He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

right, yeah. I’m hauling for another company now.”
    Riley pulled out his phone. “Can you give me the name of that company so I can verify your claim, Mr. Branson?”
    Branson’s face reddened again. “My daughter was murdered and my wife left me. You’ve got no business harassing me, and I don’t have to answer any of your questions.” He looked past Logan and seemed to finally notice Pierce, who was studying a pile of envelopes and pieces of paper lying on the kitchen bar. “Hey, what are you doing? Don’t be going through none of my things.”
    “Someone called the station a few days ago, Mr. Branson,” Logan said, trying to divert his attention. “They asked a lot of questions about Amanda Stockton. The man on the phone didn’t give his name, but the police officer recognized the voice. He’d interviewed you after Dana’s murder. He was quite certain you were the one who called. But when he asked your name, you hung up.”
    Branson’s eyes widened and a light sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. “Okay, so I called. No big deal. I was checking on the investigation. It’s been years, and you still haven’t caught the man that killed Dana.”
    Logan leaned toward him, taking advantage of his size to intimidate the much smaller man. “I wasn’t on the case back when your daughter was killed, but I am now. I promise you, I will find the killer. And I’ll find the man who broke into Amanda Stockton’s house yesterday and tried to scare her.”
    Branson sank back in his chair, his eyes darting around as if he was looking for somewhere to run.
    A wisp of a noise had them both looking toward the kitchen where Pierce was standing. The pile of papers he’d been studying had fallen to the floor. “Oh, sorry, must have bumped them with my elbow,” Pierce said as he bent down to gather the envelopes and papers.
    “No, no, I’ll get them. Leave them alone,” Branson sputtered as he jumped up from the recliner.
    Pierce was studying a receipt but Branson swiped it away. “Give me that,” he said. He leaned down to grab the other envelopes and paper.
    “That was a florist receipt, Mr. Branson. Looks like you bought a dozen roses yesterday. And these blue coveralls on the floor right here? They match the description of the clothing worn by an alleged cable man seen at Amanda Stockton’s home, right down to the ripped front pocket that a very observant neighbor noticed.”
    Logan growled and took a step forward. Pierce stepped between him and Branson while Riley pulled out his handcuffs.
    “You’re under arrest, Mr. Branson,” Riley said cheerfully, as he jerked Branson’s arms behind him and cuffed him. The mail and receipt dropped from Branson’s fingers.
    “What for? Buying some stupid flowers?” he demanded.
    “Good question,” Riley said, looking at Logan. “Stalking or murder, boss?”
    Pierce placed a restraining hand on Logan’s arm. “You don’t have enough for murder yet. He’ll lawyer-up and be out by morning. Stalking might hold him longer until we can pull together more evidence.”
    Logan nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He wanted to rip Branson apart. Whether he was the murderer or not, at the very least he’d terrorized Amanda.
    Riley patted Branson down, then grabbed his arm and led him to the door. “Stalking it is. By the way, did you know Florida has some of the toughest anti-stalking laws in the country?” He led Branson out the door, chatting amiably about the penalties of stalking.
    Pierce released Logan’s arm. “Can you handle this? Maybe you should take yourself off the case. You’ve made this a personal vendetta instead of a search for justice.”
    “I haven’t done anything wrong, haven’t crossed any lines.”
    “You haven’t crossed any lines? You’re the chief of police and you’re working this case as if you were still a detective. Tell me, if Riley and I hadn’t been here, what would have happened to Branson?”
    Logan scowled. “I need to see this through. I can handle it.”
    Pierce sighed. “I can’t tell you what to do, but I’m asking you to be careful. If you let your personal feelings affect your judgment, you won’t be doing anyone any favors, least of all Amanda.”
    “H e did it,” Riley insisted. “I don’t know how he got around Amanda’s security alarm—not yet, anyway. He doesn’t seem smart enough to know how to disable one, but he did it. I know it.”
    “Sure he did,” Logan said. “He’s