She eyed him with amusement. “Are you scared of dogs?”
He glared at her even while he felt the flush of embarrassment start to creep up the back of his neck. “Just the ones that bite.”
The amusement faded. “When did you get bitten?”
“When I was six.”
She patted his hand and his embarrassment started to recede. Now why had he shared that with her? He kept his fear of big dogs locked away in the recesses of his mind and never brought out the key.
Only in a few short minutes, she had him blurting it out. He looked at her a little closer. What was it about this woman that made him want to be open? Vulnerable? Why did he find himself wanting her to know everything about him?
Scary. And yet thrilling at the same time. He’d never felt this way before and he wanted the opportunity to explore the feelings. See where it could lead.
But what would she say about that?
Gisella pulled her hand away and he missed the contact. When she opened her door, the dog lunged to the end of the chain and Brock reached out to yank her back inside the vehicle. “Don’t.”
She shook him off. “He’s fine. I’ll be fine. He’s not even barking. I think he just wants some company.” Giving him one last look, she got out and slammed her door shut.
With a resigned sigh, Brock opened his door and climbed out, too. He couldn’t let her go by herself. Eyeing the dog, Brock finally noticed the chain was taut. And as she said, the dog wasn’t barking. Just keeping a close watch on those invading his territory.
Gisella spoke softly to the animal and finally its hind end started wagging. Walking past the now-docile dog, she reached the porch and climbed the steps to knock on the door. Brock followed her.
Shuffling footsteps sounded from inside and within seconds, someone called out in Spanish, “¿Quién está? Who is it?”
Responding in the same language, Gisella told her.
The door opened and a woman in her midfifties stared up at them from red-rimmed eyes. “What do you want?”
Brock flashed his badge then offered, also in Spanish, “We’re sorry about your loss, but would you mind if we talked to you a little bit about Ina? We’re trying to find out who killed her.”
The door opened wider and the woman stepped back. “I’m Ina’s mother, Honoria. Come in.”
She led them to a worn but clean couch and motioned for them to sit. Brock noticed a Bible on the end table and an ornate cross hanging on the wall above the couch.
Gisella sat and asked, “Do you live here alone?”
Honoria nodded her head as she took a seat in the rocker next to her. “Yes. My other daughter, Francesca, lives in El Paso. Ina…” She trailed off and swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I will do without her,” she finally whispered.
Pain flashed across Gisella’s face and she leaned forward to cover the woman’s hand. “You have a cross on your wall. Do you believe what that stands for?”
“Sí.” Her lips trembled.
“Then let Him be your strength.”
The woman nodded. “Sí, I will have to.” She gave a sad shrug. “There is no other choice.”
Brock felt his heart do that weird trembling thing it seemed to do whenever he witnessed Gisella’s sincere compassion, her reaching out to those in need who had been hurt by life. He realized that not only did he want to open himself up to Gisella and let her know everything about him, he wanted her to reciprocate. To let him into her deepest thoughts and to know her completely. He swallowed hard and focused on what she was saying.
“Señora Jaramillo, we talked with Ina’s boyfriend, Clinton, and while he was at the graveyard the night she was killed, we don’t believe he had anything to do with it.”
“No.” Señora Jaramillo shook her head. “He would not hurt a hair on her head. He loved that girl and wanted to marry her.”
“We think so, too, but we also think that Ina was somehow involved in the drugs coming over from Juarez. Do you know anything?”
The woman’s eyes flickered, pain crossed her face and she bowed her head.
“Señora?” Gisella leaned forward.
“I do not know for sure. I just know she had more money than she should have. I didn’t ask where it came from and she didn’t tell me.”
Brock rested his forearms on his thighs as he shifted to say, “Ina was supposed to meet us the night she was killed. We think someone found out and decided to make sure she didn’t talk to us.”
A wail of grief exploded from the woman’s throat and Brock flinched. Gisella’s eyes teared up and he watched her quickly hide them.
“Señora…” Gisella’s words trailed off.
After a few minutes of uncontrollable crying, Señora Jaramillo gathered herself together. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just worked so hard to make sure my children stayed away from that kind of stuff. Those kind of people. And for you to say…” She shook her head and swiped her tears. “I convinced myself that she got the money working in the diner. Or that Clinton gave it to her, but deep down…” She patted her chest. “I wondered.”
“Can you think of anyone she may have mentioned that you thought was strange? Any place she was seen that she shouldn’t have been?”
“No. No.” Señora Jamarillo got up to pace.
“Can we search her room?” Gisella asked.
That stopped her. She seemed to consider it, then with slumped shoulders, gave a slow nod. “Sí, first door on the right, down the hall. If you find drugs, I do not want to know, okay?”
Brock exchanged a look with Gisella. “Let’s just see if we find anything first.”
FOURTEEN
Gisella stopped at the entrance to Ina’s room and looked around. Brock came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Are you going to let me in?”
She shivered at his touch and moved aside to let him brush by her. Concentrating on the room, she noticed Ina’s favorite color had to be purple. The room was very simple, yet neat and clean.
