Cade ran over the information he’d uncovered so far- Terrel had stayed late at his pottery shop, remaining after his workers had left. He had done that for three months before his death. Why?
Then there were the shop accounts-confusing. During the worst pe- riod of chaos in the history of a town always on the edge of collapse, Terrel had shown a profit. By selling pottery? It made no sense.
Why did he stay late? What had he been doing? Cade reached into his tunic, pulling out several receipts. There was something else that both- ered him about them. All the buyers had come to pick up their pottery at the shop, no deliveries. Fine. The orders had increased last fall. Terrel naturally ordered more clay. Everything had been paid on time, all for the proper price. Damn, it was here somewhere, he knew it; it had to be. Why had he been staying so late?
Cade mulled over the receipts for another half hour, getting more exasperated by the minute. He knew the answer was here, not on the streets. Targ had covered Sanctuary up and down, Cade had followed in the last five days retracing all the likely leads- All had led nowhere. Terrel was liked, respected, not known by anyone who shouldn’t know him. His work was good. People were satisfied. None of it made any sense. Even with Terrel giving money to the PFLS, he hadn’t given enough to make a real difference. Half the town had been contributing to one faction or another at that time, although not always voluntarily. So why pick on Terrel? An example? Not likely; a bigger target would have served better. Besides, the murder had hardly been public. No, something else . . .