by Mallory Kane
FAITH SHIFTED KALEIGH TO HER left arm and nodded miserably at the policewoman who’d just introduced herself as Detective Mary Anne Ingram with the Amarillo Police Department.
“Come in,” Faith said, stepping back to let the detective into her apartment.
“What an adorable baby,” Detective Ingram cooed. “Did you want to put her down for a nap while we talk?”
To Faith, the question sounded more like an order. She lifted Kaleigh to her shoulder one more time and patted her back. She was rewarded with a tiny belch.
Detective Ingram chuckled. “How cute,” she said. “I don’t have kids yet. Trying to get established. You know, get a few years under my belt, before I even think about starting a family.”
Faith laid Kaleigh in her crib and came back into the living room. She picked up the sheet and pillow off the couch. “Please, sit down.”
Detective Ingram eyed the bed clothes. “Got a friend staying over I see.”
Faith bit her lip. She hadn’t had a chance to talk to Matt after he and Sheriff Hale had left that morning. Was this what they’d been doing? Setting up an interrogation of her with the Amarillo P.D.? He could have called and warned her.
Or maybe not. Maybe there was some law or regulation that had prevented him from telling her that she was about to be questioned.
“Would you like some water, Detective?”
“No, no. I’m fine.” The policewoman took a small digital recorder off her uniform belt and set it on the coffee table between them. “I’ll be recording our interview. For the record.”
Faith nodded again. She licked her lips and swallowed with difficulty. She wished she had some water.
“Now,” Ingram said, “you are the sole owner of the Talk of the Town Café?”
“Yes,” Faith replied.
“And as such, you know a lot of the people who live in Freedom?”
“That’s right.”
“How many customers do you have during a day?”
Faith twisted her fingers together in her lap. “That’s difficult to say,” she said.
“Why? Why would it be? Can’t you just count transactions? X number of cash register tickets equals X number of customers.”
Faith swallowed again. “Well, yes. But it’s rarely that cut and dry. We go into the register several times a day for petty cash, for change, to give a refund. You know.”
“Actually no, I don’t.” Detective Ingram’s dark brown eyes studied her. “I’m sure you know what your workload is for a given day. Break it up into breakfast, lunch and dinner for me.”
“I think we may serve seventy people between 6:00 a.m. and 10:00 a.m. on a good day. Lunch is probably a hundred or so, and then dinner could be anywhere from sixty to eighty on a weeknight to almost a hundred and fifty on a busy weekend.”
“Okay. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Ingram smiled at Faith, who’d already decided she didn’t like the woman.
“So, in a given week, you might see quite a few townspeople come through your café. Is that safe to say?”
“Yes,” Faith answered.
“And hear a lot of what they’re talking about?”
“I suppose.”
“So what’s your opinion of the attitude of the people of Freedom toward Governor Lockhart?”
“I think the people here are like people everywhere,” Faith said, frowning at the woman. “There are those who love her, those who can’t stand her and those who are pretty neutral.”
Ingram nodded. “Let’s talk about the ones who can’t stand the governor. Who are they?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Come on, Ms. Scott. It’s a simple question. Tell me the names of the people in town who dislike the governor.”
“I don’t understand why you’re asking me all this.”
“I apologize if you don’t understand, but in truth, it’s not necessary for you to understand why these questions are being asked. You just need to answer them.”
Faith wished Matt were here. She wanted to ask him if this detective was entitled to her answers. “I’m not comfortable naming names,” she said in a last-ditch effort to avoid answering.
Ingram frowned. “Ms. Scott. I came out here as a courtesy to you because you’ve just had a baby, but we can certainly move this interview to Amarillo.”
“No! No,” Faith said quickly. With a sick sense of dread pressing on her chest, she told the detective about the conversations she heard during each day.
“Okay,” Detective Ingram said when she finished. “Now let’s talk about Rory Stockett. When did you first meet him?”
