Good theory, but Mitch was still seeking evidence to prove or disprove it. Because he had to conduct the investigation clandestinely on his own, time had passed with nothing to show for it but frustration. At least Tim still went along with him.
“I’ll focus on matters that involve Lambert & Church,” Mitch told him now.
“Good luck,” Tim said, “and keep me informed.” It was his standard closing to their conversations. After nearly two years, Tim had probably stopped believing there was anything in the death of Martin Steele besides the suicide of a small-county sheriff caught accepting bribes, but Mitch was grateful he never said so.
A short while later, at department headquarters, Mitch visited the dispatcher on the current shift. He reiterated his communication with the deputy on duty last night: all units were to watch for a blue pickup with damage to the right side. He’d call the body shops in Mustang County later, though there weren’t many, and the suspect was more likely to have driven the vehicle to the anonymity of Dallas/Ft. Worth for repairs. Or, if it was stolen, just abandoned it.
The deputy administration room was crowded that morning, everyone having checked in but not yet gone out on assignments. Mitch exchanged the usual greetings, pleasant and superficial, unlike the normal garbage handed out by Hurley Zeller, who fortunately wasn’t there yet.
When he got to his desk, Mitch reached for the phone. He’d leave a message at the Gazette for Cara to call when she got in. If she was sleeping in after her multiple ordeals of the day before, he didn’t want to wake her at home. And she no longer had a working cell phone.
“Cara Hamilton.” Her familiar impatient voice drew a smile from him.
“Cara, it’s Mitch.” He kept his voice low so no one could eavesdrop. Darn. If he’d known she was there, he’d have called outside on his mobile phone. “Why are you there so early?”
“Why did you call if you didn’t expect me to be here?”
He smiled to himself as he explained his reasoning.
“Thanks for not wanting to wake me,” she said. “I always get up early, even when I go to bed exhausted. I don’t want to let the day get started without being part of it.”
No, he was sure a woman as vibrant and tenacious as Cara would figure she was missing something.
“So…” she prompted.
He shook his head a little at her characteristic impatience. “Cara, I was thinking last night about yesterday’s attack on you.” He’d thought of little else, stupid when he had a murder to solve. Yet, if he could save a life, that was more important than justice on behalf of a dead woman. Would his mother’s people believe Nancy Wilks’s spirit could not rest until she was avenged? Maybe, although they were just as likely to honor her imminent return to Mother Earth.
Whatever, he had two crimes to solve, probably by the same suspect.
“I need a list of everyone you’ve done stories on recently who was…let’s say a little displeased about what you said,” he told Cara.
Her laugh was musical. “That means a list of everyone I’ve written about.”
Mitch believed it. Cara’s admitted mission was to expose wrongs. She’d written a lot of articles, mostly describing things the subjects probably didn’t want their closest friends to know, let alone the entire population of Mustang County.
“Then, give me a list of all your subjects.” He gritted his teeth inwardly at all the time he was looking at. He would have to interview all potential enemies she identified.
Maybe he could get a junior deputy to help. Stephanie Greglets? But he trusted no one, not even Stephanie, to do the detail work without revealing it to Ben Wilson. And that would put Hurley Zeller in the loop, thanks to his closeness to Ben. Hurley would do anything to solve this murder himself. Mitch wouldn’t put it past him to sabotage the case rather than allow Mitch to get credit for solving it.
“Okay,” Cara said. “I’ll put a list together. Want me to mail it?”
“No, I’ll pick it up later,” he said. “We’ll grab lunch, discuss the next moves in your investigation.”
Lunch? He didn’t want to date the woman, just keep track of where her nosiness led and keep her out of trouble while making sure he got the information on the case she came up with.
“Sure. See you later, Mitch.” And then she was gone.
He quickly cast aside his feeling of pleasure that he was going to see her later.
CARA HUMMED as she went through the Gazette’s morgue.
At least Beau had managed to get the old issues micro-filmed, though most modern papers now had everything computerized and indexed. And the Gazette’s filming, such as it was, was way behind. That meant she had to go through individual issues for months back.
