“He could have cronies doin’ his dirty work.”
Brantley had considered that.“No doubt about that.But Calloway would want to be front and center.Prove he’s the dick-swingin’ boss.”
Reese huffed a laugh.“Quite the picture you paint there.”
Brantley laughed.“You’re startin’ to sound like Atticus.”
Ten minutes after they crossed the city limits, they’d parked the truck on Main Street and started making their way from business to business.To cover more ground, they had split up.That was nearly two hours ago.Reese and Tesha were across the street, and based on the look on his face, Reese was having about as much luck as Brantley.
But it wasn’t time to give up yet.
Opening the door, Brantley stepped into a store that boasted fine art for sale.What he found when he walked inside wasn’t quite what he was expecting.This wasn’t the gallery of white with paintings highlighted by small beams of light as he’d thought.No, the floor was dark-stained concrete with imperfections throughout, and there were large, round tiered tables from the front to the back, all holding what appeared to be a variety of tchotchkes and trinkets.
“Hey, there,” a deep, rusty voice called from the back.“Mornin’.What can I help you with?”
Brantley skimmed the rows of knick-knacks before turning his attention to the man walking his way.He was a bear of a guy, sporting a fluffy gray beard and a shiny bald head.The laugh lines around his eyes said the man had spent his years enjoying life.
“Mornin’,” Brantley greeted in return.“Nice place you have here.”
“Thanks.”He peered around, clearly proud.“We like it.”
Brantley wasn’t sure whowewere, but he smiled, phone at the ready.Before he could show the picture, the man thrust out a hand.
“Bobby McEntire.And you are?”
He reminded himself that small towns were friendly and shook his hand in return.“Brantley Walker.”
“Nice to meet ya, Brantley.”
“Likewise.”
“What brings you in today?Need somethin’ for the wall?Or maybe the mantel?”
He gave the items a cursory inspection, then looked at Bobby.“I was actually wonderin’ if you’ve seen any of these people around here.”
“Hold on a minute,” the man said, digging in the bib of his overalls.He produced a pair of reading glasses and perched them on his nose.
The man took Brantley’s phone, all but kissing the screen.
He recognized that look—the one that said he was searching the deep recesses of his brain but coming up empty—so Brantley expected the same response he’d gotten from every other person he’d talked to, those who bothered to look at the photo or not.
“Can’t say I’ve seen her,” Bobby said, looking up.“She’s a pretty little thang, though.”
Brantley reached around, swiping the screen.
Bobby’s head tilted.“He looks kinda familiar.Not sure.”
Brantley swiped the screen one more time.
“Oh, yeah.”Bobby looked up, bushy eyebrows raised as he pointed at the screen.“That looks like ol’ Marty Callahan.”
“Calloway?”Brantley corrected.
Passing the phone back, the man grinned widely, showing straight white teeth.“That’s it.Marty Calloway.”
Pay dirt.
“Do you happen to know where he lives?”
