by Lara Lacombe
“Here we go,” Sam said. He placed the notebook on his desk, facing her, his forefinger pressed on two names. “These were the kids. Used student IDs for identification, so I put down the name of their schools as well. Will that help?”
“Yes, thank you.” Rebecca leaned forward, jotting down the information. “You’ve been a huge help. I really appreciate it.”
Sam beamed up at her, his cheeks going pink. “My pleasure, young lady. You let me know if I can do anything else.”
“Thanks, Sam,” Quinn said. He led Rebecca back to his desk. She grabbed her phone and in a matter of minutes, had placed calls to the men’s universities, asking campus police to verify their whereabouts. “Do you recognize these names?”
Quinn shook his head. “I don’t. Sorry.”
She puffed her cheeks as she exhaled. “Don’t be. It was a long shot. Still, it’s good to tie this thread off. Keeps us from wasting time chasing our tails.” She logged on to an FBI database and typed in the names, running a quick search to see if either man showed up in the system. They didn’t, but that only meant they hadn’t had any run-ins with law enforcement. She wasn’t going to exclude them as potential suspects just yet, but they didn’t seem like very likely candidates for the killer.
“What would you like to do now?”
“You still up for taking me to the nearby towns? I called the local police last night—they haven’t had much luck identifying the victims, and they don’t have the man power to do a thorough canvas of every small town in the area.”
“I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
It was an incredibly generous offer, one she appreciated. “Do you need to clear the time off with your boss? I’d hate to cause trouble for you.”
Quinn shook his head. “Gary’s already told me to do whatever it takes to help you.”
The news was welcome, but she felt an irrational stab of disappointment nonetheless. What did you expect? she told herself. He’s not spending time with you simply because he likes you. She cast aside the annoying feeling, pulling up a map of the area on her phone. Half a dozen dots popped up on the screen, and that was just on the US side of the border. What about towns in Mexico? Her stomach sank as she realized the magnitude of what they were going to attempt.
“Any suggestions on where to start?”
Quinn considered the question. “I say we try Terlingua first. The place tends to attract a certain type of misfit, and since no one’s come forward to claim these women, they might have been looking to disappear.”
She frowned. “Isn’t that just a ghost town?”
He smiled. “Oh, it’s a little more than that. You’ll see.”
* * *
“Terlingua started out as a mining town,” Quinn explained to Rebecca as the first low buildings came into view.
“Mining for what?”
“Mercury. They found it in the late 1800s, and the place was booming by the turn of the century. But the mining company went bankrupt in the 1940s, and the place turned into a ghost town soon thereafter. Now it’s the base for several Big Bend tour companies, and the residents are a little...quirky.” To say the least, he added silently. Terlingua was like no other place on earth, and the people who made it their home were simultaneously tough, independent, generous and distrusting of outsiders.
It was the last quality they’d have to overcome if they wanted to get any information about the two victims. Assuming the women had passed through here in the first place.
He pulled up to Starlight Theatre, one of the main restaurants in town. He caught Rebecca’s wide eyes, and imagined seeing it for the first time. An old, rusted-out hulk of a car sat nearby, and the adobe walls of the building were weathered and cracked. The restaurant name was splayed over the doorway in what had once been bright blue paint. Now it was faded and worn, a testament to the sun and wind.
“Ready?”
She lifted one eyebrow. “I suppose so.”
He held open the door and nearly walked into her back as she drew up short. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“There’s a goat in here.”
Quinn looked over her shoulder and laughed softly. He’d forgotten about the taxidermic specimen inside, standing proud with a bottle of beer tipped back in his mouth. “That’s just Clay.”
“Clay?”
“Clay Henry. He was the mayor of a small town nearby.”
“The people really elected a goat?”
Quinn merely nodded. Rebecca’s expression morphed from disbelief to resigned acceptance. “Right,” she muttered. “As you do.”
“I told you this place was quirky.” He placed his hand on the small of her back and gently guided her inside. It felt so natural to touch her, like it was something he did all the time. If he wasn’t careful, he could easily grow to care about Rebecca on a personal level.
But that wasn’t why she was here, and he needed to remember it.
If she objected to his touch, she didn’t show it. She hung back a half step, sticking close to his side as she let him take the lead. “Bar?” he asked softly.
“Might as well,” she said.
It was lunchtime, but there was no shortage of people looking for a drink. The place was busy but not overly crowded, and they had no trouble finding spots at the bar. The bartender approached after a moment. “What can I get you folks?”
“Sweet tea,” Quinn replied promptly.
“Uh, same,” Rebecca said.
The man ran his gaze over them both, clearly assessing them. He returned a few seconds later with their drinks. “Want food?”
“Actually—” Rebecca began. Quinn placed his hand on her knee, and her mouth snapped shut.
“You still have that loaded burger? The one with the pound of meat topped with fried eggs and pickled jalapeños?”
The bartender’s shoulders relaxed a bit and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “We do. Think you can handle it?”
Quinn patted his flat stomach. “Let’s find out.”