She sat in a filthy extra room, her hands blackened with ink leaching from the newsprint as she thumbed through paper after paper. Her body still hurt from the way she’d slammed it onto her car hood, and a scrape on her arm still stung.
So why was she humming?
She had a lot of work to do. Mitch Steele had just added to it. Thanks, Mitch.
As her humming grew even more cheerful, she stopped it. Mitch. She was meeting the handsome, arrogant devil of a deputy later. She’d be sharing information with him.
Would he share any with her?
Not voluntarily, she was sure. “If you want something from me, Deputy Steele,” she muttered aloud, “you’ll have to cough up information of your own.”
Smiling grimly at the page she had just turned, she stopped. There it was—part of what she was searching for.
The article reported the accidental death of Mayor Frank Daniels, in a car accident as he was fleeing capture—an event reminiscent of a Shotgun Sally legend, though that hadn’t made this story, of course. Beauford Jennings himself had the byline. It had been too important for him to trust to any reporter on his staff, or so he’d said. Even though Cara was a better writer.
Cara took the paper to the photocopier in the corner of the room. Fortunately, though it jammed a lot, it was up-to-date, so she was able to zoom in on the article and shrink it to letter size. The copy’s print was small, but her eyesight was perfect.
After tucking the copy into a folder, she read the article. The background of the mayor’s untimely—or perhaps very timely—death was included. He’d all but admitted to murdering Andrew McGovern, an attorney at the firm of Lambert & Church.
Cara’s sigh was long and deep. “Oh, Andrew,” she murmured sadly. She knew now it was better that they’d mutually broken things off. They’d dated in high school, then gotten engaged when he returned after law school. He’d been sweet but stuffy, and marriage to him could have been stifling. But she had loved him. And still mourned for him, even if he hadn’t been the right man for her.
Maybe there was no right man for her. Mr. Right would have to support her in her career. Be someone with whom she could share things. Someone she could trust.
Unlike Andrew. Unlike the devious thief Jerry Jennings. And unlike Mitch Steele.
Her unladylike snort reverberated through the storeroom. How the heck had Mitch insinuated himself into that reverie? “Back to work, Cara.”
Of course, she couldn’t resist looking up one more topic: Mitch’s father. He had been accused of accepting bribes from an outfit called Juniper Holdings, which quickly went belly-up after getting caught at it. Juniper had wanted to do business without the requisite Mustang County authorizations and allegedly hired Mitch’s father to pave the way. After being caught, Sheriff Martin Steele had shot himself. Poor Mitch.
Sighing heavily, Cara refocused her attention on the material she needed to construct her story. When she returned to her small office an hour later, she’d found most of what she’d been searching for: references to Ranger Corporation in articles about the murders of Andrew and rancher Jeb Rawlins.
Ranger Corporation had been trying to buy land owned by Andrew’s girlfriend’s family—the West Ranch. Jeb Rawlins’s ranch, the Bar JR, and his nephew B
art’s, the Four Aces, adjoined that property. Ranger had been foiled in its attempt to buy the Rawlins land, thanks to Cara’s friend Lindsey Wellington and her new fiancé Bart Rawlins. Lindsey was living at the Four Aces now with Bart. Cara had never been to the ranch but knew where it was, west of town. Lindsey had invited her to visit, but she hadn’t had time yet.
Had Ranger Corporation succeeded in buying the West Ranch? That would be public record. Cara would visit the County Recorder’s Office very soon.
She didn’t know if Ranger Corporation’s interest in local land was significant in Nancy’s murder. But until she knew what Nancy had wanted to show her, anything creating a common tie between the other two murders was worth further investigation.
The most obvious tie was the law firm, Lambert & Church. Under the cloud of the two—and now three—killings, it was in the process of disbanding. That was why Nancy, the office manager, had lost her job. Cara couldn’t talk to Paul Lambert, the now-deceased partner. But she would interview his former partner, Donald Church.
