She's The Sheriff (Superromance Series No 787)

by Duquette, Anne Marie

  Virgil swiveled around to face her. “It’s unsettling how you do that.”

  “What?”

  “Know what people are thinking.” What I’m thinking. “You’re not a mind reader, are you?”

  Desiree actually chuckled. “Save the New Age stuff. I simply do what any good lawyer does—read body language, watch facial expressions, play the odds.”

  “You’re one heck of a gambler, then.”

  “I’m not as good as Caro. But she plays the stocks. I prefer people.”

  “Too bad you left your last job. You could’ve made quite a name for yourself in the court system,” Virgil said bluntly. “Maybe even gone on to the judicial bench, like your mother.”

  “Maybe. But you know something? Being a lawyer was never that much of a challenge. So far, this is.”

  “Enough to stay in Tombstone?” Strange, but I can’t imagine Tombstone without you.

  “Professionally? That all depends.”

  “On what?”

  “If I get back my right to practice law. If people still vote for me after three years. If they don’t impeach me for releasing Jondell. Or lynch me instead.”

  “They wouldn’t.”

  “Really, Deputy, you are such an innocent.” He could sense her smile in the dark. “Of course they would. Some of the most dangerous people in the world are those who don’t get what they want.”

  “That’s where lawmen come in.”

  “And lawyers.”

  Virgil’s eyes narrowed in disbelief.

  “Hey, you think truth and justice only belong to you Bodines? I’m a prosecuting lawyer. The truth is our weapon—in the courtroom and out. Whether others want to hear that truth is another matter.”

  There was something in her voice that prompted Virgil to ask, “Are we speaking in generalities here?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve been doing some hard thinking,” was all she’d say. They continued riding into the night, Virgil in the lead. Tracking was his strong point, his talent. Beneath the dark of a desert sky or in the eerie neon of the city, he could find his prey. Sheriff or deputy, Virgil Bodine always got his man. But what about his woman? Getting and keeping were two different stories. Just ask Travis’s mother.

  Virgil saw the bright light of a small fire before Desiree did. It was a glowing orange spot in the distance.

  Desiree rose in the saddle, her nose in the air. “I can’t tell what’s burning, can you?”

  “Mesquite wood,” he said. “Why would Travis build a campfire?” Virgil asked aloud.

  “If it’s Travis.”

  “It’s him.” Virgil left his rifle in the sheath and touched his heels to his horse. “Come on.”

  The young boy sitting at the edge of the fire jumped as they approached. “Hi, Dad.” His voice was tentative.

  “Travis.” Virgil dismounted, giving Desiree his horse’s reins. I don’t know whether to hug him or scold him! “I thought you were in bed.”

  “I wasn’t tired. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “So you sneaked out of the house instead?”

  Virgil’s parental tone immediately set Travis on the defensive. “I didn’t sneak!”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” Desiree said. Their attention swung her way. “So, Travis, is Jondell back in his tent?”

  “Yep. Ever since you told me about him, I’ve been watching him, and—” Travis cut himself off the moment he realized what he’d said.

  “Aren’t you afraid a fire will give away your position?” Desiree asked.

  “No. He already went to bed.”

  “Give me the matches,” Virgil ordered. Travis fished something out of his pocket and slapped it into Virgil’s hand. “So, now you carry a lighter?”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. I know how to make a fire. We made them all the time on the beach. They’re legal.”

  “This isn’t the beach!”

  “I wish it was! I wish I was home!”

  Once again Desiree interrupted the argument. “Travis, have you been helping me out on this case?” she asked as she dismounted.

  Travis glanced up, undecided whether or not to answer.

  “You’ve got the campground under surveillance tonight. What can you tell me about the other nights?”

  “Mmm...” Travis visibly fidgeted.

  You don’t know that he’s been out other nights, Desiree. Why assume my son would skulk around like a thief in the night?

  “Maybe you saw something I missed.”

  “Well...I didn’t see who started the parking lot fire.”

  Virgil’s blood ran cold. “You were out there that night, too?”

