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bookie.”
    “Not. He’s the muscle.”
    “He got a record?”
    Billy nodded, his face never lifting from the dry ground.
    Harry turned to Cullen. “I don’t need no Mexican leg breakers in my town. I got enough problems. Find him and arrest him. I don’t care for what. Just get him the hell off the streets.”
    Cullen nodded. “What about him?” He tilted his head toward Billy.
    “We’ll take him back to the church, just like I said. Long as he’s workin’ there, we can keep our eyes on him. Ain’t that right, Billy-boy?” He kicked him softly in the thigh, and Billy nodded vigorously.
    “There you go. Put him in the car, and let’s get going. I got a meetin’ with the mayor at five.”
    Harry had just started the car again when the radio squawked. “Chief? You there?”
    Thumbing the mic, he said, “This is Harry. What’s up, Shirley?”
    “Got a phone call from Marge Chilton. She said one of her guests took a young boy up to his room and then left with him again about twenty minutes later,” said the dispatch officer.
    “Shit. All right, I’m heading over there right now. She say who it was?”
    “Yep. A Mister John Root. Only been in town a couple weeks. Average looking fellow with silver hair, she said.”
    “I seen him in church a couple times,” Cullen said.
    “Thanks, Shirley.” He hung up the mic. “Let’s go.”
    “You think maybe he killed those girls?”
    “Only one way to find out. But if he did...he’s gonna be sorry he ever stepped foot in my town.”
     

 
Chapter 11
    John looked up at the sound of a car pulling into the Anderson’s driveway. His first thought, that Danni had come home early from work, disappeared when he saw the gold-on-black Cattaraugus County Sheriff insignia on the hood of the car and the light bar on the roof.
    As the car came to a stop in a cloud of dust, John put down his paintbrush and wiped his hands on his shirt. A stocky officer, his stomach stretching the uniform shirt to its limits, got out from the driver’s side. Mirrored aviator sunglasses hid his eyes.
    The passenger door opened, and a taller, more muscular man exited the car. He wore matching sunglasses, and what John had always thought of as a ‘cop’ mustache: square and thick. Back home in South Carolina, it always seemed as if two out of every three police officers favored the same style.
    Based on the hat, and his evident older age, John guessed the rotund officer was in charge. The man didn’t wait long to confirm John’s suspicions. He took three steps forward and removed his sunglasses, revealing hard, angry eyes set deep in the round, doughy face.
    “John Root?”
    The aggression in his voice matched his expression, and set off alarms in John’s head.
    “Yes, Officer...?” He kept his voice soft and neutral, not wanting to aggravate the already tense situation.
    “Chief. Chief Harry Showalter. This is Deputy Sheriff Cullen.” He jerked his thumb at the younger man, who’d also taken off his glasses. Like the chief, he seemed brimming with anger as he stroked one hand menacingly on his baton.
    “What can I do for you, sir?” John asked.
    Showalter cocked his head to the side, like a bird listening to a distant sound. “Rumor ‘round town is you been spending an awful lot of time with the Anderson boy.”
    “I’m doing renovations on their house. Mitch helps me out after summer camp. I keep an eye on him until his sister gets home.”
    “It’s true. John’s been here every day.”
    John glanced back and saw that Mitch had come outside. He stood by the front door, a half-eaten apple in one hand.
    “I don’t doubt it, boy.” The Sheriff nodded at Cullen. “Check him out.”
    Cullen moved forward, and John took a step back. “Am I under arrest?”
    “Depends what we find. I just want to make sure you ain’t armed before we have our chat.”
    “I’m calling Danni.” Mitch ran back inside.
    John held his arms up. “I’m not carrying any