The Rivers Webb Read Online Free PDF Page B

hear things. I heard the gunshot, then suddenly I could see again, and I saw the reverend fall into the water.”
    John got up.
    â€œThere’s more—you need to know it.”
    â€œI’ve heard enough.”
    â€œJohn, wait, please.” Annie Ruth was trying to get him to sit back down.
    â€œI’ll be damned if I’m going to listen to some two-bit hustler hand me a nice big piece of obvious-pie.” He was furious. Beyond furious.
    â€œI’ve seen too many of your kind where I come from for you to expect me to swallow anything you have to say. You’ll pardon me, but I’ve got things to do.” John was halfway out the door when Sam called out after him.
    â€œI’m sorry I appear to have wasted your time, Mr. Webb.”
    â€œOh, I doubt that. Rather, I think you’re more disappointed that I wasn’t blind and stupid enough to take your psychic ramblings to heart,” John retorted.
    Sam Posey stood and extended his hand. “I am sorry you feel that way. I truly am. But if you’ll allow me to offer a bit of helpful advice, Mr. Webb, you’ll do well to consider the possibility that the answers you’re lookin’ for ain’t gonna be found the way you’re lookin’.”
    â€œI doubt seriously I’m going to find Uncle Carl’s killer in a clump of tea leaves, or at the bottom of a deck of tarot cards, if that’s what you mean!”
    â€œWhat I mean, Mr. Webb, is that the killer you’re looking for isn’t going to be found by herdin’ in half the county, or by runnin’ stiff interrogation—you’ll find your killer when you figure out who in this county knew the good reverend well enough to know what he had done that was bad enough to kill him for, and who in this county would have been so unwilling to forgive him that they couldn’t stand to have him around anymore.”
    John turned and left the house, without accepting the proffered hand. He pretended not to have heard those last words, but they kept running through his head all the way back to Sales City.
    Though it seemed much, much longer, the whole trip, interview included, took just over 45 minutes. John still had time for a few sips of coffee to settle his nerves before the Rivers’ limousine came by to gather him up. The ride to the graveside was stifling. Not the heat—it was actually a rather cool day. It was the company. Aunt Wilhelmina and his father were the only two faces he recognized, but he could take a stab at the rest. The prissy, timid woman in her early fifties would have to be the younger sister, Opal. Her dress was plain and modest, but carefully stitched. John was sure if he listened closely, he would hear her tell everyone who could stand to listen how she had had it shipped in from Paris, or Spain, or perhaps just a modest San Francisco boutique. She said nothing, now, as she clutched her small matching purse to her, as though she feared that he might mug her for it before they reached the cemetery.
    There were two other men in the car. One, with the well-tended paunch and stiff posture of a man of “big business,” had to be Arnold Rivers, Roy’s youngest brother. Arnold, he knew, had dutifully taken over the Rivers’ many business interests since his father’s death. As the oldest son, it was actually Roy’s responsibility, but he had chosen to play policeman instead. Since Carl had found God, he was certainly in no shape to run a company, so it fell to Arnold. From what John had already learned, it seemed a good fit. Arnold had managed to move a great deal of the family wealth into national companies that had shown promise, and the return had been significant. There was also a good bit of evidence that he had discovered a few “less than upright” business avenues that John was certain Wilhelmina had no idea about.
    The other man in the car looked to be about John’s age,