Gisella wandered over to the dresser and examined the items placed just so. A hairbrush, lipstick and other makeup accessories were placed in a small silver tray. Several framed pictures of family. One of Ina with her arms around her mother, head thrown back and laughing. She didn’t look so plain in the pictures. But one photo really caught her attention.
“Hey, Brock,” she called. “Look at this.”
He’d been in the closet. Sticking his head out, he lifted a brow at her. She waved the photo at him. “You recognize anyone in this?”
Fully exiting, he came to stand beside her. She handed him the picture. “Isn’t that the little waitress from the diner? Krista?”
“That’s her.”
“So she and Ina look to be pretty big buddies. More so than just coworkers.” Ina had Krista on her back piggyback-style. The two were waving at the camera, laughing. “I think our first instincts were right. We need to question her and find out what she knows.”
“She definitely moved up on the priority list.”
They took the photo back into the living area where Señora Jaramillo sat in her rocker staring into space. At their appearance, she blinked. Gisella showed her the picture.
“What is this girl, Krista, to Ina?”
The woman took the picture and studied it. “Ina used to babysit her when Krista was younger. Ina became like a big sister to Krista who has no brothers or sisters. Now they’re just friends. Or…they were.” More tears appeared and Señora Jaramillo managed to swallow them before they fell.
Gisella smiled. “Thank you. I think we’re done now. And again, we’re very sorry about Ina.” Gisella felt slightly guilty. That she and Brock were somehow responsible for the girl’s death.
But Ina had called them.
The guilt remained. Was it possible that Gisella and Brock should have insisted that they meet right away?
Then again, Ina might have run and…
It was no use playing “what if”. She coul
dn’t change what happened. But she could find Ina’s killer. She had a feeling the killer and the Lions were all connected somehow, she just had to find the link.
Stepping back outside, the hairs on her neck lifted once again. She sure was getting that feeling a lot around this little town. Gisella decided she should be used to it by now. Glancing around, she probed the area.
Was someone watching?
Waiting to shoot? Or just wondering what she and Brock were up to?
“Come on, let’s get in the car.” Brock placed a hand on her arm and hurried her to the vehicle. So, he felt it, too.
Goose bumps danced up and down her arms, but she wasn’t sure if it was from Brock’s touch or her uneasy feeling that they had bull’s-eyes on their foreheads.
Once inside the passenger side of the car, she studied the trailer then said, “Drive off then circle around and come back, will you?”
He nodded and the fact that he didn’t question her made her wonder if he’d been thinking the same thing. He pulled out of the yard and drove down the little road that led back to town.
They didn’t pass a single car.
When he found a pretty open spot in the road, he did a three-point turn and headed back to the Jaramillo trailer.
“I felt like someone was watching us when we stepped outside. You felt it, too?” Giselle asked.
Brock nodded. “Yes. But I couldn’t pinpoint anyone anywhere.”
“Neither could I. I’m a little worried that someone’s been watching Ina’s mother thinking she knows something and that she’ll talk.”
The trailer came back into view and Brock slowed to a crawl and finally a stop behind a copse of trees that probably didn’t do a very good job of hiding their car if someone was looking for it.
But might be good enough if no one expected it to be there.
Ten minutes later, when she saw another car pull into the yard next to the pickup truck, Gisella’s heart thudded. “You see who that is?”
“Chris Locke and Niles Vernon.”
“Wonder what they’re doing here?”
A disappointed sigh slipped from Brock. “Probably the same thing we were. Following up on Ina’s murder. And while I have to admit, I’m not crazy about Chris’s snarly attitude, he still seems like a competent deputy.”
Gisella chewed her lip. “That was my take on him, too.” She gave a small pout. “I really expected someone else to show up.”
“Like who?”
“Whoever was watching us while we were inside.”
“You think they’re still there?”
She shrugged. “Who knows?”
“That doesn’t mean he did it.”
“I don’t like walking around feeling like I have a big red target on my forehead,” he muttered.
She breathed a laugh. “I know.” Then she rolled her head to loosen the tight muscles.
Brock watched her for a moment. “Tense?”
“You think? I need a good swim. I don’t care what time we get back tonight, I’m making use of that pool.” She cut him a glance from the corner of her eye. “And I’m giving you a heads-up where I’ll be so you don’t have to worry about me. All right?”
His phone rang and he snatched it. “Brock Martin.” A pause. “Oh, hey, Steph. Yeah. What do you have?”
He listened for a moment then said, “Thanks a bunch, I owe you big-time.”
Brock hung up and sat there staring out the window.
She nudged him with her elbow. “Well?”
“That was the lab. The fingerprint on the spray can matches Jasper West’s.”
“Yes,” she hissed. “Finally, something concrete. He’s got to tell us what he knows.”
“Let’s let him stew overnight in jail and go see him in the morning.”
“Sounds good to me. Maybe it’ll loosen his tongue. But I’m going to check in with the sheriff just to make sure he hasn’t said anything more.”
Gisella dialed the number. Sheriff Johnston answered on the second ring as Brock maneuvered the car back onto the road to head toward town.
“Sheriff Johnston here.”
