CHAPTER 8It was two days later, as he was grabbing his car keys and preparing to head out the door on a fresh call, when Frank’s old-style flip cell phone started buzzing in his pocket. He fished it out and answered it, gruff and a bit impatient. “Frank Vandegraf.”
“Lee Maravich here.”
“Lee! What’s up?” Frank dropped his keys back on the desk and plopped himself into his chair. The murder call could wait a couple of minutes, he reflected. Everybody was already dead there. Nobody was going anywhere.
“Got a minute?”
“Why not? You seem to be trying to get us both in a heap of trouble these days.”
“Listen to you. ‘Heap of trouble’? That your idea of sounding like a Texas boy?”
“Seriously, Lee. Special Agent Hedges came into town the other day, just to talk with me about all sorts of thin
