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girl’s dishes. She’d barely Then I went back to the newspaper.
    touched her grilled cheese sandwich, steak-cut fries, and But the girl didn’t move. She just stood there in front triple chocolate milkshake. A shame, really. Because with of the register, like she wanted something else but didn’t Sophia’s sourdough bread, I made the best grilled cheese know how to ask for it. I decided to let her squirm for in Ashland. And the milkshake? Heaven for your taste ignoring my grilled cheese sandwich. Ten . . . twenty . . . buds.
    I ticked off the seconds in my head. Thirty . . . forty—
    The girl cleared her throat again and held out the
    “Um, this might sound strange, but is there an old ticket I’d written her order down on.
    man who works here?” she asked. “Maybe in the back or
    “Was there something wrong with your food?” I asked. something?”
    “Because it doesn’t look like you ate a lot of it.”
    Fletcher. She was asking about Fletcher. Not unusual.
    “oh, it was fine.” She shifted on her feet. “Guess I just The old man and the Pork Pit had been a downtown Ashwasn’t as hungry as I thought I was.”
    land institution for more than fifty years. Fletcher Lane I frowned. Everybody got hungry in the Pork Pit. No had been gone two months now, and people still came in true Southerner could resist the combination of spices, and asked about him. Where he was. How he was doing. grease, and artery-clogging fat in the air. But the girl When he was coming back. I stared at the copy of Where couldn’t be a Yankee. Not with that soft drawl that made the Red Fern Grows that adorned the wall beside the cash her voice ooze like warm preserves. More than likely, register. Fletcher had been reading the book when he’d she’d thought there was something off about the food, died, and the old man’s blood had turned the paperback considering no one else had been brave enough to come pages a rusty brown.
    in and try it today. I’d never met Jonah McAllister, but I
    “No,” I said in a quiet voice. “The old man isn’t here already disliked the man.
    anymore.”
    I rang up her total. “That’ll be $7.97.”
    “Are you sure?” she persisted. “He might . . . he might The girl dug through her wallet and handed me a call himself something. Tin Man, I think.”
    credit card. I raised an eyebrow.
    Tin Man . That got my attention. Enough to make me
    “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I don’t have any cash on me.”
    palm one of the silverstone knives tucked up my sleeve. I glanced at the name on the card. Violet Fox . I swiped Every assassin has a moniker, a discreet name they go by the card through the machine and passed the girl the to ply their services and perhaps give potential custompaper slip to sign. Her cursive was a loopy, feminine swirl. ers a clue as to how they operate or off their victims. Tin I tucked the slip under the corner of the battered cash Man had been Fletcher’s name because he’d never let his register and gave her my standard, y’all-please-come-back heart, his emotions, get in the way of a job. But once he’d smile. “Have a nice day.”
    taken me under his wing and started training me to be an Estep_Web of Lies_1P EP.indd 56-57
    12/17/09 9:32 PM
    58 JENNIFER ESTEP
    Web of Lies 59
    assassin, the old man had cut back on his own jobs and The girl, Violet, forced out a smile that wilted under eventually retired from the business altogether. Nobody my cold gray gaze. “Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”
    had asked for the Tin Man in a long, long time.
    “There’s nobody here by that name. No old man, either.”
    Except this girl.
    Not anymore.
    For the first time, I really looked at her. Girl probably out of sight below the counter, my thumb traced over wasn’t the right term for her. With her ample breasts, wide the hilt of the silverstone knife that I’d palmed. Violet Fox hips, and curved booty, she was a full-grown woman. Still might look about as dangerous as a wet kitten,