At the moment she couldn’t tie Nancy to Ranger Corporation, despite her desire to find something against that nasty piece of work Roger Rosales. At least not yet. She’d keep digging.
And if the person in the truck who’d tried to run her over was trying to get her to back off?
Not even getting shot had stopped Shotgun Sally.
“And you won’t stop me, either,” Cara asserted, then turned to her computer to start compiling the list Mitch wanted.
Chapter Six
“Thanks, Mrs. Carrow.” Mitch said goodbye to Nancy Wilks’s middle-aged upstairs neighbor and headed down the steps and along the paved path to the street.
Well, hot damn.
The wrinkled lady with the shellac-stiff blue hairdo had been most hospitable, giving Mitch a cup of tea, vanilla wafers, and a firsthand account of having seen Cara nearly creamed by that elusive blue truck that no one had located yet. The description made Mitch’s teeth clench and his resolve harden. He’d get the bastard that tried to run her down.
Mrs. Carrow had also given Mitch a tidbit that just might let him work on this case without any headache from his worst detractor in the department, even if it wouldn’t solve anything for him. Or would it?
As he got into his sedan, he glanced at his watch. Damn! He was going to be late meeting Cara.
Taking tacit liberties allowed to peace officers, he ignored the speed limit as he sped the few blocks to downtown Mustang Valley. He spotted Cara’s banged-up Toyota on the street right outside the Mustang Grill. She hadn’t left yet.
This must be his day. Something else had gone right.
Only problem was, downtown was busy at lunchtime. He couldn’t even find an illegal space to park in.
He circled the block.
If he believed in the lore of half his heritage, Mother Earth might be teaching him a lesson.
Mitch had never resolved his feelings about his mother’s people, but neither had she. The daughter of mixed ancestry, though one hundred percent Native American, she had descended mostly from Choctaws and Chickasaws, which themselves might have been one tribe once, according to their legends. But they had definitely mixed in Sunshine Steele’s background, along with several other unrelated Plains Indian tribes.
Mitch’s mother, seeing no future in her heritage, had shunned it, working as a bookkeeper and marrying into the white culture. Yet she’d still told Mitch spiritual tales, possibly hybrids of those from her parents’ people, about the almighty sun, the morals taught from nature’s ways, the peoples’ one god, the community of all men and women, the concept that the land was not to be owned by the few but to be shared by all.
But the tale she’d told most was how fortunate Mitch was to have half-white heritage. Yet when his father allegedly killed himself, she ran back to Oklahoma and now lived in a community with other Native Americans, near where she had grown up. Heartbreak had apparently resulted in insight: she didn’t like the white man’s ways nearly as much as she’d imagined.
Mitch hadn’t been orphaned, but he was as close to it as a man could be who still had a parent.
His father’s death, his mother’s defection, his one-time girlfriend’s dose of cold water… He had long ago resigned himself to being part of nothing and no one. Getting along well with people was necessary to his job and his own hidden agenda, but being alone was the way of things.
He finally found a spot and pulled in. “Thanks, Mother Earth,” he muttered ironically.
As he strode around the block to the restaurant, he considered how he could use the information Mrs. Carrow had told him. And swore to himself he’d keep it from the lovely, inquisitive woman he was about to join for lunch.
Cara sat alone at a table along a wall. It was covered with a red-checked cloth, and matching napkins were at both place settings. Every table was filled, and the restaurant reverberated with conversation. An aroma of grilled meat tantalized Mitch. He hadn’t realized he was hungry. He sat down opposite Cara.
“You’ve blown your record, Steele. You’re late.”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“So what were you working on this morning? Any leads in Nancy’s murder?” Her hazel eyes sparkled with anticipation. She wore a vest again, this time over a soft top in a shade of pale green that emphasized the startlingly red color of her curls. Her hair wasn’t pulled back, so it formed a becoming cascade over her smooth forehead and cheeks.
“No,” he said. He said it decisively, but her gaze narrowed, as if she saw he wasn’t being entirely truthful. But what he’d learned was most likely outside the case.
