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LEAVENWORTH, KANSAS

“Deputy Sheriff McGee.”

Poppy looks up from her Chipotle burrito. There are few things sadder than eating alone at Chipotle at closing time. But after leaving Fatheads, she couldn’t ignore her growling stomach any longer, so she stopped at her go-to for indigestion.

It’s the FBI agent. The one from the press conference. The one the sheriff warned her about.

The agent slinks her slender frame on the plastic seat next to Poppy and smiles. “How’s the investigation going?”

Poppy shrugs. Takes a bite of her burrito.

“Identify the men in the car yet?”

Poppy takes a sip from her straw. Makes a loud slurping sound.

“Ah, you’ve been told not to speak with me. But we’re all on the same team, aren’t we?”

Poppy again doesn’t answer.

The agent sits there appraising Poppy, watches her eat. Eventually, she says, “Are you familiar with Russian folklore, Deputy Sheriff McGee?”

This is too much. Poppy gives the agent a lazy-eyed stare. “Do I look like I’m familiar with Russian folklore?”

Agent Fincher allows herself a smile. “In Russian folklore there’s someone called the Holy Fool.”

The woman is an oddball or genius, Poppy can’t tell which. It’s possible her schtick is just a tactic to get Poppy to talk.

“The Holy Fool is an outsider—sometimes an eccentric, sometimes crazy, sometimes just a child. But it’s their outsider status that makes them a truth teller.”

“I’m not sure where this is—”

“You heard of the story ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’?”

What the hell, Poppy decides to bite. “The story about the emperor who’s told he has a magical outfit and everyone plays along even though he’s naked?”

Agent Fincher snaps her fingers. “Everyone except a little boy. He’s a Holy Fool—someone who’s free to state the truth.”

“What’s this have to do with anything?”

“Oh… I don’t know. After you punched your commanding officer in the nose, I was hoping you were one.”

“One what?” Poppy asks.

“A Holy Fool.”

Poppy shakes her head. This lady’s been looking into Poppy’s background. Following her. What’s her deal?

“In real life, our Holy Fools are whistleblowers. People willing to sacrifice loyalty to their job or institution to expose the truth.”

“No offense, lady, but what in the hell are you—”

“The men in the car,” the agent interrupts, abruptly changing the subject. “Let me guess, one of them was dressed to the nines. A high-quality, tailored suit. Am I right?”

She is, but Poppy doesn’t show it.

“A three-piece suit. Like an old-time banker.”

Poppy holds her gaze, confirming without saying anything.

“They don’t make suits like that off the rack. Probably a custom tailor… A business that may keep records of its customers.”

Poppy feels a jolt of exhilaration. She wonders if the KBI has thought of this—tracking the man from his clothing. They have to have considered it. She’ll call Chantelle Luna in the morning to check. Now a question: How does Agent Fincher know this? Is there a leak? Does she already know who was in that car?

“Who are they?” Poppy asks, taking the chance.

“It’s a shame we’re not sharing intel.” The agent stands, dusts off her hands, heads to the door.

“Seriously, if you know who they are…,” Poppy calls after her.

The agent turns, stops at the door. “You’ll figure it out. Your bosses don’t think much of you, but you’ll surprise them. And, who knows? Maybe you’ll be a Holy Fool after all.”

The FBI agent then pushes outside and disappears.