Free Boundary Waters by William Kent Krueger

glanced at the gun. He could have reached for it easily enough, but he decided he wanted to hear what the man had to say.
    “There are some things you need to know. For your own good.” The handsome man tapped the driver’s shoulder. “Take off, Joey. We don’t want to attract attention.”
    Good luck, Cork thought. In Aurora, a Lincoln Town Car would be as inconspicuous as a nun in a G-string.
    Joey drove north along the lake.
    The man in back was clean-shaven and smelled of a good, subtle aftershave. He wore calfskin boots, tight jeans, a red chamois shirt under a dark green sweater.
    “My name is Angelo Benedetti. You probably already know my family’s name. You spoke with the FBI about us? Last night, I believe.”
    “And if I did?”
    “Then they told you a lot of lies, mostly about my father.”
    “Vincent Benedetti?” Cork said. “What kind of lies do you believe they told me?”
    “That my father killed Shiloh’s mother. Look, they’ve been after my father, my family, a long time. Isn’t that right, Joey?”
    “Long time,” Joey said into the rearview mirror.
    “They never get anything, but that doesn’t stop them,” Benedetti said. “They’re like flies. They hang around and make a nuisance of themselves.”
    “If they’re only a nuisance, why are you here?”
    “To help you. And to help Shiloh.”
    “Yeah,” Joey said, turning his thick neck and speaking over his shoulder, “you’re in deep shit.”
    “Shut up, Joey.” He lightly slapped the back of Joey’s head.
    “Sure thing, Angelo.”
    “The feds told you about Libbie Dobson, I’ll bet.” Benedetti waited for Cork to confirm but went on when Cork only stared at him. “I’ll bet they didn’t tell you about Dr. Sutpen. Shiloh’s psychiatrist.”
    “What about her?”
    In the front seat, Joey made a noise, a boy noise, the kind Cork often heard from Stevie in his play when he pretended something was exploding. Joey laughed to himself.
    “She’s dead.” Benedetti allowed a dramatic moment before he went on. “Killed in a gas explosion at her Palm Springs office that burned the place down and destroyed all client records. Authorities are listing it officially as accidental.”
    Joey swung the car into a turnaround and headed back in the direction from which they’d come.
    “You don’t think it was an accident,” Cork said.
    “Highly coincidental, don’t you think? I don’t know about you, Cork, but I don’t believe in coincidence.”
    “Only my friends call me Cork.”
    “That’s what I’m here to tell you. In this, you won’t know who your friends are.”
    “You claim the FBI lied to me. Why would they?”
    “My father believes they’re protecting someone. Someone big.”
    “Who?”
    “He doesn’t know. He believes whoever it is, they were responsible for the murder of Shiloh’s mother. Back then, Marais Grand had a powerful friend, someone who pulled a lot of strings for her. My father never knew who it was, but he thinks Marais was killed to keep that friendship from being exposed. Now they’re trying to kill Shiloh.”
    “Why?”
    “Come on, Cork. The feds filled you in on that part. Shiloh’s shrink helped her remember things about the night her mother was killed.” Benedetti held up his hands in easy guilt. “It’s not hard to find these things out. Cops are civil servants and terribly underpaid.”
    “Why isn’t your father here taking care of this business himself?”
    “He’s not a well man. The flight here was hard on him. He’s resting. But my words are his.”
    Cork looked straight into Benedetti’s eyes. They were green with flecks of gold. Women no doubt found them compelling. “Elizabeth Dobson was probably killed because someone wanted the letters she’d received from Shiloh. Some more letters from Shiloh were stolen last night.”
    Benedetti didn’t flinch at all. “I’m not going to lie to you, Cork. Yeah, I know people who know how to steal. I know people who can set