Page 135 of Property of Bob

“Bernice,” Skull said.

“Has to be,” Anchor muttered.

I picked up the next one.

PRINT WHAT I SEND YOU. PUT IT WHERE I TELL YOU.

Post leaned over my shoulder. “The fucking posters.”

“Some of them, at least,” Anchor said.

I looked at the next one.

DON’T FUCK THIS UP, RON. YOU KNOW WHAT THEY DID.

Nobody said anything. That was different.

I read it again. You know what they did.

Not you know what they’re doing. Did. Past tense.

I laid it on the desk beside the others.

“There’s our fucking connection,” Piney muttered.

“To what?” Vin asked from behind the computer.

“The past.”

“We already knew this shit was connected to the old club,” Post pointed out.

“Yeah, but Ron knew why,” Piney replied.

Anchor picked one of the notes. “Or the killer convinced him he did.”

Skull nodded toward the last paper in my hand. “What’s that one say?”

I unfolded it and my stomach tightened.

BERNICE KNOWS TOO MUCH.

Nobody moved.

I stared at the words.

For a second, Ron’s office disappeared, and I saw blood with Bernice on the floor.

My hand pressed against my neck.

That voice. Low and angry. You should’ve kept your mouth shut.

“Bob?”

I blinked and looked at Anchor.

He was watching me.

I pointed at the note. “That’s what I fucking remembered.”