Free Lead-Pipe Cinch by Christy Evans Page A

McComb, and with Chad and Astrid in Tiny’s that night. And then I saw him at the site the next morning.”
    “And before that?”
    “It was several years ago, in San Francisco. As I told you, we worked together. The last time I saw him was when I left the company where we worked.”
    “That was”—he checked his notebook—“Samurai Security? Where he was still employed?”
    “It was Samurai, yes. But I didn’t know that he was still employed there.” I’m not a very good liar, but I hadn’t known Blake was still a part of the company until Richard called. It was a fine distinction, but it worked for me. “I had the impression he was still doing the same kind of work, though he didn’t say where he was working.”
    “According to Chad McComb, it was Samurai Security. Said he’d never done business with them before, but they came highly recommended.”
    He glanced back at his notes. “You hadn’t seen Mr. Weston since you left San Francisco?”
    “Yes.”
    “Had you talked to him?”
    I glanced at the recorder. The light blinked steadily, my words saved for anyone to hear. “Can we turn that off for a minute?”
    The sheriff hesitated, then reached down and killed the power to the recorder. “Why?”
    I toyed with a piece of pepperoni. It was greasy, and I wiped my hands on a paper towel.
    “Miss Neverall?”
    I looked up and caught the sheriff’s gaze. I held his eyes for a minute before I looked back down at my plate. “There are several things about my relationship with Mr. Weston that I would prefer to keep private. Once they are on that thing”—I waved at the recorder—“anybody can listen to what I say.”
    “It’s kept secure, Georgie.”
    I looked up again, startled by his use of my first name. He flashed a sheepish grin. “Let’s start over, shall we?”
    I nodded and waited for him to continue.
    “Georgie, I have heard some things that make me think you know more about Blake Weston than you’ve been telling me. I need to know what those things are.” He held up a hand to stop the question that was already forming on my lips.
    “I have my reasons, just like you have yours for not telling me. I can’t divulge why I need to know, but I do. So why don’t we have some pizza, and talk about good ol’ Blake?”
    He reached for a piece of pizza. “And you’re the one who told me to call you Georgie.”
    Fred Mitchell knew I had been holding out on him.
    I put another slice on my plate and leaned back. “Okay, we can play it that way. But I want you to promise me this doesn’t go any further. It’s ancient history, and I don’t want to be reading about it on the front page of the Pine Ridge Times .”
    “Scout’s honor.” He held up three fingers in a salute. “Unless it’s evidence of a crime, I’ll respect your confidence.”
    “Blake and I had a, um, complicated relationship. I started the company, it took off, and Blake was the first partner when I expanded. We had a personal relationship in addition to the business partnership.”
    “That trick never works.”
    “I know. But I believed we were different.”
    He gave a harsh laugh. “Doesn’t everyone?”
    “Yeah. Well.” I chewed a bite of pizza, then continued. “We attracted venture capital, like a lot of high-tech companies did at the time. Eventually, the investors decided they wanted a say in how things were done.
    “It did not end well.”
    The sheriff shrugged and took another piece of pizza. “Seems like things were going okay for Weston. Until recently, of course.”
    It was my turn to shrug. “Really don’t know. Like I said, I haven’t talked to him since I left San Francisco.”
    “We all have those kind of stories. Why is it so important to you to keep this a secret?” His expression was genuinely puzzled.
    I could have told him about my mother’s disapproval and my father’s expectations. I could have explained how I was the local girl that made good at the prestigious university. I could