Faith winced at Rory’s name, but she’d known this was coming. This was the reason the policewoman was here.
She thought back. “About a year and a half ago now. He showed up one morning for breakfast. He said he was working on a job in the area.”
“And you two started seeing each other?”
“That’s right.”
“And when did you become intimate?”
Faith felt her face heat up. “How is that relevant?” she snapped.
Detective Ingram lifted her chin and stared at her. “Please just answer the question.”
She doubled her hands into fists and then flexed her fingers. “A couple of weeks after we first met,” she said shortly.
“What were Mr. Stockett’s political views? How did he feel about Governor Lockhart?”
This elicited a wry chuckle from Faith. “Rory—political views? Rory’s worldview is very limited.” She twirled a finger around her head. “It extends about this far from his nose.”
“So he never talked politics? Never mentioned the governor?”
“No.”
Ingram sat back and folded her arms. “That answer is not acceptable.”
Faith stared at the woman. “Well, I apologize, but it’s the answer. I’ve never known Rory Stockett to focus on anything but himself.”
“So if he’s not interested in politics, why do you think he shot at the governor? What makes you so certain that the man in that blurry, grainy picture is Rory Stockett?”
Faith spread her hands. “I have no clue why he’d shoot at the governor, unless—” she paused, then spread her hands “—it would have to be for money.” She explained about Rory’s gambling, his proposal and the fake ring, the loan and his persuasive charm.
“And why are you so sure the man in the film footage is Stockett?”
“Because of his hair. He has a patch of white hair on the left side of his head, behind his ear. It’s about an inch in diameter, and it shows up plainly, even in that awful photo.”
“Just one more question, Ms. Scott. You’ve made no secret of the fact that Rory Stockett is your baby’s father and that he ran out on you after bilking you out of a sizable amount of money.” The detective was getting into her setup and obviously looking forward to her big question. “Why shouldn’t we assume that you’re setting him up to take the fall for the shooting as revenge for what he did to you?”
Faith heard Kaleigh start to whimper and mentally thanked her baby girl for the interruption. She’d had about enough of Detective Mary Anne Ingram. She stood and looked down at her.
“I can’t think of a single reason why you shouldn’t assume that,” she said. “All I can tell you is if you knew me, you’d know I’m not a vindictive person. My baby needs me. Are we done?”
The detective stood and adjusted her jacket. “For now. But let me stress that you don’t leave town for any reason.”
“Don’t worry,” Faith retorted. “I have a new baby and a café to run. I’m not going anywhere.”
AS MATT PULLED INTO THE parking lot of a gas station on the outskirts of town, he spotted the black Land Rover with the license plate he’d memorized. It was parked on the dark side of the station.
He was here because he’d called the number on the piece of paper Bellows had given him. He wasn’t surprised that it wasn’t the Department of Motor Vehicles. The voice that answer
ed had said nothing. The conversation had been terse, to say the least.
“Bart Bellows gave me this number.”
“Yeah?”
“I need to speak to the man who visited the Talk of the Town Café on Thursday.”
“Yeah?”
“Can we meet at the gas station west of town at five o’clock today?”
“Eight.”
Then the line had gone dead.
As he parked next to the passenger side of the Land Rover, the big bald man got out, closed the car door and leaned against it. He was dressed in another dark suit, and this time he wore dark sunglasses. Matt wondered how he’d been able to see to drive with those dark glasses on. He got out of the pickup and walked over to lean against the Land Rover next to the bigger man.
For a few moments, neither of them said a word. Finally, the man said, “Yeah?”
Matt suppressed a smile, wondering if the man had practiced his yeahs in front of a mirror. He had the almost uncontrollable urge to reply in single syllables, but he quelled it.
“I’ve got the money Ms. Scott owes you,” he said, reaching into his back pocket.
“Yeah?” the man’s head turned slightly toward him.
“Yeah,” he answered, handing over the envelope.