The man turned to Rebecca, who looked a little lost. “The chili is good,” Quinn suggested quietly. “So’s the barbeque sandwich.”
“I’ll take the sandwich, please,” she said.
The man nodded and went to punch in their orders. Quinn realized his hand was still on Rebecca’s knee. He pulled it away, silently chiding himself for touching her again.
“I know you want to start asking questions, but that approach isn’t going to work here,” he said softly. She stiffened, and he quickly added, “I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job. But we need to ease into it if you want honest responses.”
“Okay,” she said simply. “I trust you.”
A thrill went through him at her words. He got the impression Rebecca was a woman who didn’t use that phrase casually—her trust was something that had to be earned. It meant something to know he’d proved himself worthy of her regard.
She was so different from Ashley, he mused. It wasn’t fair to compare the two women, but he couldn’t help it. Rebecca was the first woman he’d spent a significant amount of time with since Ashley’s death, with the exception of his mother and sister. It was only natural he’d look for similarities—and differences. And while they shared some characteristics, it was clear they were very different people. Ashley had been bubbly and open, always ready to laugh. She’d never met a stranger. Rebecca was different—quiet, reserved. A much harder nut to crack. But she fascinated him nonetheless.
She looked around as they waited for their food, taking in everything about the unique place. The interior was a large rectangle, with a stage set up at the far end. A large, colorful mural on the wall behind the stage depicted a small group of campers surrounding a fire. The rest of the walls had various paintings and decorations hung on the peeling adobe. The irregular tables added to the decor—some wer
e plain wood, while others boasted colorful scenes painted on top or tiles with a mix of pottery shards. Even though Rebecca never overtly stared at anything, Quinn got the impression she didn’t miss a thing.
The bartender returned to slide plates in front of them. Rebecca’s eyes widened as she caught sight of his burger. “You have got to be kidding me,” she said.
The man grinned at Quinn. “Good luck,” he said.
“Thanks,” Quinn replied. “I’m going to need it.”
He studied the towering monstrosity for a moment, trying to figure out the best plan of attack. The handle of a large steak knife protruded from the top bun, and he decided the best approach was probably to divide and conquer. He removed the knife, smushed down the burger as best he could, then cut it in half and took a healthy bite.
Rebecca simply stared, disbelief and amusement in her eyes. “Is this some kind of pissing contest?” she asked under her breath. “A strange male ritual I’ve never heard of before?”
Quinn shrugged. “Broke the ice, didn’t it?” He nodded subtly at the bartender, who no longer regarded them with open suspicion.
Rebecca shook her head. “It’s good of you to take one for the team,” she replied. “But please try not to have a heart attack until we get back to civilization.”
“Deal,” he said around a mouthful.
The bartender returned a moment later with fresh drinks. “Cops or feds?” he asked casually.
Quinn pointed at his chest as he swallowed. “Park ranger.” Then he jerked his thumb in Rebecca’s direction. “Fed.”
The man nodded. “What brings you here?” The question sounded casual, but there was a thread of wariness in his voice.
Quinn glanced at Rebecca. Your show now.
“Have you heard about the two women found dead in Big Bend?” she asked, taking a bite of her sandwich.
The man frowned. “Yeah. Some of the guides were in here a few days ago talking about it. A real shame.”
Rebecca nodded. “It is. Even more so because we don’t know their names yet. I’m hoping someone from around here might be able to help identify them.”
“Got pictures?”
Quinn stiffened as Rebecca pulled two photos from her bag and placed them on the worn surface of the bar. He forced himself to look, to bear witness to these women. He braced himself for the sight of their tangled hair, their unseeing eyes.
But he needn’t have worried. These photos hadn’t been captured at the scene of the crime—they were portraits taken from the sterile confines of the morgue. The women looked totally different now. The hair had been combed and brushed from their faces, their skin clean, their eyes closed. There was no visible indication of how they had died. Only the paleness of their skin and the brightness of the light in the photos made it clear they were dead and not simply sleeping.
Quinn stared at the pictures, trying to erase the earlier images burned into his brain. It eased something inside him to see them look so...peaceful. Hopefully, he could remember them like this, instead of the way he’d found them.
The bartender looked at one picture and shook his head. “I don’t know her,” he said. Then he turned his attention to the second image, and his mouth parted. “Oh,” he said dully.
Quinn felt Rebecca tense beside him, but to her credit, she didn’t pounce on the man’s reaction. He studied the picture a few seconds more, then glanced up. “I recognize her.” He placed his fingertip on the corner of the image and tapped hesitantly, as if he was afraid to touch the picture.
“Where have you seen her before?” Rebecca asked softly.
“She came into town a few weeks ago,” he said. “Tried to get a job here, but we’re not hiring right now. I sent her over to Dan’s place.” He rattled off the name of another well-known establishment, one Quinn knew had a reputation for being much rougher around the edges. “He hired her as a waitress. Don’t know where she was from. I didn’t ask, and she didn’t volunteer.”
“What’s her name?”
