by Sheryl Lynn
Carson ducked beneath a low branch. “All I can say is Bannerman’s information pans out so far.”
They were close enough to the house to smell the charred wood and ashes. Madeline preferred the smell of skunk. She’d never smell wood smoke again without a twinge of unease.
Nick looked over his shoulder at Madeline. “Did anyone other than the cops ever talk to you about your father? Claiming to be an old friend or something?”
She slapped at mosquitoes. “Only collection agencies.”
Both Carson and Nick turned around. She pulled back. “What?”
“Was this one agency or several? Do you remember the names?”
Wishing she had kept her mouth shut, she shrugged and showed her palms. “I don’t know. Two years ago? I only remember because a guy got nasty with me. He said he would sue me for the debt. Mama finally told him my father was in prison.”
“Did the calls stop?”
“I think so.”
“Did he ask about assets?” Nick asked. “Bank accounts or real estate?”
“He didn’t ask me.”
The path ended abruptly at the edge of the clearing. A dusty, rusted Volvo station wagon was parked behind the police cruiser.
Carson planted his hands on his hips. He stared at the Volvo. “Judy? Judy!”
“Hey!” came an answering cry from the end of the driveway. Judy ran toward them, her ponytail bouncing. “Carson! There’s somebody up at your house. I saw lights.” She skidded to a stop and bent over, grasping her thighs and panting from the run. “You never leave the lights on.”
Carson and Madeline searched the mesa, even though trees blocked the view. “The sun is hitting the windows,” Carson said.
Judy insisted. “I heard a car. I saw the lights come on.” She shot Madeline a snotty look. “You got yourself another woman up there?”
He caught Madeline’s hand, practically dragging her to the car. By the time she had her seat belt fastened, he was wheeling the cruiser in a circle.
“It could be Sergeant Morales,” she said helpfully.
“Or someone giving my house the same treatment they gave yours.” Gravel crunched beneath the tires. He slowed enough to make certain there wasn’t any traffic on the road before gunning the engine. Madeline grabbed the armrest, clinging to it for dear life. Carson leaned over the steering wheel to peer up at the mesa. “Do you see anything?”
“I am so sorry. I’m causing you nothing but trouble. I’ll get out of here. I promise. I’ll—”
“Madeline,” he interrupted. “Hush. You’re anything but trouble to me.”
At his driveway, he stopped to stare at the road. A light haze of dust hovered. Not a breath of wind disturbed it and it looked like fog in the headlights. Carson headed for the house.
The Volvo’s headlights bounced crazily as Nick tried to keep up on the unfamiliar road.
The house was dark. Tony Rule’s Jeep was parked at the base of the porch steps.
“I’m going to punch him in the nose.” Carson parked behind the Jeep.
Tony rose from his seat on the porch step. He waved.
Carson stormed out of the cruiser. “What were you doing in my house?”
Tony backed a step. “Whoa, you’re really mad. What’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter is that I don’t like people snooping around in my house. Not even you, Tony.”
Tony lowered his head. Iola arrived. He and Judy stuck close to the Volvo.
“I wasn’t in your house, man. I figured you’d be home from work. I brought some bread and cheese from a gourmet shop in Phoenix.” He touched his foot to a brown paper bag with a string handle.
Carson turned to Judy. “You swore there were lights inside the house.”
“Uh, well, uh, guess it was headlights.” She smiled wanly. “Hi, Tony. Sorry.”
Carson was a real bear when riled. Madeline felt bad for Tony and almost felt bad for Judy.
“Can we discuss this inside?” Madeline asked Carson. “I’m dying for a cold drink.”
Unlocking the door, Carson said, “I’m sorry. I’m a tad jumpy these days.”
“No problem.” Tony didn’t sound convinced. “Can’t be too careful, even with your best buddy, right?”
Carson asked Madeline to serve drinks in the kitchen while he made some phone calls.
