“You know, exploring caves.”
“You mean spelunking.”
“Whatever. I hate all that bat guano.”
An outhouse excavator would be used to it, however. “Okay, let’s hit the high points here.” Again. “He’s taking money, but not too much, and you don’t know what he’s doing with it, but he doesn’t seem to be spending it.”
“He’s probably got some offshore account, and he’s planning to run away with another woman.”
Offshore account? Maggie obviously read too many mystery novels or watched too much TV. Or both. Brax dealt in facts, not speculation, so he continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “He won’t let you see the bank statements, and he locked you out of the trailer he uses as his office.” Not to mention Carl’s adamant refusal to let Brax use his computer last night. Which was in his small trailer out back. Carl had told him to use Maggie’s, but Brax hadn’t wanted to leave an Internet trail when he checked out Simone Chandler’s website. At least not one that Maggie could follow. Not until he knew more about Carl’s relationship with the woman. “When did this behavior start?”
“I don’t know. Maybe three months ago. First it was the money thing. He got angry when I questioned him, and that’s when he started locking up the trailer.”
“And you think it’s an affair be-cause?” He let his words fall off in a question.
“He disappears for hours.”
“Maybe he’s spelunking or excavating.”
“Bat guano doesn’t smell like department-store perfume.”
Oh, so that’s the way the wind blew. “And this is where The Chicken Coop comes into it?”
“Where else would he meet a woman? It’s not like he’s going to run off with Mrs. Killian. She’s got seventeen children.”
Brax almost shuddered. Seventeen children. The woman must have been changing diapers for almost twenty years. Twenty years of dirty diapers. It boggled the mind.
Of course the obvious woman to bring up was Simone Chandler. Brax didn’t.
God, he was suddenly tired. The sun had only just risen from behind the hills visible through Maggie’s kitchen nook window. Right now, he didn’t want to be a cop. He didn’t want to feel responsible for solving his sister’s problems. Neither did he want to think about Cottonmouth or the murder that had occurred on his watch. He’d rather fantasize about Simone. Simone and him, not Simone and his brother-in-law.
Maggie picked up their plates and crossed to the sink. Her worries had taken a toll on her—less bounce in her step, less sparkle in her gaze. She’d aged. Just as a man didn’t tell a woman her derriere had grown a tad larger, he also didn’t tell his sister he thought her husband might be doing a gorgeous blonde more than ten years her junior. Especially since he wanted to live out the rest of the day.
“So you’ll check out The Chicken Coop for me?” she asked as she ran water in the sink.
“Yeah.” Maggie needed his help, and he was duty-bound to give it, no matter the weight of his own problems on his shoulders. “Where is the place?”
“Just south of town, right on the highway. You can’t miss it.”
“Good.”
She shut off the tap and stood for a moment. “Thanks, Tyler.”
“You’re welcome, Maggie.” He’d clear this whole thing up in an afternoon.
Picking up a towel, she dried her hands, then turned to lean against the counter.
“Carl said you met Simone Chandler last night. What’d you think?”
Busted. As if his thoughts comparing Maggie and Simone had telegraphed themselves even while Maggie busied herself with dirty dishes. “Pretty” was all he said, remaining as noncommittal as possible.
“She’s more than pretty, and you know it. I think you’d like her.”
He cleared his throat. “You know her well?”
She gave him that sometimes-men-are-really-dense look again. “Goldstone is a small town, you know. Everybody knows everybody. She’s a sweetheart. And she’s smart. She’s really made that website of hers grow.”
Holy hell. Maggie knew about that, too. But did she know Carl might be a customer? “I heard all about the website. You ever read one of her stories?”
“No. I’d be embarrassed sharing my fantasies.”
Brax would be embarrassed hearing them so he didn’t press. Her answer did confirm one thing: Carl hadn’t shared whatever was in that email Simone had sent him. Brax’s last hope died a fiery death.
