“Then you know she was struck in the face by a man named Miller. We served an injunction to—”
“I know, I know. I was in the bar when it happened.”
Now the lawyer sat back, a surprised expression on his face. “Were you? Then you must know why something wasn’t done. Why wasn’t an arrest made?”
Did Culpepper not know about Alex and the gun? If an arrest had been made in Callister, the arrestee might have been Alex. “Look, Bob, the sheriff up there is more like Barney Fife than Wyatt Earp. There’s talk he’s in Miller’s pocket, so Alex…er, Mrs. McGregor didn’t push it.”
The lawyer sighed and Doug figured if anybody knew Alex’s battle-worn history with Miller Logging Company, Culpepper did. But he didn’t appear to know his client had come close to shooting the logging company owner.
“What I want to talk to you about is this.” the lawyer said. “I don’t trust the investigation Sheriff Higgins made of Charles McGregor’s death. The death certificate indicates Charles burned to death, but I haven’t been able to find out how that could have happened.”
“The sheriff must have a report of some kind on file—”
“It’s been conveniently lost. Can’t be found. I’m worried. I fear for Alex’s safety.”
The hair on Doug’s neck stood straight up. “You’re gonna have to connect the dots for me, Bob. How does her ex-husband’s accidental death relate to her safety?”
“Because the same people she’s in conflict with now, and has been for years, were associates of her ex-husband’s and they have a link to each other.
“You mean Cindy Evans and Kenny Miller.”
“Those two and Charles McGregor were an unholy alliance if there ever was one. Since the day Charles sold the neighboring sections to Miller Logging, there’s been a constant turmoil. Charles’ dying strikes me as too convenient. It’s a feeling I have.”
“Do you happen to have any facts to go with that feeling?”
“No. That’s why I’m talking to you.”
Doug blew out a long breath, glad his eyes were hidden by sunglasses. He didn’t want to be involved in this. His crime fighting days were a thing of the past and Alex would resent the hell out of him snooping around. “So you’re thinking Cindy and Miller together were somehow responsible for the cabin fire? And McGregor’s death?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I want someone take a look at it. I don’t suppose you ever saw that cabin?”
Doug nodded. “I saw it. Both before and after. Actually, I helped out fighting the fire.”
Pure glee almost leapt from the lawyer’s eyes. “Oh, good. What did you think?”
“I’m not an expert on fires. I’m acquainted with one of the Forest Service firefighters who was there. He believes it was an accident. A turned over lantern like the sheriff said.” Doug paused. Admitting his true thoughts to Culpepper would be as good as agreeing to do the investigation. “I’ll admit, I had a couple of questions, but hey, I’m just naturally suspicious. Comes from being in the questioning business a long time.”
“That’s okay. Go ahead and tell me your analysis.”
“Well...the cabin was small. Not much bigger than a large bedroom. It had windows and at least one door. I question why McGregor didn’t get out. Or, if he was injured, why the woman with him didn’t get him out. Mind you, I have no factual reasons for those questions. The explanation could be simple.”
“It isn’t the woman who worries me.”
“Miller? That’s painting with a broad brush, Bob. There’s no evidence Miller’s guilty of anything other than being an obnoxious asshole. Last I knew, that wasn’t prosecutable.”
“If the sheriff’s report is unreliable or lost, how do we know what evidence there might be?”
Fuck! One vicious conflict with the most powerful man in the county had cost Doug his law enforcement career. One was enough for one lifetime, he believed. Now Culpepper wanted him to take on another in a different county in a different state. Doing it could de-rail his plans to spend the rest of his life in peace and quiet. “Look, you don’t need me. If you were able to get the state cops involved and launch a new formal investigation, subpoenaing Cindy Evans will end it in a matter of hours. I’d bet the pension I hope to get back one of these days that she’s told Sheriff Higgins the whole story.”
“Alex doesn’t want me to do anything that will create more friction. She’s accepted Charles’ death as an inevitable occurrence.”