Judy hooked her arm with Tony’s while she apologized profusely for her mistaken observation. They walked down the hall together. Nick gave Carson a considering look before he followed the pair. Madeline hung back.
She whispered, “You cannot believe Tony actually broke into the house, can you?”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s your friend. You trust him.”
“Yeah, yeah, good old best buddy.”
Now he was being churlish, angry for letting Judy get him worked up, and embarrassed about being wrong.
“How about I fix sandwiches. You must be hungry.”
He picked up the telephone. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
In the kitchen Judy poked through a bowl of beads. Without a word, Madeline took the bowl and cleared her work off the table. Judy turned her attention to Tony, saying she hadn’t seen him around lately and how was he doing and had he bought any new cars since she talked to him last.
A perfect match, Madeline thought while she pulled leftover roast pork and baked chicken from the refrigerator. Within minutes Nick fell under Tony’s spell, sounding delighted to answer all of Tony’s questions about the hijacking. Madeline tuned them out, envisioning patterns and stitching techniques while she washed lettuce and sliced tomatoes.
Carson entered the kitchen. Still in uniform, he’d removed his hat, utility belt and holster. Tony placed the paper sack, dolled up with a fancy logo, onto the table. He produced a six-pack of beer.
Everyone accepted a beer except Madeline. She declined, politely.
“Indians can’t handle liquor,” Judy said.
Madeline bristled.
“They’re all drunks on the reservation. It’s a crying shame. All that poverty and disease. It’s like a third-world country.”
Madeline refused to argue with that woman about life on the reservation. Yes, there was poverty and disease, but there were also artists and ranchers and builders and teachers. Living on the rez didn’t condemn anyone to a third-world lifestyle, any more than living in a city meant living in a ghetto.
Judy stood. “Guess I can set the table. I know where everything is.” She peered over Madeline’s shoulder. “Sandwiches, hmm? Men need a hot meal in the evening.” She opened the freezer compartment, looked inside, and sighed. “Looks like you gobbled down all my casseroles, Carson. Too bad. I could have put together a decent meal for you.”
Madeline sensed Carson’s discomfort, but this was his house. It wasn’t her place to put Judy in her place.
Tony offered Madeline loaves of bakery bread. “I love sandwiches. Know how to do a Dagwood?”
Judy shot her a withering look and Madeline wanted to say, Oh, give me a break! but she managed to hold it in. She unwrapped the bread and lost herself in the rich, yeasty aroma.
“Tell me more, Nick,” Tony said. “Old Carson here is so closemouthed I’m surprised he doesn’t eat through a straw. This hijacking sounds like the crime of the century. You thinking about writing a book?”
“I’ve considered it,” Nick said.
“None of the money was ever recovered?”
“Not a dime.” It took very little urging for Nick to regale Tony with detailed descriptions of the downed airplane and murder victims.
Madeline carried a platter of sandwiches to the table. It was set for four.
Judy tsked. “Too bad we couldn’t have my tuna casserole for supper. There were never any leftovers ’cause Carson couldn’t get enough. I took care of Carson for nearly a year, Nick. Poor guy was living on canned fruit and canned spaghetti before I stepped in. Now it’s back to cold sandwiches. Oh, well.”
<
br /> Madeline put another place setting on the table.
“Where I come from,” Judy said, “hired help don’t eat at the table.”
“Not enough room at the card table in the old trailer, huh?” Madeline said.
Carson snorted, then coughed and set his beer bottle hard on the table. Nick looked interested, but confused. Tony roared with laughter.
Judy’s face blazed crimson. “That’s real funny. An Indian calling me trailer trash.”
“Do you prefer hillbilly? Redneck?”
“At least I ain’t demon seed. Nobody in my family ever went around butchering innocent folks. You got some nerve running around this house like you own the place. It’s sick. Just plain sick! Carson should gun you down just like he did your old man.”
All traces of humor gone, Carson rose. His face darkened and his eyes were bleak. “Madeline is my guest.”
“She’s your whore. How can you stand to touch her? It gives me the creeps just thinking about it.”
