by Mari Manning
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Because they think you’re Frankie. It was Miss Bea, wasn’t it?”
“Miss Bea was asleep when I went in last night.” She sighed. “Nothing happened. It was my own fault. Honest.”
“Kirby—”
“Do you think we can drop this?” She folded her arms across her chest.
She was lying. A damn fool could see it. He’d like a rematch with Miss Bea, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue with Kirby…especially if he wanted her in his bed. “Whatever you want. Just saying, is all.”
She studied him. “It’s not like you to let something go that easy.”
He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant until she turned away.
In El Royo, the sidewalks shimmered with heat, and the cool air inside the Limestone Diner washed over Seth like spring rain. Manny waved at them from a booth in the back.
Kirby pressed a hand to his arm. He could guess what was coming next. “No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I am not sitting at the counter while you have a private conversation with Manny.”
“But you’ll intimidate him—”
“You better hope I don’t. Come on.” He pressed a hand to the perfectly curved small of her back.
Manny played with his hands nervously when Seth pushed into the booth beside Kirby. “I thought you were coming alone, Miss Frances.”
Kirby shot Seth a narrow-eyed I told you so.
“I’m just here for a cup of coffee.” He motioned to Angie and held up three fingers. “Anything you tell Miss Frances is off the record.”
Kirby’s jaw dropped.
“As far as I’m concerned.”
If his sexy lady cop wanted to get her shorts in a bunch because he was sticking around, nothing he could do about it. No one told him to get lost. Besides, Manny wasn’t going to tell her anything worth going to the police about. He’d bet his last dollar on it.
Manny rubbed at a spot on the table. “Yes, boss.”
Kirby leaned across the table. Her top pulled up in the back, revealing golden skin. His throat dried. Damn! He had it bad for this one.
“Thanks for coming, Manny,” Kirby said. “The reason I invited you here was to ask after my momma.”
A smile pulled at Seth’s mouth, and he pretended to rub his chin until he could get his expression under control. He did like a woman with some attitude.
Manny nodded. “Miss Charleen?”
“Exactly. She’s been gone a long time, and I’m worried.”
Manny’s gaze met Seth’s. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Manny, please look at me. Mr. Maguire drove me here. That’s all. He’s not accusing you of anything. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m hoping you saw something that would help me find my momma.”
“I didn’t see anything, either.”
She laid her hands, palms up, on the Formica. What would those slender fingers feel like when they touched him? Gentle? Eager? Rough? His loins tightened.
Angie plunked three mugs on the table. “Anything else?” she asked him tightly.
“I think we’re good.”
Her gaze ping-ponged from him to Kirby. She smirked. “Looks like you could use some R&R. Next time you’re in town, give me a holler.”
Kirby’s eyes widened.
Oh, boy. “I appreciate you thinking about a poor cowpoke like me, Angie, but I’m real tied up on the ranch.”
“I’ll just bet you are.” She scribbled some numbers on her order pad, tore off the paper and slapped it on the table. “Pay the cashier on your way out.”
Kirby’s eyes were burning a hole in the side of his head. He stuck his nose in his mug and took a big, noisy slurp.
She shifted her attention back to Manny. “Here’s what I’m wondering. What if someone got mad at my momma and did something to her? They’d need stuff if it happened at the ranch, wouldn’t they?”
Manny’s eyes met Seth’s. Wide and frightened. A child’s gaze. “How would I know, boss? I mean, if a coil of rope was missing, that could be you or Miss Bea just doing your jobs, right?”
At twenty, Manny was far younger than Seth had been. He’d have already guessed where Kirby was going with this and walked away before he ended up in the middle of a mess he had no business in. It was Shaw’s fault Manny was still a colt. He babied the boy. The sooner Manny figured out Shaw couldn’t fight his battles forever, the better. Otherwise he’d never survive.
Before Seth could tell Manny to grow some balls, Kirby threw out a new question. “So you noticed rope was missing.”
“There was a rope hanging in the barn, then it was gone. But Miss Bea might have taken it.”
