would Shannon ’s disappearance be connected to that?”

“I don’t think it is. I think her disappearance was just a convenient way for Taylor to get rid of Eric the same way he got rid of Tim.”

“I find it hard to believe that Taylor would have let them execute Eric, knowing he was innocent.”

“Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe once the story was concocted, he believed it. Maybe it all made perfect sense to him, once all the little bits of evidence starting falling into place. You know you can talk yourself into just about anything, if the stakes are high enough.”

“Let’s suppose you’re right,” Dorsey said. “Let’s suppose that’s how it happened. Eric gets onto Taylor ’s radar somehow, he believes Eric is guilty, Eric is convicted and he’s executed. Now fast forward to 2007. Shannon Randall’s murdered. You’re saying you don’t think the two events are connected?”