Madeline’s hands itched with the urge to jump on the blonde, to slap and choke and make her cease the ugliness.
“Uh,” Nick muttered. He set his beer bottle very gently on the table. “I just remembered I’m expecting a very important phone call back at the hotel.”
“Me, too,” Judy said inanely. “The thought of sitting at a table with that whore makes me want to puke.”
“Get out of my house,” Carson said. “You are never welcome here again.”
“Maurice is right. You cracked up. Lost all your marbles.” Judy sneered at Madeline. “Guess you’re the straw that broke him. Hope you’re happy.” She sniffed, did an about-face and stomped away.
“I apologize,” Nick said, looking between Carson and Madeline. “I—didn’t—I wasn’t aware—”
“Not your fault,” Carson said. “I’ll see you out.”
Madeline covered her face with a hand. She should not have let the blonde get to her. As soon as Judy hit town, she’d be yelling from the rooftops.
“I get it,” Tony said. “Little Judy has the hots for Carson. I wonder how I missed that.”
Madeline listened while Carson escorted Judy and the reporter outside. “I bet she runs straight to the mayor.”
Tony chuckled. “So? You’ll get arrested for stealing her man?”
She gave him a hard look. “The mayor happens to be the father of the boy my father killed.”
Tony winced and slapped his forehead. “Oh, yeah, I know that. I didn’t live here when it happened. I guess he won’t be too happy about his police chief putting you up.”
“I couldn’t stand it if Carson lost his job because of me.”
He waved a hand like a model pointing out a game-show prize. “The offer stands. I’ll be more than happy to put you up in my place.” He winked. “I do have a spare bedroom. It even has a lock on the door.”
“Inside or outside?” Madeline asked.
He scrunched his face. “Ouch. The lady has teeth.”
Carson returned. “I should have fired that woman a long time ago. Tuna casserole.” He made a face. “Turns my stomach thinking about it. Sorry about that, Madeline.”
“What did you say to her?”
“I should have arrested her when I had the chance. Damn it, bad enough I have to worry about the reporter. He’ll probably keep his mouth shut so he can use me as a source later, but Judy? I don’t know if she can keep quiet.”
“So what were you guys doing? How did you hook up with Judy and the reporter?” Tony helped himself to sandwiches. Madeline handed him the lettuce and tomatoes.
“We were down at Madeline’s place. Judy was showing Nick around and he wanted to see the burn site.”
“Bet you were looking for the loot, weren’t you?”
After Judy, Tony was a model of tact and diplomacy. Madeline couldn’t rouse enough energy to feel annoyed. “It’s too much money to hide. Even if he knew about the mine, how could he move all that rock?”
Carson piled sandwiches on his plate. “I know for a fact there’s enough of a hole for a boy to wiggle into. The rocks are loose. A man could clear the entrance by hand then put the rocks back.”
“What’s with the mine?” Tony asked.
Carson told him the mine’s history and how he’d seen it when he was a boy. He ate a big bite of sandwich, swallowed a gulp of beer, and said, “Trouble is, I’ve forgotten completely where it is.”
“Maybe Shay left a treasure map,” Tony said hopefully.
Carson shared a weary look with Madeline. “The way things are going, I doubt we’ll get that lucky.”
Chapter Eleven
Madeline washed dishes. After Tony’s departure, the house seemed too quiet and big. It didn’t feel safe. She scrubbed the table, putting muscle into the task, wishing she could wipe away Judy’s venom. Carson came inside, carrying the scent of hay and horse. She moved aside so he could wash his hands in the empty side of the double sink.
Stupid, stupid man, she thought. He might as well be wearing blinders. He refused to see what he did to himself. He refused to consider another way.
He shook his wet hands and she handed him a towel.
“Don’t pay Judy any mind.” His voice was raw with apology. “She’s ignorant.”
His kindness undid her. Her eyes filled with grit.
“I don’t belong here and you know it. You think you’re doing the right thing. What good will that do when Ruff turns its back on you? When your friends go cold? When you lose your job? I’m not worth it.”
