The familiar ache of jealousy as she talked about her love for Paul paled in comparison with his concern for Geneva. “Paul was usually so charming and amusing. But he had a cruel side.”
“Yes.”
Willow kissed his cheek again, then turned over and burrowed into the covers on her side of the bed. “Good night, Justin.”
“Love you.” He stared up at the ceiling waiting for the deep, slow breathing that would tell him she’d fallen asleep. It didn’t happen for the longest time.
Chapter Eighteen
Zak was trying to make sense of the notes the sheriff had just dropped on his desk when the phone rang at two-thirty on Tuesday afternoon. Seeing the name on the call display he didn’t want to answer. But of course, he had to.
“Bitterroot Sheriff’s Department.”
“Is that you, Zak Waller?” Cora Christensen was using the same tone she’d scolded him with when she’d been his teacher. “I need to speak to the sheriff.”
“I’m sorry but Sheriff Ford isn’t available right now.” This was the truth. The sheriff was in his office with the door closed, on the phone with that detective from California. But Zak would have said the same thing had the sheriff been standing in front of him, twiddling his thumbs. Part of Zak’s job—a big part of it—was shielding the sheriff from calls like this one.
“I’ve been very patient. I realize the sheriff has that awful murder to investigate. But you would think in the week since I phoned in to report the vandalism of my dining room window, someone might have found time to get my statement and take photographs.”
“I’m very sorry. You’re right, though, we have been extremely busy.” He’d thought Nadine had been going to handle this last week. He tried waving at her to get her attention, but she was focused on her computer, as invisible to him as she’d been since her Monday morning conversation with the sheriff.
She’d made several rookie mistakes when she’d raised the theory that Riley might have started turning tricks in Lost Trail and been killed by one of her johns.
First, she’d started talking before the sheriff had his coffee.
Second, she hadn’t made it sound like this idea had emerged from something the sheriff had said or done.
And third, she’d assumed the sheriff would want her to follow up right away and so she’d already done some preliminary legwork.
Zak had watched the sheriff’s eyes grow smaller and smaller the longer Nadine talked. Zak had tried to give her a hand signal to stop, but either she hadn’t seen it, or she hadn’t appreciated how annoyed the sheriff was getting.
Finally when she’d finished laying out the case, much as Zak had done with her during their run on Sunday, Sheriff Ford had given her a dismissive smile.
“Interesting theory. But I think I’d know if this woman had been turning tricks on the main street of my town. We need to focus on the California angle. Figure out who that ex-boyfriend of hers was and find him. Check for his DNA on the victim’s clothing, and once we have a match, all we’ll need is a pretty pink bow before we send this case to the state prosecutor.”
Nadine had stared at him, dumbfounded. At which point the sheriff had practically patted her on the head.
“You’re new here. Young and eager. It might take a while to get the feel for how we do things in this county.”
Since then Nadine had neither looked at nor spoken to Zak, which wasn’t fair since Zak had warned her the sheriff would not be receptive to the theory.
Then again, life was not fair. And in Zak’s experience, that was especially true where he and women—of all ages—were concerned.
“Last week I could have washed my window but I was afraid to disturb the evidence. Now the weather has turned and all the egg has frozen on the glass. I’m not sure I’ll be able to have clean windows again until spring.”
“Someone from the department will come today, Miss Christensen.” Since Butterfield was out patrolling, it would have to be Nadine.
“I certainly hope so, Zak Waller, or I’m going to be very disappointed in you.”
Duly noted. “Thanks for calling, Miss Christensen.”
He hung up before she could add a parting insult, at which point Nadine finally glanced up at him. Before either of them could say anything, the sheriff burst out of his office.
“Where’s Butterfield?”
“Still on patrol.” And if Zak knew the deputy, he wouldn’t be checking in again until morning.
“Do you have that list of items that were in Riley’s car? Butterfield was supposed to send that to Detective Bowering yesterday.”
“I have the list as well as photos.” Dr. Pittman had already gone through it carefully looking for evidence of prescriptions or drugs that might shed a light on Riley’s medical history. “Should I email it to the detective?”
“Yes!” the sheriff barked.
“Will do.” Zak shuffled papers to find the record of a call that had come in right before Cora Christensen’s. “Gertie Humphrey phoned in at one-fifty. Claimed a strange man filled up at the Conoco pumps this afternoon. She said he was a tall man, dressed in fancy jeans and expensive shoes. Not from around here. Car was a rental from Budget.”
“How old was the guy?”
“She thought early thirties.”
“She get the tag on the vehicle?”
“She’s pretty sure about the first four numbers.”
“Could be the boyfriend, though I would expect he’d be long gone by now.” The sheriff turned to Nadine. “Go check with Keith at the Dew Drop. Find out if he’s had any out-of-towners check in this week and, if so, get any details he’s willing to share.”
Nadine’s voice was cold when she said, “You want that done now, Sheriff? I’m still working on locating Riley’s ex-boyfriend, following up leads from Jack’s Cellar.”