“Does Miss Bea take rope often?”
“Well, no. I mean, I just thought it had to be her because she’s the only one who comes in the barn. Except for the boss, I mean.”
“So normally Miss Bea doesn’t use rope, as far as you know.”
Seth watched Manny squirm. The kid wasn’t a criminal, and Kirby had no business coming down on him so hard. “I think Manny just said that, didn’t he,” Seth said.
Kirby whipped her head around. Her gaze was cool, but her lips were pressed together with irritation. “Thank you, Mr. Maguire,” she said tightly. “I’ll do the interpreting, if you don’t mind.”
Seth let his mind roll between Manny’s discomfort and Kirby’s sweet face. The sweet face won. He presented her with half smile and lowered his eyelids. “Sorry.”
Kirby’s gaze narrowed. Then she turned back to Manny. “Anything else out of place recently?”
“Not sure.” He pressed his lips together.
“When was the rope taken?”
“About two weeks ago. I thought the boss took it, but then he asked me about it, so I figured it was Miss Bea. That’s all.”
“Did you notice it was missing in the morning when you came to work, or was it later in the day?”
“Morning.” He stared into his coffee. “I have to go.”
Kirby turned in Seth’s direction again. More irritation. This is your fault. Behind the green contacts, he thought he saw desire flicker. He’d have dived into the middle of a cattle stampede for what that look promised.
“This is my fault, Manny,” Seth said. “I should have taken more notice. Please answer Miss Frances. Nothing you say will get you into trouble.”
“Yes, boss. When I came to work—this was maybe two, two and a half weeks ago—the barn door was unlocked, and the rope was gone, and Miss Bea’s gun. That’s all I know. I swear I thought it was Miss Bea.” He looked like he was about to cry.
The boy didn’t know anything. So what if Miss Bea sneaked around at night snitching rope and taking her own gun? Did Kirby really think “someone” had done Charleen in with Miss Bea’s little rifle and a twenty-foot rope? “Manny has told you everything he knows. If you want to stop at the police station about the missing-person report, we better get going. I’ve got a truckload of pickers coming in an hour.”
One corner of her sweet mouth grimaced. “Right. Do I have time to run to the ladies’ room?”
He let her out. “Go on then.”
Manny rose, too. When the bathroom door closed behind Kirby, he cleared his throat. “Boss?”
“Yeah?”
“You know Brittany?”
“Yeah.”
“She wants to come over to my apartment on Sunday.”
What was that pesky girl up to now? “What for?”
“Listen to music.”
“So what’s your question?”
Manny looked away. “I’m just a little nervous, is all. I don’t know what to say or anything.”
Seth glanced toward the ladies’ room. “Make her do the talking.”
“Won’t she think I’m rude?”
“With women, you want to set boundaries or you’ll end up hog-tied and shackled for the rest of your life.”
Manny’s brows knitted. “You think she wa
nts to marry me or something?”
“All I’m saying is don’t get yourself in a tight spot by saying the wrong thing.”
“Right, boss.” Manny glanced over his shoulder at the ladies’ room. “I didn’t want to say anything because maybe I imagined it, and I don’t want to get Miss Frances going, but I thought I heard something funny back when the rope and rifle went missing.”
“What did you hear?”
“A scream coming off the ridge.”
This was guaranteed to get Kirby all riled up just when he most wanted her undivided attention. Besides, if Manny had heard something, it was probably just Frankie and Zack up to no good. “The ridge is at least a mile from the barn.”
“I was in the lavender field. It was the day you sent me to weed.”
“Maybe it was a hawk.” The ladies’ room door opened, and Kirby emerged.
Manny followed Seth’s gaze. “Right, boss. Anything else would be crazy talk.”
…
“Hey, Swope, look who’s back in town. What’s doin’, Frankie?” The beefy police officer patted his lap. “Need a place to set yourself down, sugar?”
The second officer—young, blond, thick lipped, ostrich necked—snickered, exposing bright yellow teeth. “You need a real engineer for that hot engine of yours, Frankie. I’ll take you round the world without leaving the men’s room.”
