Trask was sitting in one of the soft leather chairs near the desk, but his body had gone rigid. “You found out what?” Trask demanded, staring at the private investigator in disbelief. “Just what I told you,” John Davis replied, settling back in his chair and casually lighting a cigarette. Behind him, through the second-story window of his office, was a bird’s-eye view of the bustling downtown area of the city of Bend. “Damn!” Trask’s fist coiled and he slapped it into his other palm. His dark brows drew together. “I thought you wanted the truth.” “I did. I did.” Trask sounded as if he were trying to convince himself. “It’s just that... Hell, I don’t know.” His thoughts were jumbled and confused. The past couple of weeks had eased by in a regular routine. Fortunately there had been no more threatening letters, dead calves or violence. He had spent most of his time with Tory on the Lazy W.
