Читать книгу Secrets in Four Corners - Debra Webb - Страница 6

He was in her SUV.

Bree covertly scanned the interior of the vehicle. Had her son left anything lying around? A favorite toy or game? Were there indications she had a child? She didn’t breathe easy until she felt satisfied that there was nothing for Patrick to notice.

“Where would you suggest we start?”

The deep sound of his voice resonating inside her vehicle almost made her jump. Stay cool. Patrick was far too good at picking up on tension. Especially hers. The last thing she needed was for him to start asking personal questions.

“Rudy’s.” Since the visitor’s center wasn’t open, Hayes had made his phone call to TPD from the service station just outside the park. Made sense to begin there. To trace his steps, so to speak.

That Patrick didn’t argue told her he agreed. She would like to feel flattered that he concurred with her conclusion but the choice was elementary. It wasn’t like they had that many.

Rudy’s Stop and Go had been around for as long as Bree could remember. The one gas stop for a number of miles in either direction. Outside Rudy’s there were a few tourist traps that wouldn’t be open before ten. At this time of the morning an employee could be inside stocking shelves and preparing for the business day to begin, but there was little likelihood anyone would have seen the vehicles passing on the highway.

Basically what Bree and Patrick were doing now was going through the motions. Until they knew what cases Grainger may have been working on in the area, or who her enemies were suspected to be, there was no other starting place.

The most primitive of police work.

Bree parked in front of Rudy’s and climbed out of her vehicle. She didn’t wait for Patrick, the less eye contact and conversation the better. She didn’t need him analyzing her every move. And he was a master at scrutinizing and forming conclusions based on nothing more than his suspects’ body language.

She felt exactly like that…a suspect.

Perhaps guilt had something to do with her defensiveness.

Inside the store the woman behind the counter glanced up as the bell over the door jingled. Bree flashed the cashier a smile then turned to wait for Patrick, who still lingered in the parking lot. He had paused to survey the parking lot and highway beyond. He walked to the west end of the building and peered toward the turnoff to the Tribal Park. She remembered that he liked to get a feel for the vicinity where a crime had taken place. To form scenarios related to the crime. That obviously hadn’t changed.

Frustrating the hell out of her was the fact that her gaze roamed the breadth of his shoulders and the height of his tall frame from the cowboy boots to the familiar hat before she could rein in the reaction to seeing him again. But what really burned her was the way her heart pounded a little harder just watching him move. How could the organ be so mutinous?

This moment had been inevitable. She had contemplated that realization many times. They worked in the same county. It had only been a matter of time before the two of them ended up on a case together.

And still she wasn’t ready for this.

When he turned to enter the store, she shifted in the other direction and went in search of Rudy Johnson, the owner.

“Good morning, Mr. Johnson.”

“Good morning to you, Detective Hunter.” The spry old man hesitated in his inventory duties and shot her a wide smile.

“How’s the family?” The instant the words left her lips she could have bitten off her tongue. The bell over the door jingled announcing Patrick’s entrance. Rudy would no doubt return the social gesture and ask about her son. Damn! She had to get her act together. The line she walked was precarious enough without tipping the balance unnecessarily.

A wave of uncertainty washed over her. How could she possibly hope to keep this up? Was she making a mistake hiding the truth from Patrick? From Peter? She’d made that decision a long time ago. At a time when her emotions had been particularly raw and she had been terrified of the consequences of telling him he had a son.

Too late to turn back now.

“The wife’s arthritis is acting up,” Rudy said as he tucked the pencil behind his ear. “But that’s to be expected at our age.” The smile broadened to a grin and his eyes twinkled. “How’s Peter? I still owe him that trip to the cabin.”

Patrick came to a stop right beside Bree as if the gods had deemed her guilty as charged and opted to torture her a little as a sneak preview of what was to come. This time the pounding in her chest had nothing to do with his nearness. “He’s doing great. We’ll have to get together soon and schedule that trip to your cabin.” Change the subject! “Unfortunately, I’m here this morning on police business. Sheriff Martinez and I need to ask you a few questions. It’ll only take a couple minutes.”

Rudy looked from Bree to Patrick and back. Don’t say any more about Peter, she urged silently.