Wouldn’t that be just perfect? If the whole situation didn’t involve his sister, he’d say it had the makings of a TV tabloid episode. The kind of thing that ended in an all-out bitch fight. Or murder.
* * * * *
In the end, he didn’t make it to The Chicken Coop right away. Patrolling Goldstone’s gravel streets—and there weren’t many of them—he’d recognized Simone’s blond curls in a white pickup as she passed in front of him heading out to the highway. Seeing her was no coincidence. It was divine intervention.
Or so he told himself as he followed her north out of town towards Bullhead, mentally rehashing every word his sister had said about the woman.
Animated for the first time since he’d arrived, Maggie had reseated herself at the kitchen table, the sunlight making her glow, and told him the when, where, why and how of Simone Chandler’s life history. The salient point being that Simone didn’t have a special man in her life, and it was high time she found one. Great. His sister was matchmaking. Brax was sure Simone wouldn’t like him knowing all her secrets. Or her failures. Still, he’d listened dutifully. Simone had been a tech writer with her own Silicon Valley business that had taken a nosedive when the bottom fell out of the telecommunications industry. Maybe the ad she’d fallen across, for a trailer with a real foundation, had been her divine intervention when she was down and out. She’d arrived in Goldstone beaten to a bloody pulp by life, but she’d thrived in the high desert air and made Goldstone her home. That was Maggie’s version of the story, and she was sticking to it.
Brax didn’t ask how anyone could thrive in Goldstone. The burg had fallen to its knees in the flood and taken its last gasping breath in the fire. Now, it was nothing more than a ghost town. Its citizens were taking a hell of a long time to figure that out.
For thirty miles, the desert whipped by the windows of his SUV, with nothing but road signs breaking the monotony. That and the vision of blond hair through the rear window of the truck ahead of him. If she was off to meet Carl at some out-of-the-way place, Brax would catch them in the act and put a brotherly end to the affair.
Instead, she slowed at the Bullhead city limit, then pulled into a grocery store parking lot, finding a space near the front while Brax had to cruise the aisles looking for another. Monday morning at The Stockyard Grocery was apparently a popular time. She’d already disappeared through the automatic doors when a car backed out of the spot straight across from hers.
More divine intervention. Brax parked, climbed out, then rested against the back of his SUV to wait. He was a patient man. A cop had to be. Besides, he indulged himself with the image of her platform sandals, tanned legs and short shorts—not that he’d been ogling, merely observing. He preferred voluptuous to emaciated any day of the week, and Simone Chandler was definitely of the voluptuous variety. Even her voice held a sultry, sumptuous note guaranteed to elevate the temperature and raise a few other things, as well. Boredom was nowhere in sight when she returned some thirty minutes later, wheeling a cart full to the brim with paper sacks.
He crossed the narrow aisle. “Let me get that for you.” He helped her load the bags into the bed of her truck.
“Did you follow me, Brax?”
“You could say I followed your rear end.”
She arched a darkened eyebrow into her bangs.
He stepped back and pointed to the tailgate of her truck and the excess of bumper stickers plastered to the chrome. “Too small to read when I’m adhering to the required distance of one car length per ten mil
es an hour rate of speed. I had to follow you in here so I could take a good, long gander at your stickers.”
She put a hand on her hip. “Should I take it you’re done perusing my backside?”
He nodded. “I find that one particularly intriguing.” He pointed to a black decal with white letters warning the unwary: Don’t make me bring out the flying monkeys.
“It’s the Wicked Witch of the West sending out the monkeys to steal Dorothy away,” Simone explained.
“I get the image very clearly.” She’d win lovers’ quarrels with that one, by getting said lover to laugh himself to death. Or bring him to his knees for an entirely different reason. Damn, he did have it bad when a bumper sticker made him hot. He pointed once more to her truck’s rear. “The skulls are a nice touch.”
They ringed her license plate, and following her, he’d noticed the eyes lit up when she stepped on the brake.