“Hi, Sheriff, this is Ranger Hernandez. I’m just checking in to see if Jasper West has had anything to say since cooling his heels in the jail.”
A disgusted sigh came through the line. “Not a word.”
Gisella decided to test the waters. “Does he still seem overly confident? Like he’s not a bit worried about having consequences for his actions?”
The sheriff snorted. “Yeah, but that’s Jasper. His daddy has the biggest spread with the most cattle just outside of town. Jasper hasn’t worried much about consequences from the day he was born.” A pause. “Although I have to say, this time, Jasper’s surprised me. I wouldn’t have expected him to try to shoot you in the middle of town. That just shouts stupidity if you ask me.”
Gisella agreed. “All right. One more thing. We just spoke with Ina’s mother and she had no clue what her daughter was up to. We think someone may have been watching the home and saw us drive up. Will you have someone cruise by the trailer every once in a while just to make sure she’s all right? She truly didn’t know anything and I’d hate for someone to think she told us something.”
“Really? She didn’t tell you anything?” Skepticism sounded.
“Nothing. If Ina was involved with something she shouldn’t have been—and I believe she was—she kept it from her family.”
“Okay, sure. I’ll have Locke or one of my other deputies keep an eye on her.” A pause. “Who do you think might have been watching the trailer?”
“When I know that, you’ll know. Also, one of the prints on the spray can came back belonging to Jasper.”
The sheriff grunted. “No kidding. Didn’t bother using gloves, huh? What an idiot. I’ll question him again with this evidence and see if he has anything he wants to say now.”
They disconnected and Gisella filled Brock in. “So I guess that means—”
Her phone vibrated and she glanced at the number. The bottom dropped out of her stomach.
Her dad. She let it go to voice mail. He only called to remind her of all that he and her mother had lost and to beg her to quit her job.
She wasn’t getting into that in front of Brock.
“You going to answer that?”
“Nope.” Tucking the phone back into her clip on the side of her pants, she ignored his questioning glance when he parked in front of the restaurant.
He let her avoid telling him who she didn’t want to talk to. “Want to see what Krista has to say about Ina’s murder?”
“If she’s here.”
Together, they entered the restaurant and Gisella spotted the young girl immediately. Gisella waved her over and could tell she’d been crying.
Krista walked toward them, her shoulders slumped. Gisella felt sorry for the girl. “Hi, Krista.”
“Hi.” Her red-rimmed eyes were cool, almost hostile. “Just have a seat and I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Can we talk?” Gisella asked softly, not holding the girl’s frigid reception against her. She probably blamed Gisella and Brock for Ina’s death.
“About what?”
“Ina.”
Krista’s eyes darted around the restaurant. “I don’t think so.”
Gisella smiled at Brock. “I feel like some dessert. How about you?”
“Sounds good to me.”
Krista sighed and pointed to a booth. “Have a seat. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Gisella and Brock walked to the booth and slid in. Gisella sighed. “She’s scared to talk to us.”
“Yes, I noticed that.”
Picking up the menu, she studied the desserts. “Want to split something?”
“As long as it contains chocolate, I’m good.”
Krista approached and stood at the table. “What can I get you?”
“How about the hot fudge brownie with vanilla ice cream?” Gisella figured that would be enough choc
olate for the both of them.
“Sure.”
Krista started to turn away when Gisella said, “We’re sorry about Ina.”
The girl sighed and muttered, “She should have been more careful. I shouldn’t have helped. I should have just torn up your card and walked away.”
Brock leaned forward. “She said she wanted to show us something. Do you know what that might be?”
“No, and I don’t want to know.” Her gaze flicked to the corner of the restaurant then back and Gisella caught the tears in her eyes just before she whirled from the table and headed for the kitchen.
She watched the girl disappear then felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. When she looked across the restaurant her gaze collided with a pair of watchful, hard brown eyes.
Chris Locke.
He sat alone in his booth drinking from a coffee cup. Lifting it, he offered her a half salute before taking another sip. Gisella nodded back.
As though he’d just made up his mind about something, he set the cup on the table and stood. Then his gaze darted past her and he frowned.
In one smooth move, the deputy placed some bills on the table and headed for the door without breaking stride. The sheriff had just entered and Chris said something to him before exiting. The sheriff’s brows knit as he waved in their direction then turned and followed after Chris.
She looked at Brock. “Now that was really weird. Wonder what that was all about?”
“I don’t know.” He rubbed his chin.
“It’s almost like Chris was going to come over and say something, but when the sheriff came in, he changed his mind.”
Krista returned with their dessert and two spoons. She placed it in the middle of the table then turned on her heel without a word or a smile.
Brock muttered, “I guess she’s not too worried about a tip tonight.”
Gisella sighed and picked up one of the spoons. “She’s hurting, and I don’t think she knows any more than she’s told us.” Tilting her head, she studied the dessert. “I have to admit I didn’t really want this until she put it there.”
A mountainous chocolate brownie covered in vanilla ice cream towered between them. Brock never took his eyes from it as he snatched the other spoon and dug in. Gisella wanted to giggle at the sheer delight displayed on his face at the first bite. “It’s that good?”
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