  “Yes. Jondell wasn’t near the parking lot.”

  “Hmm.” Desiree passed Virgil his horse’s reins. “What about before the fire? Did you see anything then?”

  “Nah. Just a couple snakes when I was jogging.”

  “Jogging? Snakes?” Virgil repeated. “What kind of snakes?”

  “Rattlers. They’re not as big here as in California,” Travis said, still addressing Desiree. “But my flashlight scared them away.”

  “Travis Earp Bodine, I swear...” Virgil could barely get the words out, but Desiree didn’t have that problem.

  “So you’ve been helping me and your dad out on this case. Like a junior deputy?”

  “Yeah. I learned a lot just watching Dad...and our bodyguards. I guess I should’ve asked, but—”

  “You didn’t because you knew I’d say no.” The cold fury in Virgil’s voice caused Travis to tense.

  “Your dad’s right,” Desiree said. “Next time, go to him. Or me, if he’s not there. I don’t want you hanging around Jondell by yourself. I don’t want to take any chances with your safety.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now, let’s see what kind of jogger you are. You lead, and we’ll follow.”

  Travis didn’t need to be urged twice to escape from his father’s wrath. He was off and running along the horse trail before Virgil could protest.

  Virgil whirled toward Desiree. “You’re awfully high-handed. That’s my son!”

  “I was merely acting in my professional capacity.” She kicked dirt over the fire.

  “As what?”

  He heard Desiree take in a deep breath. “Virgil, I hate to ask this. But I have to. Is it possible that your son set those car fires?”

  “Accidentally?”

  “Anger and arson go hand in hand. I wonder if perhaps Travis set them deliberately.”

  VIRGIL WAS FURIOUS. Simply furious. And he stayed furious in the days to come. It was all he could do to control his anger, put on his uniform with its chafing, uncomfortable boots and go to the office.

  The tension between him and Desiree was palpable. The office staff, especially Jamie, thought it was because the arsonist hadn’t been found. Marta assumed they were worried about Lozen, whose broken arm wasn’t healing well.

  “It can’t be easy, having Lozen there,” she said sympathetically to Virgil one morning when Desiree was on the phone.

  Nothing’s ever easy for the Bodines. But he didn’t say that aloud.

  “All that sadness with Caro and her baby. And now Lozen’s arm,” Marta went on. “She’s a surgeon, too. It must be hard on her.”

  “Rogelio’s helping Lozen out.” Lozen’s volunteer work on the reservations had been sorely missed. All the brothers, especially Virgil, had pitched in to help with finances and supplies—but no one more than Rogelio. In fact, the divorced couple were actually acting civilly toward each other. Gossip about family wasn’t something Bodines approved of, though, so Virgil didn’t offer any further comment.

  “Then why are you and the sheriff so...” Marta’s voice trailed off.

  “We’re trying to find an arsonist, Marta.” So I can prove my son is innocent. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  He did his job, but the joy had gone out of it because of Desiree.

  Because she might be right. Tr
avis might have set those fires—and I don’t know how to tell her or what to do about it. Was Desiree right? Could Travis have done it on purpose? As a way to vent his anger, as a cry for help?

  Virgil had been scared before. When his parents had died and suddenly he’d been forced to run the ranch and raise two younger brothers, he’d been scared. But he’d done what had to be done. He’d hated that time in his life; he hadn’t known what to do, even what to think. He just winged it. There’d been no one he could turn to.

  And there was no one he could turn to now. Travis’s mother? Outside of her job, she’s lucky to keep her life on track. Wyatt or Morgan? Morgan had no children yet. Virgil envied his other brother. Wyatt’s daughter is young and happy. I doubt she’ll ever need a therapist. Travis had. His life as the son of one of Hollywood’s highest-paid actresses was one of confusion, bodyguards and ever-present cameras. Virgil himself wasn’t often around. Travis wanted attention from his mother in any way possible, and he managed to get it.

  By refusing to obey his tutor...

  Ditching his bodyguards...

  Sneaking out of the house to surf in the dark...