She bounced on her platforms, felled him with a heart-stopping smile, and clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Aren’t they absolutely perfect? Whitey found them for me in one of his Harley magazines.” Her hands flipped, flapped and waved all over the place as she talked. “You remember Whitey, don’t you? He was at Flood’s End last night.”
“Beard down to here.” Brax hit the edge of his hand mid-chest. “And a voice like he’s chewing gravel?”
“That’s him. I think Mr. Doodle and I are probably the only ones who understand him. Not that anyone can completely understand Whitey.” She tapped her temple. “He’s a little out there, and my mother would drop dead of a brain implosion if she saw him stick tobacco in his mouth, but he’s the biggest sweetie who ever walked the earth.” Simone put the last bag in the bed and leaned her hip against the side of the truck. “So, who are you like?”
She dizzied him with her lightning-fast speech, hand movements, and subject changes.
Both her eyebrows flashed up this time. “The Wizard of Oz. Which character do you identify with?”
“Ahhh.” The sound wheezed out of him. “I’ve never thought about it.” He wasn’t sure anyone but Simone Chandler had.
She saved him from answering by launching into her own preference. “Personally, I’m intrigued by the Wicked Witch of the West. You know, life must have been really tough being a wicked witch.” She punctuated with a hand flap and a hair flip. “She’s got all that green-tinged skin and that long nose and raspy voice. I think she had bad teeth, too. And her younger sister, the Good Witch, is so much prettier and nicer and everybody loves her and she gets to wear the pretty white dress, while the Wicked Witch has to wear all that ugly black stuff—”
“The Good Witch wasn’t her sister.”
She gasped, as if he’d blasphemed. “Sure Glinda was her sister.”
He shook his head, playing her game, wanting to. Almost compelled to. She had that effect on a man, making him want to do things not in his nature. “The Wicked Witch of the East, who got clobbered by Dorothy’s house, is the Wicked Witch’s sister.”
She gaped. “They’re all sisters, the north, the south, the east, and the west. It’s just that two of them are wicked and two of them are good.”
He quirked one side of his mouth in what he’d been told was a know-it-all smile. Damn. He liked arguing with her. “Nope. You better watch the movie again.”
“I’m sure I’m right. The two wicked witches lived in the shadows of their happy, pretty sisters.”
Again, the happier, prettier sister thing. He wondered briefly about her family, then threw her a curveball. “So who were their parents?”
She stopped, looked at him. Damn, she was cute. Laughter danced in her eyes as she pretended to ponder the question. To no avail. “I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know they were all sisters?”
She kept up the play, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re trying to trick me.”
He shined his fingernails on his shirt, which said it all.
She flapped a hand at him. “All right, all right, forget the witches. Who are you like?”
Caught. The banter hadn’t sidetracked her for long. “As I said, I’ve never thought about it.”
“Think about it now.”
He puffed out a breath. “The tin man, I guess.”
“Aha.” She pointed at him. “The man without a heart.”
“Actually I was thinking tin star. Because I’m a sheriff.”
She snorted. “Lame.”
It was. He spread his hands. She might be right. The man without a heart was not a flattering description. It reminded him once more of his ex-wife and their doomed marriage. Maybe if he’d been a better listener.
He brushed the thoughts aside. “It’s the best I could come up with on short notice.”
“Maybe you need to watch the movie again.”
He might need a lot of things, one of them being more time in Simone’s company. Except that she could be having an affair with Carl. Christ, the thought made him wince. “I’m pretty sure the Good Witch’s name isn’t Glinda either.”
“We could watch it together and find out who’s right.”
She looked at him, all fresh faced, innocent, and hopeful. His heart flipped over—see, he did have one. He wanted to say yes. His duty to Maggie stopped him. Watching The Wizard of Oz with Simone was a bad idea all around. If, repeat if, she was diddling Carl, she was no friend to his sister. He couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Yet he couldn’t forget the eagerness with which she’d asked Carl if he’d gotten her email, or the blush that seemed to cover Carl from head to toe.