“This about Burt Hayes?” Rudy placed his clipboard atop a row of canned goods and gave Bree his full attention. “He rushed back in here this morning to use the phone. The man was acting a mite strange. I asked him if there was trouble but he rushed outta here like the devil himself was on his heels.” Rudy raised a speculative eyebrow. “I figured there was trouble at one of the dwellings.”

“Did Hayes mention any problem?” Patrick inquired before Bree could.

Rudy shook his head. “Just asked to use the phone. Lizzy was using the one at the counter so I let him use the phone in the office.” He hitched his thumb toward the door in the back marked Employees Only. “We had a regular morning rush at the time, so I didn’t get to ask him what the problem was.”

“Before eight this morning did you notice anyone else behaving strangely?” Bree ventured, unsure just how much Patrick had in mind sharing at this point. “Maybe a little nervous or in a hurry like Mr. Hayes?”

Rudy folded his arms over his chest and rubbed his chin as he considered the question. “The usual Monday morning crowd came through. And they’re all always in a hurry.” He shook his head. “I’ll never understand why working folks wait until Monday morning to fill up their gas tanks and then they complain because they’re running late.”

“Did anyone stop in that you didn’t recognize?” Patrick asked. “Maybe someone in more of a hurry than the rest?”

Rudy shrugged. “There’s always a few strangers passing through. Usually not that many early in the morning. No one at all that I noticed today. Just the regulars.”

“If you could provide us with a list of the regulars who were in this morning that would be useful.” Patrick slid the request into the conversation, the maneuver slick as glass.

Bree noted the mounting confusion on Rudy’s face. “I know that’s asking a lot, Mr. Johnson, but we…” she glanced at Patrick, he gave her no indication not to proceed “…discovered a body in the park this morning. We have reason to believe some aspect of the crime was carried out between seven and eight this morning. So anyone you or your regulars might have seen in the area could be a person of interest in the case.”

Rudy squared his shoulders and lifted his chin as if ready to do battle. “The regulars who come through my store are good people. Not criminals.” The firm set of his jaw warned more so than his words that his hackles were up. “If any one of them had seen or heard anything I would know it.”

“That may be,” Patrick cut in, his tone firmer this time, “but we’ll need that list all the same. Choosing not to provide the names constitutes obstruction of justice.”

So much for congeniality. “Anything anyone may have seen could prove immensely helpful to our investigation,” Bree explained, hoping to head off a complete lockdown. The Ute people were a proud, stubborn lot.

Despite having been raised here, Patrick apparently didn’t understand that as a white man his imposing tone and words could come across the wrong way when dealing with a Ute man.

Rudy glared at Patrick a moment before turning his attention to Bree. “I’ll give you the list if it’s that important.”

Patrick’s own hackles visibly reared. His jaw tightened and the rigid set of his shoulders announced this loudly.

“Sheriff Martinez and I are working together,” Bree clarified. “Your cooperation with the both of us will make our job a lot easier.”

Rudy gave a single curt nod.

Bree pushed a smile into place, relieved. “Great. I’ll pick up the list later today, if that’s all right. I know you’re busy.”

Another tight nod.

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson,” Bree offered, understanding that the man’s continued cooperation depended a great deal on her keeping the lines of communication on a level that fostered mutual respect. As much as she hated to admit it, that was the very reason she would have no choice but to work directly with Patrick to some degree as long as they were a part of this investigation.

These people knew and trusted her. She was one of them. Patrick represented those who looked down at the Ute people. Unfairly lumped them all in the same category. There was good and bad in all people. No one liked to be judged wrongly because of the actions of others.

Patrick and Rudy exchanged one of those male half-nods that was barely civil.

At the front of the store Lizzy O’Dell was braced against the counter, busily filing her nails. Bree asked her the same questions they’d asked Rudy. Lizzy had been too busy at the register, she claimed, to notice anything out of the ordinary. Bree thanked her as well and made a path toward the door.

If she could get out of here without—

“Say hello to Peter for me,” Rudy called after her.

Bree managed a decent stab at a smile and assured the man she would. She was out the door and climbing into her vehicle two steps ahead of Patrick in hopes of moving on before any related questions could be posed.

“Who’s Peter?”

If she hadn’t known that it was physically impossible for her heart to completely stop beating while she continued to breathe, Bree would have sworn that it had done just that.