The bald man fanned through the bills, and then he stuck the envelope into his inside coat pocket. “Thanks,” he said, straightening up.
“Hang on a minute. Bart Bellows thought you could help us find someone.”
“Bellows?” the man said, appearing to stare off into space. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a toothpick and stuck it in his mouth.
“Yeah,” Matt replied. “Rory Stockett.”
“Why?”
“Mr. Bellows believes Stockett has some answers about the town hall meeting.”
The bald man chewed on his toothpick for a while. “Stockett’s an idiot,” he finally said, pushing the toothpick to the corner of his mouth.
“No argument from me,” Matt responded. “But being an idiot is no excuse.” He was rewarded with a twisting of the man’s lips into an ugly grimace. He assumed it was supposed to be a smile.
Then the man straightened and adjusted his suit and smoothed his tie. “Stockett owes a lot of money to a dangerous man,” he said as he opened the car door.
“Wait! What dangerous man?”
The other man shook his head slowly. “Can’t tell you that. All I can say is if the man wanted Stockett to do something for him, Stockett wouldn’t be able to refuse.”
“I need more than that—” Matt started, but the bald man got into the Land Rover and closed the door.
Matt stepped away from the vehicle as its engine turned over. The big SUV pulled away, leaving him standing there.
Stockett wouldn’t be able to refuse.
That could mean anything. Matt watched the vehicle’s rear lights until it disappeared around a curve in the road. Then he climbed into his pickup and pulled out his phone to call Bellows and report, but just as he was about to press the number, the phone rang.
“Yeah?” he answered, then smiled wryly and shook his head. “This is Soarez,” he continued.
“Matt, it’s Bernie Hale. We may have a live one.”
“Where?” Matt asked, glancing in the direction the Land Rover had gone.
“In Amarillo. A man was brought into Northwest Texas Hospital. He’s been beaten up. No ID. The emergency room director called the police, and they called me. They say he matches Faith’s description of Stockett.”
“What does the man say?”
Hale grunted. “Apparently he’s not talking.”
“What about his hair?”
“Not sure. He’s got a scalp wound that’s bled all over the place. Want to take a ride with me?”
Matt looked at his watch. It was almost eight-thirty. “I’m at the gas station. I’ll meet you at the hospital. Then if you need to stay, I can get back to the café.”
“Sounds good.”
“Sheriff? Do you think it’s Stockett?”
“Beat up? Left in an alley? Refusing to answer questions? Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Yeah. Me either. I’ll see you there.” Matt hung up, pulled out of the station and headed toward Amarillo. He dialed Faith’s cell phone.
She answered on the first ring. “Matt?”
“Hey,” he answered, hearing the stress in her voice, even with all the background noise in the café. “What’s the matter? Everything okay?”
“No,” she said, sounding more angry than upset. “They sent a detective to interrogate me this afternoon.”
Matt winced. “I know, hon. I’m sorry. What did—?”
“She accused me of setting Rory up because he ran out on me.”
“I don’t think—”
“No, Molly. The chicken goes to table twelve. Table ten had the beef stew and cheesy biscuits.”
“What are you doing working?”
“I’m feeling fine—great, as a matter of fact. All I’m doing is being hostess. I’m sitting here with Kaleigh, who’s sleeping through the entire dinner rush.”
“I thought you were supposed to take it easy.”
“Do we have a bad connection? Because I just said I was sitting down. Will you be here soon?”
“Probably not for a couple of hours. I’ve got to run into Amarillo. They’ve picked up a man who matches your description of Stockett.”
“What?” Faith said. “They arrested Rory?”
“Not sure. The man’s not talking. I’m going with Sheriff Hale to question him. Let me talk to Glo.”
“Glo? Why?”
He knew that Faith wouldn’t like him asking Glo to babysit her, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t about to leave her alone. There was a good chance the man at the hospital wasn’t Stockett. “Faith—”
“Okay,” she snapped. “Hang on.”
He drove, listening to the clanging of dishes and silverware and the drone of people talking.
