“It’s all I have.I want to hire your services.”
“My services?”Morimer savored the phrase.“That’s a careful way to put something foolish.”
“I’m not here for a sermon.”
Morimer picked up his lemonade and drank.“What sort of services do you imagine I provide?”
Connor held his gaze.“Information.Eyes.Ears.Men who hear things before deputies do.”
“That sounds almost civic-minded.”
“I want you to help me hunt down a killer.”
Morimer’s glass stopped halfway to the table.
For the first time since Connor had arrived, the old man looked genuinely interested.
“A killer,” he said.
“Two men are dead.My friends.Warren Holt and Victor Schmidt.”
“I heard about Mr.Holt.”
“Did you hear about Victor?”
“Not until now.”Morimer’s expression offered nothing else.“You think the same hand did both?”
“I think someone’s choosing men with enemies and counting on the rest of us to chase grudges.”
“Us,” Morimer said softly.“How inclusive.”
Connor pointed at the cash.“Six thousand buys discretion and urgency.”
“No, Sheriff.Six thousand buys a nicer evening than I expected.But it’s a drop in the ocean.”Morimer set his glass down.“Discretion is more expensive.Urgency even more so.”
Connor’s jaw tightened.“You want more money?”
“I have money.”
“Then what?”
Morimer folded the newspaper and placed it neatly on the table beside the cash.“Before we discuss price, we discuss appetite.You came here alone.You bribed my gate.You surrendered your gun.You sat on my porch and asked a man you publicly despise to put his private machinery at your disposal.”
“I’m aware of what I did.”
“No, I don’t believe you are.”Morimer’s tone stayed pleasant.That made it worse.“A sheriff doesn’t come here unless the law has failed him or he intends to fail the law.”
Connor said nothing.
Morimer tapped one finger against the newspaper.“Which is it?”
“Two good men are dead.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.Will you help or not?”
A trace of amusement returned.“Coming to me… Emily would have liked that.”