Pete Hand’s words at the fire scene echoed in Doug’s head: He’s been racing toward the edge of a high cliff ever since I’ve known him. “She’s not the only one. I’ve heard somebody else say the same thing.”
“But if I had facts, a good cause, I believe she’d go along.”
“Exactly what do you want from me?”
“Just find out if there’s any reason to go further. Besides learning how Alex’s ex-husband wound up dead on her property after he’d been ordered by the court to stay away, Before I can approach the Attorney General about the sheriff’s poor performance, I need facts.”
“I haven’t been in Callister that long. I’m not well acquainted with all the players, but I think I know this much. If I agree to dig around and if I find what I think will be easy to find, if you don’t follow through and put people away, Mrs. McGregor will be in an even tougher spot than she’s in now.”
“You don’t have to worry. Even if I weren’t an officer of the court, I’d do this for her. She’s a wonderful person. One of the most generous people I know. Except for a church or two, she’s the only charity in Callister. I’m stunned all the time at what she’s willing to do for that little town.”
“Like what?”
“You don’t know about her foundation?”
“Guess that’s one of the tales I missed.”
“She buys medicine and food, even clothing for needy families. Right now my office is arranging for an elderly woman’s house to be reroofed and painted before winter sets in.”
Of all he had learned of Alex, Doug hadn’t ever heard what Culpepper had just told him. “Is that a fact,” he said. It was a statement rather than a question.
“Don’t mention it because she does it anonymously.”
“Hunh,” Doug said, taking a few minutes to reconsider the lawyers request. “Shit,” he mumbled, stalling the commitment. Finally, he said, “Christ….Okay. I’ll do it. I guess any woman who’s the only charity in town deserves to be supported.”
For the first time since they had sat down with the coffee, the lawyer smiled broadly. “Great. And thanks. By the way, you aren’t interested in being the sheriff up there, are you?”
Doug laughed. “Not even on that coldest day in hell.”
****
Alex, Cindy Evans and Kenny Miller bounced around in Doug’s head all the way back to Callister. The way to handle what he had agreed to do seemed simple enough—merely persuade Cindy to tell him, and ultimately a prosecuting attorney, what happened at the cabin the night of the fire. But what can of worms that might open in Callister was scary to think about. Exposing the small town’s underbelly might just uproot what little law and order seemed to exist there.
Alex. An anonymous charity? Who would think the arrogant Alex McGregor gave away money to charitable causes? How many dimensions could one woman have? While Doug thought her beautiful and desirable, he had also concluded that she was greedy and self-centered. So much for surface perceptions. If Culpepper hadn’t told him of her generosity, Doug doubted he would take on secretly investigating something he wanted no part of.
When he saw the lights of town on the horizon, the clock on his dash glowed nine-thirty. At the city limits, he slowed and eased up the main street, recognized Ted’s truck in the parking lot outside the Rusty Spur. No particular reason to rush home. He might as well go inside and have a beer.
The Rusty Spur Saloon did business in a barn-like building more than a hundred years old. A genuine country-western honky-tonk,
it drew a huge crowd from miles around on weekends when popular area bands played. Doug hadn’t been in it since the day he had met Cindy Evans and gone with her to Granite Pond. He pushed through the black door and paused, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the haze of dust and smoke.
Tonight, a few couples sat around tables in the semi-darkness near the dance floor. A sawmill worker he had met in Carlton’s, Butch Wilson, sipped a beer at the horseshoe-shaped bar. Doug stopped beside him and said hello. He saw Cindy washing glasses. Her face broke into a smile. She picked up a towel and dried her hands as she came to the bar. Doug ordered a draft. “Ted's truck’s outside. I thought he’d be in here.”
“He is.” She tossed the towel across her shoulder, planted a fist on her hip and tipped her head to the right. “He’s over in the corner with Pete Hand and Mike Blessing, getting drunk. They’re all entertaining the Queen of Swede Creek.”
“Who’s that?”