“Yes, I want it done now. You can get back to this—” he waved a hand at her computer “—when you’ve got my answers for me.”
It didn’t take Nadine long to slip on her holster and her jacket and exit the office. On her way out the door she gave Zak the briefest, iciest of looks, before shutting the door with considerably more force than necessary.
The sheriff shook his head slowly.
“Should have known better than to hire a woman. Right, Zak?”
Zak raised his eyebrows expressively. He’d have to warn Nadine. She was going to need to modify her style—a lot—if she wanted to keep this job.
When Zak left the office at six-thirty that evening, Nadine was back at her desk, on her phone. Each conversation seemed to add a bunch more names to her list but none of them so far were named Connor. She’d learned nothing significant from Keith at the Dew Drop either. The few registered guests he’d had this week had been folks in town to visit relatives. Her frustration was obviously growing with each passing minute.
He guessed he wasn’t going to be popular when he reminded her about Cora Christensen, but to his surprise, she merely nodded.
“Yeah. I’ve put that off too long. Where does she live again?”
“I’m on my way home. Follow me and I’ll point out her house.”
She looked surprised at the offer, but nodded.
Zak drove to the edge of town, parking across the street by the graveyard. Hard to believe only a week had gone by since he’d found Tiff Masterson paying her respects to her brother’s and father’s graves. A hell of a lot had happened in that week.
The walkway up to Cora Christensen’s house was covered in snow. While Nadine was inside getting the old lady’s statement, Zak pulled the shovel he kept for emergencies from his truck and cleared off the path.
Much as he’d hated the old biddy when she was his teacher, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her now. From what he could tell she lived a pretty lonely life. When he was done he took a gallon of windshield wiper fluid from his truck and tried to wash the egg off her window. He’d gotten most of it clean when the front door opened and Nadine stepped out.<
br />
“Thank you for the cookie,” Nadine said. “Can you show me where you saw the boys?”
A sweater-covered arm poked out through the open door, pointing at a spot across the street in the graveyard. “That’s where they were hiding. Thirteen years old, I’d guess. Fourteen at the most. When I opened the door to give them a piece of my mind, one of them started throwing the eggs. I think he was aiming for me, but missed and hit the window. Then the boys took off at a run.”
“Did you recognize them?” Zak asked.
Cora poked her head around the door. “Is that you Zak Waller?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She glanced from the gleaming window pane back to him. “There was a time when I knew every boy in this town. But I’ve been retired for sixteen years. Of course I can’t tell you who they are. Isn’t it your job to figure that out?”
He decided it wouldn’t be prudent to remind her he was just a dispatcher.
“And did you notice the time when this happened?” Nadine asked.
“It was almost three in the morning! What sort of parents let their children roam around the streets at that hour?”
The question was obviously rhetorical so Nadine merely nodded. “Right. I’ll be sure to relay everything you’ve told me to the sheriff.”
“I’d appreciate that.” The old lady stepped out onto the landing to get a closer look at her window. “You left a streak, Zak Waller.”
Zak supposed this was what he got for trying to be kind to the old biddy. With a flourish he wiped off the last of the egg. When he glanced back at the door, it was closed. Only Nadine stood on the landing now and she was laughing.
“What a good sport you are.”
“Obviously she liked you. Did she actually offer you a cookie?”
“Yes, but I didn’t dare eat it.” Nadine took a grayish-looking oatmeal cookie from her pocket. “I think it must be five years old, at least.” She crumbled it into pieces and tossed it into some bushes. “Maybe the birds will like it.”
Zak tossed the half-empty container of wiper fluid back in his truck. “So what did you think of her?”
“Weird. Her house looks so tidy and pretty on the outside. But it’s a mess inside. Piles of boxes, and papers, and plastic bags. I swear she’s a hoarder.”
“That’s nicer than anything I have to say about her.”
Nadine glanced back at the house, just as the curtain in the front window twitched. “This is some strange town you live in.”
“Tell me about it.”
Chapter Nineteen
As Tiff turned onto Winding Down Way she was surprised to see Zak’s truck parked beside Miss Christensen’s house. He’d been about to pull onto the road, but once he spotted her SUV, he stopped and got out of the cab. She left her vehicle, too, and met him on the cemetery side of the street.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Nadine—Deputy Black—and I were just getting Cora Christensen’s statement regarding some vandalism that took place here on Halloween night.”
She glanced at the windows. “Window looks clean now.”
“Yup. I cleaned it off for her. Did she thank me?”
“I’m guessing no. You’re such a softy, Zak.” Not many people would do such a kindness for someone they disliked.
“Either I’m soft, or I’m a fool. Possibly I’m both.”
“Definitely not a fool.” She glanced at the graveyard. “Though maybe I am. I get so frustrated at my mom for letting the past paralyze her, but I can’t forget either.”
“Coming home after being away for so many years was bound to make it all fresh in your mind again.”
God, she was lucky to have a friend like Zak. “I have a few things to do in town. When I’m done do you want to meet at the Dew Drop? It’s been a few days—I swear I’m in withdrawal.”