  All were guaranteed ways to get a phone call from May.

  Virgil had also found out via Travis’s bodyguard that some of the boy’s friends had organized a little shoplifting spree. Travis had backed out at the last minute; still, peer pressure might win the next time. That was another reason he’d come home to Tombstone—a reason he didn’t share with the family. But it appeared Travis hadn’t changed along with the change of scenery.

  Was setting fires a new way to get May’s attention?

  How could I look Desiree in the eye if I knew my son’s actions nearly killed her? And quite possibly ended Lozen’s career as a pediatric surgeon?

  His fury was directed not at Desiree, but at himself. Obviously he wasn’t being a good father. His son needed guidance, not a juvenile detention center.

  Now I’m doing the same thing I accused Desiree of doing. If it was any other kid. I’d drag him down to the sheriff’s office and questions him. I’m not using the rule book concerning Travis, any more than Desiree did with Linda and Jondell. After all the lectures I delivered I’m no better than Desiree.

  He was trapped, trapped by his love for his son, his honor as a lawman, his reputation as a Bodine. Travis’s difficulties weren’t the boy’s failures. They were the father’s. Virgil had held out as long as he could—but Jondell’s alibi was solid and no other suspects had been found. Time to put aside his pride and fear and worry and tell Desiree everything.

  Starting with the boy’s problems before they’d even left California.

  He saw Desiree hang up the phone. “Things are awfully slow right now. Jamie, you hold down the fort. I’m off to lunch.”

  “Care for some company?” Virgil asked. “I haven’t eaten, and I have something I’d like to talk over with you.” He paused. “In private.”

  “Sure.”

  They walked outside into the warm desert air.

  “What are you in the mood for?” Virgil asked. “Mexican, Mexican or Mexican?”

  “How about Chinese?”

  “We’ve got to go out of town for that,” he said.

  Desiree immediately fished her keys out of her pockets. “I wouldn’t mind going—” she stopped abruptly as she rounded the corner of City Hall and faced the parking lot “—to a different place.”

  Virgil stared at her car. Obscenities were written all over it. The mildest comment involved words she never used. The others were violent insults crudely lettered or drawn on her windows, doors, trunk and hood. Even her tires had been defaced.

  “In our own parking lot, no less. This is so humiliating,” she said lightly. “There’s never a cop around when you need one.” Virgil stared at the hood and the ominous word Beware! written there. A drawing of a hangman’s noose was visible, with a naked female body—complete with sheriffs star—hanging from it. Virgil reached for her hand, his protective instincts automatically kicking in.

  She’d already moved forward, studying the letters and missing his grasp. “I think this is an adult’s handwriting, or at least a teen’s.”

  Virgil’s breath caught. Not Travis’s writing.

  She straightened up. “Good news.”

  “What?”

  “They only used soap on the windows and chalk on the car.”

  “That’s hardly what I’d call good news.”

  “It is for me. In Phoenix it would’ve been spray-painted for sure. A bucket of water will clean this up—after we get it photographed and dusted for prints. Virgil, if you wouldn’t mind getting Jamie...?”

  He looked at her closely. She doesn’t seem half as shaken as I feel. In fact, she didn’t look upset at all. “Are you okay?”

  “Yep. Though under the circumstances, I think we’ll walk to a Mexican restaurant, after all. I don’t want any kids seeing my new paint job out on the street.”

  Virgil couldn’t understand her coolness, her impartiality. “Desiree...”

  She walked around the vehicle, taking in the rest of the drawings. She tilted her head first one way, then the other. “Talk about bizarre. That move’s not even anatomically possible.”

  Virgil had no comment. He turned his back on the obscenities. “I’ll get Jamie.”

  LUNCH WAS RUINED by a disappointing radio call from Jamie.

  “So, no good prints?” Virgil watched Desiree push the refritos around on her plate and finally give up on them altogether.

  Virgil shook his head. “No prints, period. The soap is a common brand, and the chalk isn’t anything extraordinary. We have a sample of Jondell’s handwriting from when we booked him earlier, but he did a pretty good job of disguising it if he did deface your car.”