“The bitch. The Alex McGregor? You won’t have any trouble recognizing her. She’s the one with the black eye.”
Butch sniggered, but Doug ignored him and turned around. Peering through the dim light, sure enough, Doug saw the Alex at a table in the corner with Ted, Pete and Mike. The day had already been testimony that the world was full of surprises. He shouldn’t be startled at one more. “Hunh. I’d better check this out,” he said.
Cindy scowled and harrumphed. Doug left the bar stool, beer glass in hand, and crossed the dance floor to where the foursome reveled.
Alex’s appearance shocked him. She had on mud-covered faded Levis and a cropped T-shirt with a large swipe of dirt down one side. He could tell she wore no bra and he was reminded of their hike to Granite Pond a week back and the warmth of her bare breast beneath his palm. Another erotic fantasy bloomed in his mind. Last week, he thought he had mastered the irrational fascination Alex aroused in him. Now it roared back. In spades.
“Doug,” Ted said too loudly. “Pull up a chair.”
Doug dragged over a straight-backed chair from another table and straddled it, resting his arms on the chair back. Tabletop litter—empty shot glasses, a salt shaker and lime rinds—told the evening’s tale. Jesus. This woman who imbibed in only an occasional glass of wine was doing shooters? “Looks like you guys are having a good time. How long you been here?”
“Too long,” Mike slurred. “If I don't leave pretty soon, my wife won’t let me in the bedroom.”
“Where you been, Doug?” The question came from Ted.
Doug had no intention of discussing his meeting with Bob Culpepper, especially in a bar. “Boise,” he said simply.
Alex hadn’t said a word since he arrived, hadn’t even acknowledged his presence. Maybe he would have been surprised if she did. The bruise beneath her eye showed, even in the room’s dim light. He had no trouble seeing she was a little tipsy. She sat sideways in the chair, her shoulders leaning against the wall. One hand rested on the rim of a beer glass, a loose-fitting gold bracelet draping into the glass.
With no makeup and hair disheveled, she looked as if she had just risen from bed. Or more like she should be taken to bed, a thought that was altogether too appealing, given that in his entire life he had never taken advantage of a woman who’d had too much to drink.
Someone dropped some coins in the jukebox and country rock music swelled with a pounding rhythm. “Let’s dance, Alex.” Ted reached across the table and picked up her hand.
She listed as she rose from her chair, but caught herself with her fingers on the table top. Her and Ted’s joined hands passed over all heads at the table, causing the short T-shirt to lift and expose her midriff and navel. Pulling her along, Ted teetered toward the hardwood square in front of the juke box.
Doug turned to Pete. “What’s she doing here?”
“Damned if I know. She came in with Ted. Something about somebody's birthday. Snooty bitch. She keeps ol’ Ted turned inside out and she don't give a shit about him. She just uses him. He was supposed to take Mary Jane Masters to a pot luck tonight and look at him.”
Doug stared at Pete for a few beats. His instinct was to defend Alex, but thinking better of getting involved in that conversation, he turned and watched as Ted and Alex moved around the floor.
Something she had said the day he stood in her office came back to him: I have no social life. She’d had a social life at some point, because she was a damn good dancer. Even bombed, she didn’t miss a step in the lively swing. It hadn’t occurred to Doug that she might know how to dance or that she might enjoy music, two things he liked himself. He had never imagined her in any kind of social situation. Except one.
When the song ended, Pete and Mike applauded and whistled.
Alex and Ted tacked back to the table, sweating from the vigorous workout on the dance floor. Alex licked her full lips and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
“Now we need a slow one,” Ted said.
Alex sank to her chair seat, but Ted went to the jukebox and dropped in more coins. Michael Bolton’s voice filled the room. …When a man loves a woman…
Alex’s eyes closed and her head swayed back and forth to the music. Ted returned and led her to the dance floor again. He pulled her close and appeared to be lost in a reverie all his own.
Unable to force his eyes to leave them, Doug watched her languid movement to the sensual music. He didn’t like seeing Ted’s arms around her scantily clad body, didn’t like seeing her so vulnerable. And he didn’t want these guys leering at her.
