My 6-year-old granddaughter phoned me in panic just after midnight. “Mommy says the baby is coming! Help!” I asked, “Where’s daddy?” She answered, “He k!cked mommy’s tummy and left.”…..

Harry remembered Marshall. Quiet, competent, haunted by things he’d seen overseas. Good man to have in a corner. One more thing, Delmare continued. Word is there’s a new sheriff coming to town. Griffin Lasowl, decorated state trooper from Helena, supposed to clean up the department, root out the corruption, start officially in 2 weeks.

Timonss know about this. If he does, he’s not acting like it. Still struting around like he owns the place. Harry finished his beer and stood. Keep your ears open. If you hear anything about Trent’s movements, call me. What about the cops? When they come asking questions about what happened to Trent? What do I tell them? Tell them the truth, Harry said.

You haven’t seen him. Delmare grinned. I like the way you think. The copper mine and sat on the edge of town like a relic from the Wild West. All weathered wood and neon beer signs. The parking lot was mostly empty at 2:00 in the afternoon. Just a few pickup trucks and a motorcycle that had seen better years. Harry pushed through the heavy wooden door into a world of dim lighting and stale cigarette smoke.

June Callaway was behind the bar polishing glasses with mechanical precision. She was probably 45 with auburn hair pulled back in a practical ponytail and sharp green eyes that evaluated Harry as he approached. Her movements had the efficiency of someone who’d spent years dealing with drunks, creeps, and troublemakers. You’re Harry Kane, she said before he could introduce himself.

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