  “It wasn’t Jondell. I doubt he’d write ‘Rapistloving Bitch.”’

  Virgil winced-at the sound of the ugly words.

  “That would be a public admission of guilt—and not Jondell’s style.” She shrugged. “I’d guess one of this town’s good citizens has decided to withdraw his vote.”

  “No. I’m sure—”

  “Oh, yes. Ever since I dropped a few hints at the campground, the news has spread all over town. Talk about a grapevine.”

  “I’ve dropped a few hints to friends myself,” Virgil sighed. “Jamie and the others probably told their families, as well.”

  “There you go. It didn’t take long for this to get out, especially since we didn’t try to keep it a secret. Someone from Tombstone could very well have defaced my car.”

  Virgil stared out the window at people he’d grown up with. Tombstone, and the Silver Dollar Ranch in particular, had always been his haven, if not in reality, then in his memories. But the land and its people had offered little in the way of comfort lately. Maybe that was why all of this distressed him so much. Recent events were forcing him to reconsider a place he loved...and to wonder if Tombstone was still the town he remembered.

  “If it is a local, he’s not going to be easy to find,” he said.

  “I won’t have to find him. Whoever it is, he—or she—takes big risks. The fire on your land, the writing on my car. He’ll make himself visible soon enough, and in person, too. I’ll be waiting.”

  “Good Lord, Desiree, doesn’t that bother you?”

  Several diners turned toward them as his voice rose. Virgil quickly slapped some money on the table to cover their bill, and in silent accord they walked outside.

  “Not as much as if I thought we’d never catch him. At least I know our man won’t escape. He—or she—is a showman, out to make a grand splash before coming after me in person. We’ve just caught the opening acts.”

  “I don’t even want to think about the grand finale.” Virgil clenched his teeth,

  “We’ll catch him. It’s only a matter of—”

  Desiree’s radio crackled. It was Jamie, saying her car was being photographed and redusted since the first attempt had turned up n
othing. He added that they wanted to keep it overnight for the night shift to take a look at, too.

  “I guess we’ll need a ride home,” Desiree said.

  I’ll tell her about Travis tonight, Virgil vowed. But I’ll talk to him myself first.

  His decision was just as well. The rest of the workday proved to be busy, thanks to new developments that caused loud complaints, major financial damage and headaches for all concerned parties. Downtown Tombstone was bombarded with rocks. One after another was thrown through the windows of prominent commercial establishments. Glass flew all over, alarms went off, tourists screamed in fright, shopkeepers screamed in anger—and the entire day shift, Virgil and Desiree included, was needed all over town. Yet there wasn’t even a smash-and-grab theft. And hard though it was to believe, no one saw anything. The vandal picked his times carefully and moved quickly. And those dirt alleys and old buildings offered plenty of escape routes.

  That took Virgil and the day shift into the swing shift; by then, the vandalism had apparently stopped.

  “If it’s indeed vandalism, and not harassment of yours truly,” Desiree said grimly.

  Everyone was worn out by the time they got the last alarm of the day, a Native American crafts store.

  “You know, Sheriff, neither the night nor the swing shift reported any trouble yesterday. I hope this is the end and not the beginning.”

  “Amen to that,” Desiree said quietly.

  “You’d better tar-and-feather your trash you dragged down from Phoenix,” the storekeeper warned.

  “Mr. Jondell isn’t her trash,” Virgil said harshly.

  “Well, we wouldn’t have him if it wasn’t for her! I’m sorry I didn’t vote for you, Virgil.”

  “Jondell isn’t at fault,” Desiree assured the storekeeper. “We already checked. He’s walking the highways picking up trash.”

  “So he says! I can’t be shutting down every day to replace broken windows and get insurance estimates!” the storekeeper continued.

  Desiree, Virgil noticed, kept her peace and let Jamie do the soothing and shoulder-patting. She was busy staring out the window. He went to join her.

  “You okay?” he asked in an undertone. “Don’t let this guy upset you.”