“Matt? What’s up?” It was Glo.
“Glo, I’ve got to go into Amarillo with the Sheriff. Stay with Faith until I get back, will you?”
“Sure. No problem. I’ll just sack out on your couch.”
“Great. I’ll wake you when I get in.” Matt glanced at the dashboard clock. “I’m hoping it’ll be before eleven.”
“You’re driving into Amarillo? Good luck with getting back here before midnight,” Glo said. “But don’t worry. I’ll take care of the girls.”
“Thanks, Glo. I owe you.”
“You sure do.”
Matt hung up and inched his speed up to fifteen miles above the speed limit. If they stopped him, he could claim he was working with the Amarillo police to catch the man who tried to kill Governor Lockhart. It probably wouldn’t work if he said he was in a hurry to get back to a woman who had just had a baby by another man and who had more reasons than she knew of not to trust him.
Chapter Fourteen
“The kettle’s on,” Glo called from the kitchen. “As soon as you’re finished feeding the baby and putting her to bed, we’ll have some herbal tea.”
Herbal tea sounded good to Faith. She looked down at her daughter, who was nursing hungrily. “When you get through, Kaleigh, Mommy’s going to have some tea,” she whispered. “That’s right, she is.”
She relaxed back in the rocking chair and closed her eyes, basking in her love for this tiny thing she’d carried inside her for so long. She was happy, content.
Until Matt’s face rose in her mind. Immediately she opened her eyes, banishing the image, and looked back down at her baby. “We don’t need a man, do we Kaleigh?” she cooed. “No, we don’t. No, we don’t.”
Kaleigh’s bright blue eyes opened, and she looked at Faith and made a contented little sound.
“That’s right, Kaleigh. I’m glad you agree.” Faith touched Kaleigh’s pert little nose and whispered to her until a sound startled her.
“Glo? What was that?” she
called. “Did that sound come from downstairs?”
Glo didn’t answer, but at that instant the tea kettle began to whistle its annoying tune. Faith resolved to buy a kettle that was quiet.
Kaleigh nursed for a few more minutes, until she went to sleep with her mouth still around Faith’s nipple. Gently, Faith lifted her and carried her to the bassinet and laid her down. Then she turned on the baby monitor and dropped the remote receiver in her pocket, turned off the lamp and walked out into the living room, buttoning her blouse.
“Glo?” Was she in the bathroom? She glanced at the bathroom door, but it was open. “Where are you? I heard the tea kettle,” she said as she stepped into the kitchen.
The sight that greeted her stunned her into silence. Rory was standing near the stove holding a gun. A gun! He was leaning against the kitchen counter, looking down at Glo, who was lying on the floor moaning. Her blond hair was matted with blood.
“Glo! Rory!” she cried. “Oh, my God, Rory! What are you doing? Are you crazy?” She rushed toward Glo.
“Don’t move!” he shouted. His eyes were wide, the whites showing all the way around. He looked like a cornered, terrified animal. He swung his arm until the gun was pointed at her. Its barrel shook. “And don’t call me crazy!”
She’d made that mistake before. Rory went ballistic if anyone ever called him crazy. She held up her hands, palms out, in a nonthreatening gesture. “I need to check on Glo. What did you do to her? I mean, is she shot?”
“Don’t move!” Rory yelled. Placating him wasn’t going to work. He’d moved far beyond his volatile, spur-of-the-moment anger. She’d never seen him like this before.
Speaking of anger, Faith felt fury melting away her initial fear of him. “What are you going to do, Rory? Shoot me?”
Rory waved the gun, but Faith could see by the gesture that he was losing interest in the weapon.
Watching him, she knelt carefully and put the back of her hand against Glo’s cheek. “Glo? Are you all right? Can you talk?”
“Damn it,” Glo muttered and tried to push herself up to a sitting position. As she did, she moaned again and put a hand to her head. It came away streaked with blood.
