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bells in Queenie's head got louder, but it wasn't the first time Harry had threatened her when he was being petulant. So far, his threats had been impotent. "This is borin', Harry."
    He puffed on his cigarette again. "What would happen if you broke a few fingers? Or your elbows?"
    Her career would be seriously derailed, that's what. Or worse, over permanently.
    "Are you threatenin' me with violence?"
    "No. Just askin' what if."
    "I'll be lettin' my Daddy know about this, Harry. If anythin' happens to me like that, he'll find you and put the sheriff and my brothers on you."
    "I'm not afraid of you or any of the Journeys."
    "Goodbye."
    As she drew the phone away from her head, he yelled, "Wait!" And, against her better judgment, she put it back to her ear again.
    "What?"
    "You can fix it all, Queenie. I'm still makin' you that offer to go in on Thunder McCleary."
    "Goddamn it, Harry. I said no. Nothin' has changed."
    "You're gonna regret your decision."
    She was already regretting taking his call. "Don't threaten me again, asshole." The phone made a small beep when she pushed the disconnect button.
    Angry through-and-through, and a little worried, she sat at the table and considered her options.
    She was swamped with the Boot Camp corporate bonding event currently underway, and there was another coming up the following week. Little details kept going wrong and she was scrambling to make sure things went smoothly for their paying guests. Ace normally handled these things, and, even though Queenie was a partner in the business she owned with two of her brothers, she didn't usually have to handle the day-to-day affairs. Ace couldn't get home soon enough for her.
    Between Will Mazie's high-handed behavior, Boot Camp issues, and now threats from Harry, Queenie was more than a little stressed.
    She took a deep breath, and drank the sweet tea Consuela provided. It looked like it was going to be a difficult week.
    * * *
    Arthur was waiting when Will got home from Journey's End. He was frowning and emptying the dishwasher as though the dishes were made of steel rather than fragile pottery.
    "Marco needs you out at the barn."
    "Hello to you, too." Friendly chiding didn't bring a smile to the older man's face, so Will got worried. "Something wrong?"
    "Someone hung one of the cats from a hay pulley."
    "Shit!" Will didn't stop to make further conversation. He raced out of the house to the barn.
    Marco looked up from where he was working. "Will."
    "Hey, Marco. What's the story with the cat? It couldn't have been an accident?"
    Shaking his head, the other man replied, "Not unless cats have learned to tie hangman's knots."
    Will's heart sank. Whoever was killing his animals wasn't doing it casually. "I'll call the sheriff."
    There was a light thunk as the pitchfork was put back in its place. Marco faced Will squarely. "Don't bother. The deputy was out here this mornin' and asked about the dead chickens. I told him about the cat, too, and he wrote it down then drove away. I don't think they give a damn."
    "I don't get it," Will fumed. "They're the law. They're supposed to take stuff like this seriously. I thought small town sheriffs were helpful and dutiful. I might was well be back in Hollywood for all the help I'm getting!"
    Marco's brown eyes strayed from Will's face, and he picked up a loose hank of rope, looping it evenly around his arm. "I reckon that's the problem, Will. You're from Hollywood."
    "So?"
    There was a tension in the man's shoulders that suggested his discomfort with what he was saying. "Seems like there’s some bigotry goin' on. You're from the city. They'd don't figure you belong here. There's talk among the men, too. It's ugly, but you're not from around here, so they don't know what to expect from you. And you know what they say about people bein' scared of thin's they don't understand."
    "What kind of bullshit is that?"
    Marco shrugged. "An observation."
    Marco was a good man, one of the original Caswell employees who'd