“How about we meet at seven?” he suggested. “I’ll go home and feed my cat first.”
“Seven it is.” She started for the path to the cemetery, then swiveled back. “You have a cat?”
“He sort of adopted me last year. We’re on amicable, if not affectionate terms. I call him Watson.”
Zak was just the sort of guy to offer a home to a stray, unwanted pet. She waited until he’d driven off, then went to check in on her brother’s and father’s grave markers. She ran her hands over the smooth granite and tried to let go of the old longing to have them back.
Twenty years was a long time. Why couldn’t she let the past go? No one but her had ever thought her dad’s accident was anything but that—an accident. As a kid, it had been hard to lose two of her most loved family members in just a few months. But she was an adult now, an adult who knew that sometimes bad things happened, and there wasn’t always a reason.
Five minutes later Tiff drove to Tumbleweed Avenue and parked behind the medi-clinic. For a few seconds she lingered in her warm vehicle, staring at the rear entry. That was where they’d found Riley’s body.
Had the killer been trying to get medical help at the clinic?
Or just looking for a quiet place to dump the body?
It felt creepy being here in the dark. No one else was around and only two vehicles were in the parking lot—her aunt’s and the doctor’s.
When she’d set out for town she’d hoped this would be the perfect opportunity to talk to Dr. Pittman about getting a second opinion for her mother. She didn’t know what specialists her mom had seen over the years—she’d always left her mother’s medical care to Aunt Marsha. But it was time for her to be more actively involved.
After a careful look around to make sure no one was lurking, Tiff made her way to the front entrance. Clinic hours had ended over half an hour ago, but the door was still unlocked. She went in through the foyer, stopping at the unmanned reception desk. To her right were eight wooden chairs, a water cooler, and a magazine rack. To her left was the corridor that led to the examining rooms.
She was just about to call out a greeting, when she heard a door open from within. And then her aunt’s voice.
“You can’t be serious, Clark. At this point it would be a disaster.”
“I’m tired, Marsha. Sick and tired. I tell you, I won’t do it anymore. I mean that.”
Tiff froze. This sounded deeply personal. She couldn’t let them know she was here. Quietly she retraced her steps to the foyer.
“You owe me, Clark.”
It was the last thing Tiff heard before she slipped out the door.
Tiff took her time walking to the Dew Drop, trying to process the conversation she’d just overheard. The familiar way her aunt and Dr. Pittman had spoken to each other suggested there was a deeper—almost intimate—relationship going on between them. For some reason they’d kept it secret, and now there seemed to be a big issue between them.
Last thing she could do was ask her aunt. She’d overheard something that was none of her business. She had to do her best to put it out of her mind.
When she arrived, the Dew Drop was quiet. Only a few tables were filled, at one of them was Zak, scrolling on his phone as he waited for her.
As she slipped into the empty chair she resolved to keep quiet about what she’d just heard.
“I’ve ordered our beers and burgers,” Zak told her.
“My mouth is already watering. I wonder how many days in a row I’d need to eat the Dew Drop burger before I got sick of it.”
“For the sake of your health, I suggest you leave that question unanswered.”
She glanced around, feeling her tension ebb away. The owner, Keith Dewy, was behind the bar tonight, and his daughter Mari was once again waiting tables. She came toward their table now, with their beers.
“Thanks a bunch,” Tiff said gratefully. Her first long swallow went down smoothly.
“You guys are becoming regulars,” Mari replied. “Thanks for coming in on a Tuesday. It’s typically one of our slowest nights.”
“It’s our pleasure,” Tiff assured her.
As she turned toward the next table, Tiff said, “Remember to hold the onions on Zak’s.”
Mari nodded, then carried on.
“So we’re Dew Drop regulars now,” Zak said. “We have to be careful. People are going to talk.”
He was right. “Would you mind if they did? I mean, have you got your sights on someone? I wouldn’t want to mess up your chances if you did.”
He hesitated a few seconds. “Nope. There’s no one right now.”
“I hate to be selfish, but I’m glad. You’re my only real friend in Lost Trail. I don’t know how I’d keep sane if I couldn’t hang out with you.” Especially since Derick was being such a hermit. She’d tried calling him again today and sending a message on Facebook as well. He hadn’t replied to either.
“Hey, I’m glad you came home. You’re a fresh voice of sanity in a crazy world.” Zak told her how the sheriff had refused to even consider their theory that Riley might have been selling her body on the streets of Lost Trail.
“What a moron. Listen to this. Last night Kenny invited me over for a drink and tried to convince me that despite the women’s underwear I found in the farm office, it wasn’t what it looked like. But I remembered something about my first night home, Zak. Mom told me on Halloween night she was woken around two-thirty. She thought it was a vehicle driving up to the house. But what if it wasn’t someone driving in, but someone driving out? It’s possible Kenny was heading into town to meet Riley. What time was she killed?”
“Dr. Pittman put time of death close to three a.m. So that would fit. Trouble is, can we prove it was Kenny’s vehicle your mom heard?”
Tiff grimaced. “Unfortunately she didn’t see anything.”
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