Comeback (Gun Pedersen Book 1) by L. L. Enger

for his wallet. Something was making his stomach uncomfortable, and it wasn’t Jack’s hamburger.
    “It’s on me,” said Jack.
    “Thanks.” Gun rapped a good-bye on the bar, but Jack wasn’t ready to let him go.
    “What would Lyle want with Mazy, anyway? Say she did come up with something embarrassing—”
    “Or illegal.”
    “Or illegal, right. Even if she did, Hedman isn’t dumb enough to do anything to her. Damnit, Gun, what’s going on?”
    “Hedman seems to think he knows.”
    “You don’t believe that rubbish any more than I do. None of this makes any sense.” Jack picked up Gun’s plate and glass and set them on the counter behind the bar.
    Gun rubbed his jaw. He hadn’t shaved yet today, and it was about time he did. Go home, shave, think, take a few swings.
    “Well, does it?” Jack said.
    Gun shook his head and took two steps toward the door. Then, on impulse, he turned. “You think maybe there’s somebody bigger than Lyle? Somebody putting pressure on him?”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “You remember what I told you about Tig’s cat.”
    “Sure.”
    “‘Course we don’t know Lyle was responsible, but say he was. Seems like a desperation move. There are better ways to go about persuading somebody.”
    “Filthy lucre,” said Jack.
    “And something else too. I think somebody knocked Lyle around a little bit, put the fear of God in him.” He told Jack about Hedman’s bruised face.
    “That puts a little twist on things. Any ideas ?”
    “Not yet,” Gun said. He turned and headed for the door, stoop ing a little as he went. It opened as he reached for the knob, and Carol Long was there. She’d changed into khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt with a pink hibiscus pattern.
    “Carol,” Jack called from the bar. “You brought your legs. Good.”
    “Clever, Jack.” Carol smiled at Gun. “He isn’t well.”
    “Observant, though,” Gun said.
    “So am I.” She tilted a look at him and glided over to the bar with a grace not often seen in Stony. She said, “Sorry I sprang in on you that way this morning. But I didn’t understand things then, and I still don’t. What about you?”
    “I’m learning.”
    “Onerous process,” said Jack.
    “Well, I’m glad I found you. This morning I ran into Reverend Barr at Fisher’s Cafe. Talkative man. You might be interested.”
    “Might be.” Gun moved closer.
    Carol Long crossed one leg over the other with a movement that was frank, even modest, yet the effect was no different than if the lights in the room had been snapped off to reveal she had glow-in-the-dark panty hose. Gun had to take control of his eyes and tell himself to pay attention.
    “. . . and he was wearing his collar, dressed for preaching.”
    “It’s eleven-thirty,” Jack said. “He’s probably in the middle of his sermon right now.”
    Carol shook back her hair like a schoolgirl. It was straight and black except for those rare gray strands that twisted off course like erratic pencil lines of light. She continued. “I’m sure he wasn’t planning to come in—he’d already walked past the door. But when he saw me through the window, he turned around and came in, walked right up and asked if he could join me. I said fine.”
    She paused, looking first at Jack, then at Gun, before going on. “First off, he was acting smug, not unusual for him, I know. But he was the wrong kind of smug. M oney smug. In the world and of it too. No platitudes or significant stares into infinity. Just plain physical arrogance.”
    “What did he say?” Gun asked.
    “He asked if I thought my editorials against Loon Country were doing any good. I told him yes, I thought so, and he gave me this huge foolish grin. He was feeling so good he stopped a waitress and ordered himself breakfast.” Carol lifted her chin and took a deep breath. Gun and Jack leaned in. “Then he looked around the cafe and whispered to me, ‘I suppose you’ve heard the rumor about Hedman’s new land