“And Dalton paid you too?”

“Peanuts. A hundred bucks. Dalton said I was a day late and a dollar short, whatever that means.”

It means he already knew, you awful child. And yet . . . the way Dalton had reacted to my mentioning Laura’s blindness, I was convinced he didn’t know she was destined for total blindness. He didn’t know the details of her condition—he’d never seen the application and Charlotte couldn’t recall her medical condition.

“Did you ask Dalton to add the cane?” I asked.

Charlotte screwed up her face. Was I nuts? “Me tell him how to paint? Yeah, right. You met him, Rachel. What do you think?”

“When exactly did you talk to him?”

“Two days before Christmas.”

“Did you tell anyone else about Laura? Did Isak?”

“No and no.”

“How do you know Isak didn’t tell anyone?”

“Because he didn’t want me to tell anyone. Laura was his friend.”

“He could have told Clay or Shasta.”

She shrugged. “Could have. But I didn’t tell anyone but Isak and Dalton.”

“Brodie?”

“I said no.”

“But Brodie was the recipient of other information from the Records Section.”

Charlotte glared at me. “You’ve been spying on me?”

“Can I ask how you got your job at Roche and White? I’m assuming you had references.”

“Wow. What’s that got to do with Laura?”

“It’s connected, and very important.”

“Fine, I don’t care. Isak wrote a reference.”

“He knew you well enough for that?”

“Hey, I flirted a little. He’s that kind of guy, you know? I spotted him from a mile away. You can get what you want from guys like him. Laugh, toss your hair. If you’re not rich like Dalton Taylor, you do what you need to do.”

“Did you have an affair with Isak?”

Horrified, Charlotte reared back. “That’s sick. He’s my dad’s age.”

“He’s forty at most.”

“Close enough. Make me gag.”

“But you let Isak think an affair was possible.”

“What men like him think is not my problem. I need to go.”

“One more question. Did you ever take other information to Dalton? Anything at all?”

“No, but if I’d had it, I would have. I need the money. Do you know what rent is in this town?”

“You didn’t tell Dalton about Brodie’s accident in Idaho?”

“Heck no! I didn’t know anything about it until I saw the painting. That pig Dalton. And he put it in the same painting where he had Connor Morse selling drugs, like they were equal.”

“When did you first see the painting?”

“At the Blackwells’ Christmas party—same time Brodie did. He couldn’t believe it. He was shaking.”

So Holly had misread Brodie’s reaction. Brodie had known about Dalton’s painting. His shock had been in learning that others knew about it too.

“We talked after the party,” Charlotte went on. “He loves his brother, and he still has nightmares about the accident. I don’t know who told Dalton, but it was someone who hates Brodie, that’s for sure. I hope they got their money’s worth.”

The irony of her own words seemed to escape her. She’d felt justified in doing the same thing. For one hundred dollars.

“How angry was Brodie?”

“Beyond belief angry. He said he’d pay Dalton back—using the Post before you ask. He didn’t mean by killing him. Brodie has sources, and he knew things Dalton didn’t want to get out.”

“Like affairs?”

“With a pig like Dalton? Ya think?”

“Did Brodie mention a particular affair?”

“He said something about Shasta Karlsen.” Charlotte held up a hand. “I didn’t ask for details.”

Sure you didn’t.

But as low as the Post could get, Shasta and Dalton’s affair wasn’t newsworthy, and the paper wouldn’t open itself to a lawsuit by publishing a photo of the two at Grove Coffee. “How would Brodie use the paper to pay Dalton back?”

Charlotte considered. “That’s a good question. He could . . .”

“Yes?”

“I was just thinking that Brodie talks at parties about what he finds out. He doesn’t need to publish a story. People repeat what he says.”

“Did he ever talk about Connor Morse?”