“Jenny,” the man replied. “Not sure about a last name—Dan could probably tell you that.”
Let’s hope so, Quinn thought. There was no guarantee Dan had bothered to file the necessary paperwork after hiring her, but hopefully he had at least gotten her last name.
“Do you know where she was staying in town?” Rebecca asked. She had pulled out her notebook and was unobtrusively jotting down information as the bartender spoke.
“Last I heard it was over at the campground on the edge of town. I think she was staying by the school bus.”
Rebecca paused. “The school bus?” she asked.
The bartender nodded. “Yeah. There’s an old broken-down bus parked out there. People have incorporated it into the camp. It’s by the community kitchen.”
“Got it.” She scribbled a bit more. “And what’s your name?”
The bartender’s shoulders stiffened. “You’re not in any trouble,” Rebecca said. “But if I have additional questions, or if the police need more information, I need to be able to tell them who I talked to.”
The man frowned slightly. “Paul,” he said reluctantly. “Paul Garret.”
“Thanks for your help, Paul,” she said. She snapped the notebook shut and returned to her sandwich. “Do you think anyone else here knew Jenny, or might possibly recognize the other woman?”
Paul shook his head. “Doubt it. I was the one Jenny talked to when she applied for a job here. You’ll have better luck at Dan’s place.”
“Is it far from here?”
“Nope. Just down the road a bit. There’s not a big sign, but the building is half-underground. Can’t miss it.”
“I know the place,” Quinn said.
“It doesn’t open until five,” Paul cautioned. “But Dan’s usually there around this time getting stuff ready for the evening crew.”
“Thanks,” Quinn said. The man nodded and walked away, moving to the far end of the bar to check on other customers.
“This is a totally different world, isn’t it?” Rebecca said softly. She watched Paul interact with the locals, a small group of men who were chatting and laughing amiably. The gang cast a few curious glances in their direction, but otherwise didn’t approach.
Quinn dipped a fry in ketchup and hummed thoughtfully. “It’s definitely not your usual kind of place. It has a reputation of being a town of last resort, the kind of place people land when they have nowhere else to go.” He glanced around at the lunch crowd, which he suspected was mostly tourists. “I don’t know how much of that is true anymore, but for a while the town seemed to cultivate an outlaw vibe.” He took another bite of his burger, then set it down with a sigh.
Rebecca glanced at the remains on his plate, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Throwing in the towel?”
“I have to,” Quinn said ruefully. “If I keep going you’ll have to roll me out of here, and then I won’t be any use to you at all.” He gestured for the check, and Paul brought it over after a quick stop at the register.
“Giving up so easily?” Paul asked, eyeing his plate.
“I know my limits,” Quinn replied.
“You did better than most,” Paul said. “I’m impressed.”
Quinn patted his formerly flat stomach again, which now sported a slight bulge and felt tight as a drum. “I’ll keep that in mind once the heartburn hits,” he said drily.
Paul laughed and removed the plate while Rebecca finished eating. “Men,” she muttered, shaking her head as she dug in her purse. She pulled out her wallet, but Quinn shook his head and grabbed the check.
“I’ve got this.”
She glanced up, surprise written on her face. “There’s no need,” she said. “I can expense it.”
“I know, but I insist.” Even though this was by no means a date, the idea of letting her pay for his meal made Quinn fe
el a little funny inside. Probably the jalapeños, he told himself. But just the same, he insisted on paying for them both.
He blinked as they stepped outside, the sun blinding after their time in the restaurant. “Where to now?” he asked. “Campground or bar?”
“Campground first,” Rebecca said decisively. “I want to at least see where she was living, maybe talk to the neighbors. Then we can head to the bar and chat with Dan before he opens.”
“Sounds like a plan.” They walked back to the car, and he could tell by the bounce in her step she was excited about this lead.
“You sure you’re up for it?” She glanced at him after they were both in the car, her lips twitching with a smile. “I’d hate to add to your discomfort.”
“I’ll be fine,” Quinn assured her, setting off down the bumpy road. He felt a tingling sensation in his overly full stomach that had nothing to do with his lunch and everything to do with the woman in the passenger seat. He could get used to her teasing, if he wasn’t careful.
His brain recognized the danger even as his heart whispered, What if?
Chapter 6
The sun was low in the sky by the time Quinn pulled in to the parking lot of the ranger station. Rebecca was glad to see he was looking better; he’d seemed a little green around the gills while they’d explored the campground in Terlingua, but as time had passed, the tight lines of discomfort around his eyes and mouth had eased, and now he looked back to normal.
The trip overall had been a success. Victim number one now had a name: Jenny Owens. She’d been a recent transplant to Terlingua, though no one knew where she’d come from.
“Not my business,” one of the other residents of the campground had said. “I asked once, and she said she didn’t want to talk about it. Seemed she was maybe running from something, but I wasn’t gonna pry.”
Even Dan hadn’t known much about Jenny’s past. But they had enough information now to start a search, and hopefully soon the police would find her family or friends.