And last night.
He took a deep breath. Running around in a slinky, revealing little camisole didn’t fit his perception of her. However, being so excited about a forensic find that she forgot what she was wearing—and didn’t notice what she was exposing—did.
Growling, he groped along the bedside table until he found the little pile of peppermints he’d set there with the rest of his pocket litter. Grabbing one, he peeled off the wrapper and popped the mint into his mouth, relishing the cool, sweet bite on his tongue, and the way the sharp mint taste and smell banished the last dregs of roses from his nostrils.
He turned over on his back, threw an arm over his eyes and directed his thoughts toward the next step in his investigation. He was scheduled to meet with the sheriff and his two deputies at nine o’clock. And with Mayor Sadler. He’d mentioned wanting to talk to Trace Becker, but they hadn’t arranged anything.
Wyatt considered calling Hardin to make sure Trace would be there, but it was just after six in the morning, and he was pretty sure the sheriff was asleep—or at least trying to catch a nap.
Two hours. Wyatt took a deep breath. He had two hours to nap. He changed position again and tried to wipe his brain clean of thoughts and images. He even managed to stop thinking about Nina’s body. The only image he wasn’t successful in banishing was the look on her face when he’d opened the connecting door.
She’d looked terrified.
The trouble was, she’d seemed only slightly less frightened when he’d closed it after they’d switched rooms.
He couldn’t blame her for not feeling safe with him. After all, they were here now because he had failed to keep Marcie James safe two years ago.
This time, no matter what he had to do, no matter what the cost, he would not fail.
He’d find Marcie—or her killer. And while he was at it, he’d make sure nothing happened to Nina.
Chapter Seven
Just before nine o’clock, Wyatt walked up to the two-story white limestone building with a triple arched front. Looking at it, he had the same reaction he’d had two years ago. It was hard to believe it was really the sheriff’s office.
To Wyatt, it looked more like a facade for an old-style Western movie. He paused with his hand on the glass doorknob and checked the sign again.
“It’s the right place,” an enticingly deep feminine voice said behind him.
Wyatt turned and met a pair of dark, snapping eyes in a heart-shaped face framed by straight black hair. Her lips were bright red and matched the red shirt she had on. The rest of her outfit, a leather fringed vest, suede gauchos and tooled leather boots, might have looked costumey on another woman, but she carried it off like a star.
“I know, but it still feels like I’m walking into the middle of an old Western movie.”
“I’m Ellie Penateka,” she said, holding out a perfectly manicured hand.
Wyatt didn’t know the name, but he was pretty sure he’d seen her before, back when he was here guarding Marcie James. She’d be hard to miss anywhere. He grasped her hand briefly, then pushed the door open and stepped back to let her enter first. “Nice to meet you,” he muttered.
“We’ll see,” she whispered. She sent him a wink as she walked past.
Wyatt followed her down a wide hallway and through a door located midway. A young woman with dark red hair looked up and smiled at Ellie, then stood and gave him the once-over.
“You must be Lieutenant Colter,” she said. “Sheriff Hardin is waiting for you. Through there.”
Wyatt let Ellie lead as they walked through a small office with two desks—probably the deputies’ office.
When Ellie opened the door marked Sheriff, Wyatt stopped in dismay. The room was crammed full of people. He frowned as he zeroed in on Sheriff Hardin, sitting behind his desk.
Hardin shrugged. He looked as irritated as Wyatt felt.
Wyatt paused for a couple of seconds to take an inventory.
On the opposite end of the room from Hardin’s desk, Shane Tolbert sported a bandage on the side of his head and was soaking up sympathy from a man and a woman Wyatt didn’t recognize.
He did know the large man with the weathered, rugged face and salt-and-pepper hair, whose hip was propped on the edge of Hardin’s desk. It was Woody Sadler, the mayor of Comanche Creek and, from what he recalled, a very good friend of Hardin.
Standing next to Sadler was Jerry Collier, head of the county land office and Marcie’s former boss. He was a weaselly guy with a pinched face and a “don’t ask me” attitude.
To Wyatt’s left stood a medium-height, well-built man with ruddy skin and black hair anchored in a single braid down his back. He was dressed in a starched and ironed denim shirt and faded jeans. On his wrist, just above his watch, was a beaded rawhide bracelet. It wasn’t a huge leap to the conclusion that he was Daniel Taabe, the leader of the Native American faction in Comanche Creek. He met Wyatt’s gaze, and his brows drew down in a scowl.
He wasn’t the only one. Everyone had stopped talking and had turned to glare at him. There were eight people in the room, and each one of them was packing their share of hostility. It hit Wyatt in palpable waves, like a hot, dry summer wind.
Hardin stood and stepped around his desk to shake hands with him.
“I thought we were meeting with Tolbert and Mayor Sadler,” Wyatt said evenly.
“Apparently word got around. A lot of people want to know what’s going on out there,” Hardin replied.
