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well, you know—that he even had visitors.”
    “Is that a fact?”
    “Yes, sir. That was when I got my first hint that he might be planning something. ’Course I never guessed—”
    “No. Who could’ve?”
    “Normally I don’t even take notice of my tenants’ visitors. But when that woman came by”—she raised her chin—“well, that was a different kettle of fish.”
    “I can imagine.”
    “If Donald Vick thought I was going to let him go sparkin’ with that woman in my boardinghouse, well, he had another think coming. I don’t run that kind of place.”
    “I’m sure.”
    “I was prepared to march right in there and boot her out myself if necessary. Fortunately she left on her own just a little after eleven.” Mary Sue took a white guest book from the end table and opened it to the current page. “If you’ll just sign in, please.”
    Ben took the feather pen and signed.
    “ ’Course, I will have to ask for some … you know … in advance. Since we don’t know each other.”
    “Naturally.” Ben reached into his wallet and withdrew a fistful of twenties. “Will this do?”
    “Oh, my, yes.” Mary Sue reached eagerly for the money, but one of the bills slipped through her fingers. A draft from the front window caught it, nudging it to her side of the Dutch door. It slowly drifted downward … and lighted on the end table on top of the morning Herald.
    Don’t look! Ben found himself issuing mental commands, for all the good it would do. Just pick up the money and—
    “Oh, my gracious. Is this you?”
    Ben’s eyes rolled to the back of his head.
    Mary Sue picked up the newspaper and unfolded it. “You’re this—Benjamin Kincaid?”
    Ben briefly considered a story about an evil twin, but decided it was probably futile. “It’s me.”
    Mary Sue scanned the article. “Then you’re—good Lord!” She threw down the paper. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    Ben shrugged. “It didn’t come up. …”
    “You’re one of them!”
    “I’m not one of anything. I’m just a lawyer—”
    “Do you have any idea what you people have done to this town? I don’t feel safe walking the streets anymore.”
    “I’m just representing a man I believe may be innocent—”
    “Innocent!”
    “You know Donald. You know how harmless he is.”
    “I saw him nearly beat a man senseless!”
    That slowed Ben down. “What?”
    “I was at the Bluebell Bar that afternoon, before the murder. I was shocked; I had never seen Donald act like that. For no apparent reason, he attacked that poor Vietnamese boy. From behind, with no warning. He liked to have killed the boy before he even knew what was happening. A few of the boy’s friends pulled Donald away, then laid into him. When they threw Donald out, he was bleeding in half a dozen places, screaming about how he was going to kill him. And the next morning that Vietnamese boy was dead. That’s pretty conclusive evidence as far as I’m concerned.”
    “That’s strictly circumstantial—”
    “Circumstantial? What’s that—some big-city lawyer word?” She threw Ben’s money back at him. “You just get on out of here. I don’t want anything to do with you and your kind.”
    “Please listen to me, ma’am—”
    Mary Sue bent down, then came up with a double-barreled shotgun almost as big as she was. “You get on out of here, understand? Now!”
    She held the shotgun steady and ready; Ben didn’t doubt for an instant that she knew how to use it.
    “Last chance! Scram! ”
    Ben knew it was pointless to argue, and probably highly dangerous. He grabbed his money and hurried out the front door.

12.
    H OURS LATER ALL BEN had accomplished was several repetitions of the same old scene. No matter where he went, The Silver Springs Herald had been there first. No one would talk to him; no one would even take his money. Overnight he’d become a local pariah.
    By nine P.M., Ben had covered both Main and Maple streets from one end to the other and managed to