“Tell me,” she said. The delightful openness to her expression had shuttered over. She regarded him as if he was a pile of unappetizing table scraps.
The cheery waitress came over with water glasses and a description of the day’s specials. Cara chose a salad—she must have trusted in the Mustang Grill’s cleanliness. Mitch ordered a roast beef sandwich, and the waitress left them alone again.
“Look, Mitch.” Cara leaned toward him, her hands clasped on the table. “I’ve been doing some checking. What I have doesn’t amount to much yet, but I won’t even let you know what I’m looking into if you don’t level with me.”
“What makes you think I’m not?”
Her sideways glance looked shrewd. “Are you?”
“What I learned probably has nothing to do with Nancy’s murder.”
“Probably?” She leaned back, crossing her arms.
He didn’t like the way her sudden remoteness felt like an elbow to his gut. But neither did he intend to give in to her. “How are you feeling today?” he asked. “Sore?”
No response.
“No luck finding that truck yet, but—”
“Cut it out, Steele. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
She lifted the wide strap of her large purse from the back of her chair. “I’ll have the waitress pack mine to go.” She pulled out her wallet.
Damn. If she left half-cocked, she’d continue to bulldoze her way through this case and mess up any chance he had to solve it. And maybe get herself killed, too, in the process.
“Tell me what you looked into this morning, Cara, and I’ll let you know what I can.”
She studied him suspiciously, but at least she paused. “You first.”
Two urges warred inside him: one to tell her to take a hike and the other to kiss her silly. He settled on a third. “All right. Sit down.” He’d tell her what he could.
The waitress came with their food. When she left, Mitch took a bite of his sandwich. It was tasty—until he looked across the table at Cara’s insistent glare.
“So?” she prompted.
“This is off the record, Cara. And it probably has no bearing on the case. If I’m wrong and it leads to an arrest, then you can use it in a story. Okay?”
Her head was cocked, and her moist lips were parted. He’d hooked her curiosity, and he liked how she wore it.
> “Okay. Tell me.”
“Nancy’s upstairs neighbor described a man Nancy was dating. It sounded like someone I know.” He didn’t tell her who.
Cara’s head shook admonishingly. “I could have told you that. Mrs. Carrow was there yesterday when I was nearly run down by the truck and I told her to call if she thought of anything related to Nancy. She phoned before I came to meet you and described a guy who hung out with Nancy, a uniformed sheriff’s deputy. It’s Hurley Zeller, isn’t it, Mitch?”
OF COURSE it was Hurley Zeller. Cara knew it despite Mitch’s sudden blank expression. He was good at not giving his thoughts away. Except that she saw a tiny pulse throbbing at his temple.
He was peeved.
Too bad. If he’d leveled with her in the first place, she wouldn’t have played games either.
“Truce,” she said. She tugged her purse off the back of her chair where she’d stowed it again and pulled out the list she’d put together. “Here are all the people I could think of who hate me because of things I revealed about them in my stories.”
Shotgun Sally had reputedly done that once, too—after she’d realized she had been the target when her sister was murdered. She had vowed revenge, stopped at nothing, goaded each of her enemies all over again. She’d even nearly lost Zachary, her lawman lover.
“Are you going to show that to me?” Mitch asked. Only then did Cara realize she was still holding the list…and staring at the very sexy Mitch Steele.
Lawman lover… You wish, Hamilton!
“Oh, sure.” She passed him the page.
Mitch whistled. “You have been busy.”
“There could be more,” she said defensively, “but I only had an hour to work on it.”
“I mean, you’ve been busy ticking people off.”
“‘Flushing out their sins like an old hound dog, and makin’ ’em sorrier than a scared quail with a broke wing.’”
Mitch’s dark brows rose and his mouth quirked. “A quaint analogy.”
Cara felt herself flush under his amusement. “Shotgun Sally used to say it,” she muttered.
“You’re not trying to be like her, are you? I mean, the story you told me is an example. Most of what’s been said about her had to have been exaggerated over time.”
Lawful Engagement - Linda O Johnston Page 8