The song ended, only to repeat. She parted from Ted, returned to the table and flopped onto her chair, leaving him to find his way back from the dance floor alone.
Cindy appeared, her bar towel draped over one shoulder.
“Okay, that’s it. I ain’t serving you guys any more drinks. You're all too drunk. You’re gonna get me in trouble. Go home.”
Doug walked around the table to where Alex sat. She looked up at him through lazy eyelids and he felt as if somebody had hit him hard in the midsection. He picked up her hand and urged her from her chair. “This is good music. Let’s don’t waste Ted's money.”
As if it were something she had done a thousand times, she lifted herself from her chair and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. He drew her into the traditional position and as her body came against his, he stifled a groan. “I didn’t know you danced,” he said softly.
“I don’t. Anymore.”
He felt her warmth, smelled her essence subtly emanating through her perfume. He had never been near her when she didn't have a distinctive scent. At some point, he had grown a hard-on. Now his dick felt like a rail spike pushing against his zipper and her belly. He expected her to pull away, but she didn't. “You always smell so good,” he told her.
He guided her near to the jukebox and its ethereal glow from a kaleidoscope of red, blue and yellow lights and where no other sound could be heard above the music.
She slipped her right hand from his, slid her arm around his waist and melted against him. “This is fucking music,” she murmured close to his ear.
What? His mind reeled, but he managed to laugh a little. “You’ve had too much tequila. You need to go home.”
“I couldn’t stand to be there today. Too many black thoughts.”
Black thoughts? He couldn’t say the same for himself. In fact, the thoughts flitting through his mind were closer to purple.
He couldn't resist encircling her waist with his other arm and drawing her closer. Her head nestled into his shoulder, her body fit against his with the precision of jigsaw puzzle pieces and he felt the heat of her breasts against his chest. He rested his cheek against her hair. The room spun around them and they were alone in an eddy of heat and surreal lighting. He closed his eyes and let himself be sucked into the ambience.
Remembering that they were in a public place was all that kept him from grabbing her ass with both hands. His earlier plan to get acquainted with another woman evaporated as if it had never been
made. The music ended, but he continued to hold her. She didn't move.
They couldn’t stand in the middle of the dance floor all night and he knew they were being watched. He raised his hands to her shoulders and turned her toward the table, which, to his surprise, was now unoccupied. Cindy was piling glasses and debris onto a tray. He had been so lost in Alex’s aura, he hadn’t seen the group leave. He partially steered her, partially supported her, hoping his problem in the front of his pants wasn’t noticeable.
Alex frowned and slid down to the chair. “Where’d everybody go?”
“They went home,” Cindy snapped. “And I’m closing up. You need to leave, too.”
“I'll take you home, Alex,” Doug said. “You can’t drive.”
“I drove here and I can drive back.”
“No. You live ten miles from here.” He left her propped against the wall and walked across the room to where Butch Wilson was still sipping beer at the bar. “Butch, I’m gonna take the lady home. Do me a favor and follow me and bring me back, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Lady, my ass,” Cindy sniped. She unloaded her tray with a clatter on the stainless steel drainboard.
Doug returned to Alex, put his arm under her elbow and partially lifted her to her feet. “C’mon. I’m taking you home.”
She stared at him for a few seconds, as if she might tell him where to leap, then relented and let him guide her toward the door.
“I’ll follow you soon’s I finish my beer,” Butch Wilson called after them as they exited.
Chapter 19
Doug closed the barroom’s heavy front door behind them. “Breathe the fresh air. It’ll help clear your head.”
Alex crooked one arm around a roof-supporting post on the covered sidewalk and stood for a moment, her head tilted back as she inhaled the cool night air.
“Where you parked?”
She frowned and thought a few seconds, then pointed toward Fielder’s parking lot in the next block. He held her close to his side and walked her to her Jeep.
The Love of a Stranger Page 20