Officer Beefy hooted.
If the El Royo police station were the only thing standing between order and anarchy, Kirby’s money was on anarchy. It was a cramped room holding six steel desks, fluorescent lights blinking and buzzing overhead, one fat cop and one wise-ass cop, the cnaawk, cnaawk, cnaawk of drunken snores from the holding cells, and air scented with urine and sweat and stale bodies.
She smiled, keeping her lips together to hide gritted teeth. “Just dropped by to see if you’d found my momma.”
“You try the no-tell motel, Frankie?” The fat cop winked at her. “Maybe we can go over and look together. What d’ya say?”
Kirby shoved her fisted hands into the pockets of Frankie’s too-short blue jean skirt, but the outrage seeped into her words. “I say you do your job and tell me if you’ve found anything.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “Why would I know anything about Charleen? She likes the rich meat, don’t she?”
“What about the missing-person report I filed a few weeks back?”
“Hey, Swope. You know anything about a missing-person report from Frankie?”
Swope grinned at Kirby. His teeth gleamed like sunbeams. “Nope.”
So they hadn’t filed Frankie’s report. Her outrage grew. These men—men who had no right to call themselves cops—had ignored Frankie’s request. They’d let Charleen’s disappearance slide by, not for hours or days, but weeks. A vein in her neck throbbed.
The station door swung open. A gust of hot air swooped in, and with it, Seth. Officer Beefy sat up straight. Officer Buttercup sobered.
“Got tired of waiting in the Jeep.” Seth flashed a grin at the officers. “Ed. Derek. How you boys doing?”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Kirby said. She glanced at the fat cop’s shirt for a name badge. “Officer Jones was just about to look for Charleen’s missing-person report.”
Jones glowered at her. “There’s no fucking report, Frankie. What kind of shit are you pulling on me?”
Her eyes met Seth’s.
His shoulders lifted slightly. I told you so.
“I called weeks ago,” Kirby said.
Both cops shook their heads, mouths firm, jaws tight. They were telling the truth.
“Could another officer have taken the report?” Kirby asked.
Officer Swope held his hands out, palm up. “No missing-person reports have been filed in the past year and a half. Not since that kid went missing. Found him at the ranch, as I recall. Floating in the old quarry.”
Seth stepped forward. “Frankie’s a little forgetful now and again. She meant to file a report. Since she’s here now, maybe we can start fresh.”
Had Frankie been confused, or had someone taken the report who didn’t want Charleen found? Or had Kirby misinterpreted what Frankie told her? Thinking back on it, she wasn’t sure. Frankie had been desperate, then drunk, then incoherent. Facts and feelings spun together into a whole cloth. A whole cloth with a loose thread. She felt its presence, but she couldn’t see where to pull.
Stop thinking with your head, Kirby-nee.
It’s the only way to think, Grandy.
Not if you know how to listen to yourself.
“Frankie? The report? I’ve got a harvest to get to,” Seth said.
Introspection, ancient riddles, loose threads. They would have to wait until the apricots were picked. “Yes. I’d like to file one now.”
The radios attached to Jones and Swope’s shoulders began to squawk like hens at feeding time.
Swope barked into his transmitter. “Go ahead.”
A female dispatcher, sounding tinny and matter-of-fact and far away, said, “Dead body found on Shaw Valley Ranch. That’s all I could get, but a Miss Vine will be waiting at the main house.”
It took a second for Kirby to get her mind around the news. A dead body? On Shaw Valley Ranch? Who? Not Miss Bea or Manny. That left Mr. Shaw or Brittany…or Charleen.
Dead. On her watch. And on her head if it was murder.
But maybe the thread had finally come free.
Chapter Eighteen
Kirby rode back to the ranch on an emotional roller coaster, swinging from optimism to pessimism, from shaky to sure. She’d come to El Royo to help, but she’d failed. Bobby was dead, Seth had nearly lost his job, and Brittany’s fantasies had been crushed by a temporary impostor. She’d lied to Mr. Shaw, made promises to Frankie she might never be able to keep, bribed and snooped and manipulated. To what end? Someone on the ranch was dead. Maybe murdered.