He tried to take her hand, but she danced out of reach.
“Judy’s right. All I do is hurt you.”
Arms crossed, he cocked a hip and leaned against the counter. His unflinching perusal shook her and she wanted to push him out of the way, but if she touched him, she’d melt.
“I never imagined you had so much self-pity,” Carson said.
Hurt underscored the comment. Better he hurt a little bit now than suffer worse later. “You’re the one full of self-pity. That’s the only reason you want me here. You think you deserve the pain.”
“And what about you?” he snapped.
“What about me?”
He nodded grimly, his cheek muscles tight. “I killed your father. Don’t tell me you don’t think about that when you look at me.”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t.”
“Liar.”
She wanted to throw something at him. “At least I don’t live in a mausoleum. This house is a shrine to your wife. Since I’ve been here, you haven’t gotten one friendly phone call. It’s all business or cranks. You’ve lived here all your life, but Tony is your only friend? Are you scared someone will slip up and say something about Jill?”
His eyes were ice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She threw a towel. It smacked his chest and fell to the floor. “You most certainly do! Jill! Jill Jill Jill Jill! It makes you sick to hear her name in my mouth and that’s what you really want from me!”
“You’ve no idea what I really want from you. Since you’re in a state and unfit for company, I’m going to watch some television.”
“Thick,” she muttered, and scrubbed out the sink. She turned her energy on the stove and the top of the refrigerator and the floor. No amount of sweat erased Judy’s nasty voice from her mind. Nothing changed the truth. She had to get out of here.
“WANDA,” Carson said, “bring me yesterday’s activity report.”
Yesterday’s argument with Madeline gnawed at him. She hadn’t spoken a single word to him while fixing breakfast this morning. He wanted to apologize, but he wasn’t certain exactly where her anger had come from, or why she directed it at him. She had no cause to feel guilty about her father’s crimes.
The dispatcher puffed up like an offended chicken. “If anything important had happened, I’d have called your cell.”
“I’m not accusing you of dereliction of duty. While you’re at it, bring me the maintenance l
ogs for the vehicles and the latest equipment survey.” Ignoring her confusion, he entered his office. He felt restless, antsy. The rumor mill wasn’t churning this morning about Madeline, meaning Nick Iola and Judy Green were keeping their promises to stay quiet.
Carson’s real worry was that Madeline might leave. She’d end up like old Luke, living in a shack constructed of scraps and cardboard, tolerated only because it brought so many people the satisfaction of looking down their noses at him.
She was too proud to accept money from him. The one time he had broached the subject, she about snapped his head off. Her bead art was valuable. He could buy a piece for enough money to lease a small apartment. And then what? She had no transportation, no household goods.
Rage climbed through his chest and tightened his scalp. If she were anyone else, the people of Ruff would fall all over themselves to help. They’d give her clothes, pots and pans, food, money and some good old boy would have put a new battery in an old car and told her to use it as long as she wanted.
They put Madeline in the same box as her father, and refused to see her as completely separate.
It made him ashamed of his town, ashamed of the people he considered friends. He was ashamed of their close-mindedness and bigotry.
Wanda arrived with the stack of paperwork. She plopped it in front of him. “I’ve been taking care of this. You haven’t showed a lick of interest in…a long time.”
“Do you mean since Jill died? You’re right and I apologize for dumping my paperwork in your lap. I appreciate you helping out in my time of grief. It’s high time I get back to pulling my weight around here.”
She stared at him as if he had sprouted a second head. “Well, okay then. It is about time.” She executed an about-face and marched out of the office.
He was in the middle of juggling the budget to pay for new tires when Wanda announced the FBI had arrived. She looked ready to wriggle right out of her skin. She had worked for the Ruff police department for over thirty years and this was the first time a real live FBI agent had graced the station. She begged with her eyes for Carson to keep his office door open so she could eavesdrop. He almost hated to disappoint her.
