I shook my head. Back to the Courtney theory. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Means? Bobby Calhoun wasn’t the only one who could own a Ruger. If Courtney had hired a professional hit man, then that guy might be the one who’d committed the murder in Denver all those months ago.
I measured the strawberries, then mixed together a judicious amount of flour, cornstarch, and sugar. I said, “So did you find out who was killed with the Ruger in Denver?”
From the envelope, Tom retrieved two more items. One was a poor-quality copy of what looked like an employee-of-the-month photo. The man, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, had thick glasses and a thin, handsome face. The other photo was of even worse quality, and showed a couple. The woman was young and pretty, with lots of cu
