Page 118 of Death on Gallows Path

“Came across him unexpected a couple weeks ago in the parking lot of the Roger. Don’t know if it would’ve been different if I’d had warning, but I didn’t.”

“And . . .?”

“I hit him.”

“You punched him?” Clara approved.

He missed her reaction. “No. I hit him with an umbrella. I aimed for his head, but got his shoulder. I should have been relieved I didn’t injure him and get into more trouble. But I was mostly angry the umbrella broke, while he appeared uninjured.

“I hadn’t made him regret stealing from Jean. I hadn’t made him feel anything at all. I accomplished nothing. He walked away with the woman he was with. Laughing, him groping her. And I was left standing in the rain. Without an umbrella.

“And then he sent a deputy after me. Deputy said if I did anything else, he’d come down on me.”

“What woman was Damon with?” I asked.

He side-eyed me. To my surprise, he answered. “The one with Izolde.”

Zoley Georger.

Willow said, “If I’d realized Damon was taking Lucifer to the same class Oscar signed up for, I would have stopped him. But it wasn’t until after the first class started that Bryon texted me about something else and mentioned them all being in class.”

“She was worried I’d do something stupid,” Oscar said. “Again. She was right to worry. Seeing him in that first class . . . He didn’t recognize me, like he’d forgotten about Jean.”

“I had to do something,” Willow said. “The next day, when I went to get Lucifer, I went in the house. As if I didn’t know the code all along. Went up the back stairs to his office, no problem. I was trying to figure out how to find out his password for his computer — sure wouldn’t be Lucifer — when I saw these tall drawers. Full of files. File after file on people, on deals.”

A very faint amusement showed on Oscar’s face, likely at Willow’s unfamiliarity with the concept of file cabinets.

“I took the one on Oscar and Jean,” Willow said.

“And I told her to put it back,” Oscar said.

“I did put it back. Thursday afternoon.”

“That’s why you were here—” I tipped my head toward the spot by the hardware store where I’d seen them together. “—a week ago?”

“Yeah, to tell Oscar the file was back in Damon’s office. I’d had classes right after and didn’t want anything in a text.” Stubbornness came through when she added, “But I copied it first.”

“Who has the copy now?” Clara asked.

“I do,” Oscar said. “Didn’t want it in her possession.”

“The sheriff’s department will figure out she took it, if they don’t know already,” I said.

“No reason for you to tell them.” He sent Willow a look. “Didn’t want anyone to know. I’m the one with a motive, not her. He stole my Jean’s last wish—”

He didn’t seem to realize that was also Willow’s motive.

“—and it wasn’t important enough for him to remember.”

His hands clenched around the leash. He didn’t pull on it, yet Quasar looked up at him, sensing her human’s stress.

“What did you do?” Clara asked softly.

“I found a group.”

“A group?” I repeated. Were there groups for retribution vigilantes? Where would you find one? Didn’t seem like something listed on the community center’s calendar.

“A group on grieving. For widowers. Deputy said I had to. Surprised me how many others had an uncharacteristic moment of physical anger.”