The murder had come too late for the Sunday edition, so the good people of Chippewa County would have to wait another day to hear about it. Violent deaths weren’t uncommon up here, but it was usually the lake that did the killing. Maybe four or five men a year, caught in sudden storms. Murder was a little different. It would make everyone nervous for about two weeks and then they’d forget it ever happened.

“Good evening, Alex.”

I looked up from my paper. Edwin stood next to the chair across the table from me.

“Sit down,” I said, and he did.

“So,” he said. “Anything interesting in the news?”

I looked at him and turned a page. “Not in today’s paper,” I said. “Tomorrow’s will be a little more exciting.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “A reporter already called me today. Can you believe that?”

“A reporter called you? How did he get your name?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But you know how those reporters are.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn’t give them your name,” he said. “I mean, I didn’t tell them about you coming out to help me. I figured that’s the least I can do.”

“Hm.”

“I’m really sorry, Alex. I shouldn’t have bothered you with it.”

“Edwin, can I ask you something?” I put the paper down and looked him in the eyes. He was wearing a red flannel shirt that day, trying to look like one of the locals. It wasn’t working.

“Sure, go ahead. Anything.”

“What are you doing getting mixed up with that guy in the first place? Didn’t you tell me that you weren’t going to gamble anymore?”

“Yes, I did,” he said. “I did say that.”

“You were sitting right across the table from me, just like you are right now,” I said. I looked across the room. “No, it was right over there. That table right there by the window. Remember? ‘I, Edwin J. Fulton the third, hereby resolve that I will never gamble again, and that I will go home and be a good husband to Sylvia, and Alex will never have to come to the casino and drag my butt home because I’ve been gone for two days.’ Do you remember saying that?”