He ignored her implied question in favor of saying, “I don’t think I’ve ever had the...pleasure of meeting anyone quite like you. You are...” He paused, scanning her beautiful, lively face. Charming, funny, witty, a little bit kooky. Hell, a lot kooky, but dazzling. Yeah, completely dazzling. “Unique,” he finally said aloud.
On second thought, maybe what he’d said wasn’t any better than accepting her invitation. Damn.
She laughed. “I’m pretty sure unique wasn’t the word you were searching for.” She nodded her head knowingly, as if she presumed he’d been thinking something derogatory. “My mother says I’m like a jet engine. Get in my flight path, and I’ll suck you in one side and spit your little pieces out the other.”
“That’s a very nice compliment.” He was sure it wasn’t a compliment at all. He was also fairly certain he wouldn’t like her mother.
She laughed, the sweet sound burrowing into his belly. “Thank you for lying so gallantly,” she said.
Damn, he’d wanted to lie for her. He pointed to the truck bed, needing to end the little tête-à-tête before he got himself into serious trouble. “I hope you haven’t got ice cream in there that’s in danger of melting.”
“No ice cream. Just milk.”
They couldn’t stand there all damn day, as much as part of him wanted to. He pulled his shades from his shirt pocket and hid behind the dark lenses. No two ways about it, he had to get the freaking question over with and out of the way. For Maggie’s sake. “Are you having an affair with my sister’s husband?”
Her smile died. His insides twisted with the loss, but he ignored any possible meaning to that.
She gave him a simple “No.”
Just as when he interrogated a seemingly bereaved wife who may or may not have had something to do with her spouse’s demise, he didn’t apologize for asking. He did, however, wince inwardly. “Then what was in that email you mentioned last night?”
She thought about it for long moments before answering. “You’ll have to ask Carl about that.” She bit down on the inside of her cheek. “But I wouldn’t have an affair with a friend’s husband.” She pursed her lips. “Not that I’d have an affair with anyone’s husband. But especially not a friend’s.” She heaved a sigh. “What I mean is—”
Her flustered explanation made him feel like shit. He held up a hand. “I think I get it. Thanks. Gotta run.”
After enjoying her enchantin
g banter, then insulting her nine ways to Sunday, he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Guilty conscience, pure and simple. He turned on his heel, crossed to his truck, and left her standing alone in The Stockyard parking lot.
His problem, however, still remained. He’d asked. She’d denied. But could he believe her?
* * * * *
“Strange guy,” Simone muttered as she watched Brax pull out onto the highway and head for Goldstone.
She could have told him the email was a fantasy Carl had wanted her to write for Maggie. Something to rekindle the fire they’d lost. She never should have mentioned the email in front of Brax. A person didn’t tell another’s secrets, not even in defense of their own character.
She groaned aloud. Okay, so she’d voraciously listened to Maggie reveal all Brax’s secrets, right down to the fact that his marriage had gone bust because he’d worked too many long, hard hours, and that he hadn’t dated much since the divorce. There was also that little thing about the wife having gotten hitched to him on the rebound from a love affair gone bad. She really shouldn’t have listened quite so carefully to that part. But listening to secrets wasn’t the same as revealing them. Was it?
She tabled that thought for later in favor of musing on the man himself.
You could judge the mettle of a man by who he identified with in The Wizard of Oz. It was a rule. “The tin man without a heart,” she whispered. Hmm. It didn’t fit. She was sure concern for Maggie had forced Brax to ask that silly question about Carl. Which definitely indicated the existence of a heart. He also phoned his mother once a week.
It was probably a good thing he hadn’t taken her up on watching the movie together. She was starting to like Brax a little too much.
Chapter Three
Half an hour later, Brax was still asking himself the same question. Did he believe Simone when she said she wasn’t having an affair with Carl?
Fool's Gold (A sexy funny mystery/romance, Cottonmouth Book 2) Page 3