“This is my fault,” she said.
Seth, eyes narrowed, hands tight on the wheel, tailed the police car. “You’re giving yourself too much credit.”
“It’s Charleen. I can feel it. Frankie warned me this would happen, and I had plenty of time to find her. Instead…instead I messed up.”
“Don’t get yourself all tied up in knots. You don’t know what happened. Hell, Kirby, you don’t even know who died.” He unclenched a hand from the wheel and rested it on her knee. His palm was rough, and his fingers firm as they squeezed her leg. Her thighs trembled.
This was her problem. This…this carnal diversion. She pushed his hand away.
He glanced over at her. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You sound like a woman with something on her mind.”
She stared straight ahead. “Look, I’m here to help my sister, and I feel like I took my eyes off the ball. Now something’s happened.”
“Meaning I’m a distraction.”
“Basically.”
They pulled up to the house just behind the police car. On the front porch, Miss Bea flapped her bony hands like a great, clumsy bird. “Officers! Yoo-hoo, officers. Thank God.”
Seth put the Jeep into gear. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” The words caught in her throat.
“We’ll talk about it later.” He jumped out of the Jeep.
Miss Bea, hair and hands and apron strings flying, ran straight to the patrol car. “It’s the bunkhouse.” She waved an arm in the direction of the orchard. “Our ranch hand, poor boy. He found the man with a—a—a knife. Ooh. And—and our pickup is missing. I don’t know how—”
Relief poured over Kirby, and she hated herself for it. But the victim was a he. Not Charleen or Brittany. And not Mr. Shaw. Miss Bea would have said so straight off.
Seth shoved back into the Jeep. “Let’s go.” Squealing around the patrol car, they hightailed it out to the orchard.
Long, rough-hewn, and weather-beaten, the three bunkhouses stood shoulder to shoulder with the Shaw
orchards. Manny and a dozen pickers, agitated, anxious and uneasy, waited nearby.
“He’s in there, boss. It’s Zack Robbins.” Manny stretched his arm toward the middle building. Nailed to the side was a tin sign: Kitchen and TV Room/ Shirts Required.
Kirby squinted into its dusky interior. Shards of morning light pierced the windows, burnishing a very naked, very bloody, very dead body. It sprawled beside a stained sofa. An evil-looking chef’s knife had been sunk into Zack’s back.
The patrol car squealed to a halt behind her. Jones lumbered up. “Get on now, Frankie. You, too, Maguire. This is a crime scene.”
A voice rose from the knot of pickers. “Zack was murdered, wasn’t he?”
Swope stepped forward. “We will release results when the investigation is complete.”
Protests rose from the harvesters.
Jones raised his hands. “Come on now, boys. You know we can’t say anything until the investigation is complete.”
“I’m not staying up here tonight if there’s a killer wanderin’ around.”
“The sheriff is on his way. Why don’t you boys get back to work so we can get the crime scene secured and ensure everyone’s safety,” Swope said.
Seth stepped into the circle of men. “Come on, guys. Let’s get those apricots picked before they rot. I’ll set up guards tonight if we need them.”
The men dispersed, taking their grumbles with them. Jones and Swope returned to their cruiser for crime scene tape, and Seth returned to Kirby’s side.
“Are you okay, baby?” he asked.
Baby. She could feel the soft growl of his voice deep in her belly. Her traitorous body warmed. What was wrong with her? “I’m a cop, remember?” she said under her breath so Swope and Jones wouldn’t hear. “I’ve seen murder victims before.”
“I bet this is the first one you knew.”
“Just met him yesterday.”
“He was killed under your nose.”
“I’m fine. Look, if you really want to help me…” She hesitated.
“What?”
“I’d really like to get a look at the murder scene before the sheriff gets here. Any chance you could distract the Keystone Kops for five or ten minutes?”
His eyes widened. “Are you kidding me?”