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always friends.”
    â€œNot always.” Baldwin’s florid face paled. “That was a long time ago, before, you know, he went bad.” He paused, his barrel chest rising and falling with each tear of the napkin. “He was all friendly at first, saying he was looking forward to seeing me, seeing old friends, stuff like that. It was weird ’cause he has to know he doesn’t have any friends around here.”
    â€œHe still thinks you’re his friend.”
    â€œWhat?” Baldwin’s mouth opened. “No. Well, maybe, but that’s not the point.”
    Cancini sat down again. “What is the point, Teddy?”
    The man pushed around the small pile of napkin scraps and took a deep breath. “He started talking about how things are gonna change around here, now that he’s coming back.” He shook his head. “He said . . . he said Little Springs is in for a big surprise.”
    â€œA surprise?”
    â€œYeah. A surprise. Can you believe it? He’s got nerve, right? I mean, what the hell?” His voice dropped, forcing Cancini to lean in. “That’s why I called you. I haven’t told anyone else about this, not even the police.” Baldwin swept the paper scraps to the side of the table with his thick hand. “The thing is, he talked like everything was normal until right before he hung up and then, I swear he was threatening me.”
    â€œThreatening you?” the detective asked, the hair on his arms rising. “How?”
    â€œHe said Little Springs hasn’t seen anything yet, that he was calling to give me fair warning.”
    â€œFair warning?”
    The mayor stood, his attention drawn to the windows and the growing crowd outside. “I have to get going. The press conference is going to start soon.”
    â€œFair warning of what?” Cancini asked, his voice tight.
    â€œI don’t know.” Baldwin’s gaze shifted back to the detective, his face grave. “All I know is he scared me. His exact words were, ‘The best is yet to come.’ ”

 
    Chapter Eight
    O UTSIDE, IN THE blistering heat, the air was thick with humidity and body odor. Threading her way through the crowd, Julia moved closer to the courthouse, where ­people stood shoulder to shoulder. Having spotted the area designated for the press, she walked in that direction, only pausing to read some of the more colorful signs held high above the crowd. Several folks carried circular-­shaped posters outlined in red with “SPRADLIN” written in the center. His name was crossed through in red—­the message clear. The towns­people’s anger, their animosity, was apparent even without the signs. She frowned and made a mental note to seek out a handful of locals after the press conference.
    Julia wore the somber expression shared by most of her peers, some of whom she recognized from other assignments. It was the face they often wore, serious and compassionate, masking the giddy anticipation they felt at the onset of a juicy story. Julia spotted the TV cameras positioned above the crowd, all but one trained on the single podium in front of the courthouse. A lone camera was focused on the crowd, slowly panning the throngs who’d come to witness, or protest, the homecoming of Leo Spradlin.
    As the crowd grew, she considered the empty podium. It seemed small and plain to be at the center of all this excitement. Maybe that’s what made the story so enticing. It was so big, but happening in such a small town. This was a major story for the national press, but for the locals and papers in this part of the state, it was more than that. It was the biggest news in a decade.
    The hours she’d spent researching had not been wasted. She’d done the background, seen the letters of outrage that had been published, read the vitriolic comments on the Internet. The residents of Little Springs didn’t seem to care