I closed the pad and eyed him a good twenty seconds. He waited, his jaw working hard.

“Here’s what I can offer you,” I said, and he shifted his weight again, itching to be rid of me. “I’ll give you one chance to tell me where Earl Walker is before I call the police and have your ass arrested on all these charges right here and now.” I couldn’t really have his ass arrested, but he didn’t know that. Hopefully.

The shock that hit me was so palpable, so visible, I felt as if I’d blindsided him with a left hook. Clearly, he was not expecting the name Earl Walker to enter into the conversation. But his reaction had nothing to do with thoughts of lunacy. He was wondering how I knew. Guilt was so easy to sense. It was like picking out the color red in a sea of yellow.

“I don’t have time for this shit,” he said, readying to walk past me.

I put both hands on the doorjamb to block his path.

He cast an incredulous stare at me. “Really, sweetheart? You want to do that?” When I shrugged, he just sighed and said, “Earl Walker died ten years ago. Look it up.”

“Okay, two chances. But that’s my final offer.” I wagged my finger at him in warning. That’d teach him.

“Honey, he’s dead. Ask his son,” he said with a knowing smirk. “His kid’s been sitting in prison ten years for killing him. Ain’t nothing you or the law can do about that.”

“Look, I’m not here to give you any trouble.” I showed my palms in a gesture of peace, love, and goodwill toward men. “You and I both know he’s no more dead than the cockroaches that scurry across your kitchen floor every night.”

His eyebrows seemed glued together.

“This isn’t your fault,” I said with a lighthearted shrug. “No one needs to know your name. Just tell me where he is, and you’ll never see me again.” I was so going to hell for lying. I had every intention of watching the man rot in prison.

Farley’s mouth formed a grim line as he took out a hunting knife that would have made Rambo proud and began cleaning his nails with the tip of the blade. Like Rambo might have had needed a manicure. The move was very effective. My first thought was how much it would hurt when the blade slid into my abdomen, pushing easily past the muscle tissue and through those ovaries with which I had no intention of procreating. Then Farley looked past me and stilled. With the reluctance of a man who forgot to take his Viagra before his weekly visit with his favorite prostitute, he slipped the blade back into its sheath.

He must have seen Garrett parked in the distance, not that I dared take my eyes off him to check. He reached over and grabbed a jacket.

“I don’t have anything else to say.”

“’Cause you’re a big fat liar?” I asked. It was a fair question. That scum-of-the-universe Earl Walker was alive.

A wave of anger washed over him. He probably didn’t like to be called fat. I giggled, but because I wasn’t stupid, I did it on the inside. On the outside, I raised my brows, waiting for an answer.

“No, because Earl Walker is dead.”

I nodded in understanding. “Possibly. Or it could be you’re just a big fat liar.”

His free hand curled into a white-knuckled fist, but his face remained neutral. All things considered, he was pretty good. Probably played a lot of poker. “I have a meeting.”

He forced his way past me even though I was blocking the door, his shoulder hitting mine in a desperate act of machismo.

I called out to him as he stalked to his truck. “Is it the weekly Big Fat Liars Anonymous meeting?” Nothing. He climbed in and slammed the door, but his window was down, so I took another pot shot. Mostly because I could. “Big Fat Liars bridge club?”

He glared as his engine roared to life.

“A Big Fat Liars Tea and Recognition Ceremony?” When he pulled the gearshift into drive, I shouted, “Don’t forget to stick out your pinkie!” Teas were so tedious.

After he drove off, I glanced over at Garrett. He’d exited his vehicle and was leaning against it, his legs crossed at the ankles. For once, I was glad he was there, but I refused to let him know that. I climbed into Misery and called Cook.

“Are you still alive?” she asked.

“Barely. This one liked big knives.”

Her startled gasp sounded in the phone. “Like Rambo’s?”

“Exactly.” Either she was getting better at this, or we really did have ESPN. “And even though he wouldn’t give me the time of day if my life depended on it, he knew one thing for certain.”

“Big knives are scary?”

“Earl Walker is alive.”

The phone was silent for a moment; then she said, “Wow, I’m not sure what to say. I mean, Reyes said he was, but—”

“I know. I don’t know what to think either.”

“So, Earl’s girlfriend, the dental assistant, switches dental records so the cops think it’s really him,” she said, thinking out loud.

“Yes, and Earl picks someone with the same general facial structure and build, murders him, puts him in the trunk of his car and burns it.”

“And he makes sure Reyes is arrested for his murder,” she said.

“Then kills his girlfriend one week after Reyes is convicted.”

“So, was this Farley Scanlon with the big knife an accessory?”

“That part’s not quite as clear,” I said, sliding my key into the ignition, “but he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt Earl Walker is still alive.”