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Bridger smiled to himself and stepped into the man’s personal space. “It might be best if we talked inside. People love to gossip....”
Dressler’s pale eyes widened. He paused just long enough to pretend this was his idea, then led them inside, stopping in a foyer big enough to seat twelve for dinner.
“What is this about?” he asked the second the door was closed. “Pastor Myles told you I’m helping him out. He’s a great guy. An excellent spiritual leader. A town like ours is lucky to have him. There’s nothing more to it. Besides, I couldn’t stand by while the monster threatened his wife.”
“So you don’t know anything about the blackmailer?”
“Just that the person started out demanding a thousand dollars a month.”
“But now he wants a bigger chunk.”
Dressler ran a hand through his pale hair and gripped the back of his neck. “Apparently.”
Tension. Interesting. There must be a limit to the checks Dressler could write.
Dressler shifted from foot to foot and set his hands on his hips, staring up at the plastered ceiling. “It’s getting to be a lot.”
He met Bridger’s gaze, his own expression now sheepish. “I don’t mind helping, don’t get me wrong, but I thought it would be a few months. I was under the impression the pastor was going to go to the authorities and get this handled. I’m hoping that’s why you’re here.”
Bridger had no intention of breaking the sheriff’s trust and cluing Dressler in that the extortionist had moved on to wanting Myles dead.
Tai stepped into the man’s line of sight. “Affirmative.”
The man relaxed. “Great. That’s great. Do we have a timeline? This is costing me a bundle. And with this new demand...” He spread his arms. “I don’t have it. Not at the moment.”
Bridger studied the massive canvas above the credenza. Bold slashes of color, it looked like something a kid would paint. The kind of thing that sold for somewhere north of five zeros, he had a hunch.
Dressler noted his interest. “Most of this isn’t mine. The family corporation owns the property. My dad’s not the most generous man. If he knew my allowance was going to help the pastor….”
“Not a religious guy?”
Dressler laughed. “Not even close.” He scuffed a perfect shoe across the perfectly waxed marble. “That’s why the secrecy. If he knew I was writing those checks he’d blow a gasket.”
“Or cut you off.”
“Or that. I’ve got enough stashed away to live comfortably. Not like this.” He gestured at the vast living room with its breathtaking view of the valley a thousand feet below. “But I’d be okay. Not that I want to test that theory.”
“Who would?” Bridger agreed heartily. He had Dressler’s number now. Spoiled, and definitely on the lazy side.
And the guy clearly had no details about the blackmailer. Bridger studied the view while he let his impressions of Randall Dressler flit through his brain. Snippets of information, impressions and hunches, sometimes fit together in a tidy picture.
Not today.
Dressler wasn’t his kind of guy, but that didn’t make the man guilty of anything more than being rich and entitled. Which was too bad. He needed a lead, and he wanted an excuse to rough up that pretty face.
Tai grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door. “We’ve taken up enough of your time, Mr. Dressler.”
“Yeah.” Bridger yanked his arm out of Tai’s grip. “Thanks.”
Dressler’s fancy running shoes made no sound on the tile as he followed them to the door and held it open. “No thanks necessary. I appreciate you two looking into this. It needs to end. For my sake, but mostly for the pastor’s. He doesn’t deserve to be tortured like this.”
An interesting choice of words. But not untrue. Waiting for his secrets to be revealed—or for his wife to be harmed—had to be a hard way to live.
No wonder Jay-man had taken the preacher’s case.
As they headed out of the house, the back of his neck prickled, in the bad way, that nasty, sharp-edged feeling that hit him when he was about to walk into an ambush.
“You gonna fill Jane in on this?” Tai asked as Bridger pulled the Jeep out onto the street.