Ellie crossed the room to stand next to Taabe. She said something to him, and he nodded.
“You know everybody?” Hardin asked Wyatt.
Wyatt nodded. “Most of them. Who are the two standing over there with Tolbert?”
Tolbert grinned and elbowed the man next to him in the ribs.
“That’s Billy Whitley. He’s the county clerk. And next to him is his wife, Charla,” Hardin said.
Wyatt nodded. “Right. I remember the names from the transcripts. The DA questioned them about Becker’s shady land deal.”
“Marcie claimed that Billy was paid to alter some documents. But any proof that Marcie had…”
Hardin’s words slammed into Wyatt’s chest like the bullet he’d taken two years ago. Any proof of bribery connected with the land deal that Jonah Becker had tried to broker had died with Marcie.
“Where’s Trace Becker?” Wyatt asked.
“I didn’t tell him about the meeting,” Hardin confessed.
“What about the boot prints? Did your deputy cast them?”
Hardin nodded. “Yep. Kirby will bring them in when Shane relieves him. He did tell me he thinks the boots are a size twelve. Same size Kirby wears himself.”
“Any distinguishing marks?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“What size does Tolbert wear?”
“Twelve.” Hardin looked at his watch and stood. “Folks, this is Lieutenant Wyatt Colter of the Texas Rangers. He’s heading the task force that’s investigating the bones found on Jonah Becker’s land.”
Wyatt felt the slight weight of the silver badge pinned to his chest as he met each person’s gaze in turn. He took his time, staring into each pair of eyes a split second longer than politeness dictated. It was designed to make people uncomfortable—especially people with something to hide.
And usually, that was everybody. What they were hiding might or might not affect the case he was working on, but it was almost a cliché. Everybody had something to hide.
The only one of the eight who wasn’t flustered was Daniel Taabe. He gazed back at Wyatt calmly.
Wyatt sent him a barely perceptible nod and turned back to Hardin.
Hardin opened his mouth, but before he could speak, everyone started shouting questions and complaints.
“Hold it!” Hardin yelled. “Just hang on a minute. Except for Shane and the mayor, every single one of you showed up without an invitation.”
“Reed.” Mayor Sadler stood. He didn’t raise his voice, but ev
erybody else in the room grew quiet. The mayor held out a big, work-roughened hand to Wyatt. “Lieutenant, welcome back to Comanche Creek.”
Wyatt didn’t miss the touch of irony in Mayor Sadler’s tone. He doubted that anyone could have missed it. It was a cinch that, even if he didn’t know them, they all knew him and what his connection was to the town.
He took they mayor’s hand and shook it. “Thank you, Mayor Sadler—”
“Lieutenant,” Mayor Sadler interrupted him. “Gathered here this morning are some of Comanche Creek’s most prominent citizens. We’re all concerned about the, uh…remains that were unearthed over on Jonah’s land. What can you tell us about what’s going on up there?”
Wyatt felt all their eyes on him. This wasn’t his preferred way of working, but he’d make do. He’d never seen the advantage in meeting with a roomful of people, all asking questions at once. He much preferred to work one-on-one. He found it easier to draw out someone when it was just the two of them. He was intimidating, and he knew it.
Although he was a good judge of character and a good reader of body language, he knew very little about the people gathered here.
Wyatt took a deep breath. “I’m sure you realize, Mayor, that it’s going to take more than a cursory examination of the crime scene and the remains to give us the information we need. We have a forensic anthropologist going over the entire area. As soon as she has definitive information that can be shared with the public, we’ll let you know. In the meantime—”
“I’ve got a question,” Jerry Collier said. “Just how many bodies are in that hole?”
Wyatt took his time answering. He met every pair of eyes in the room again, this time observing each person’s reaction to Collier’s question.
As before, Daniel Taabe’s dark eyes held his gaze calmly. Ellie Penateka’s dark eyes snapped with amusement and, unless Wyatt was badly mistaken, a touch of flirtation.
Charla’s head was lowered like a bull’s. Her lips were flattened disapprovingly, and her dark eyes gleamed with open hostility. Her husband, Billy Whitley, seemed to have a perpetual smile on his face—a distinctly unpleasant smile. To Wyatt, he looked like a hyena that had just finished a meal.
Tolbert gingerly touched the bandage on his head and averted his gaze. Wyatt was convinced that the deputy hadn’t told him or anyone else everything that had happened out at the crime scene the night before.
Wyatt slid his gaze past Hardin to Woody Sadler. The mayor’s deeply lined face looked worried and impatient. Next to him, Jerry Collier’s beady eyes shone with excitement, as if he were about to learn a dark secret.
Well, Wyatt wasn’t spilling any secrets today. He was here to gather information, not to impart it. So he wasn’t about to get into how many bodies had been discovered or any other specifics.
“Mr. Collier, we don’t know how many bodies yet,” he finally said. “That’s a question Dr. Jacobson will have to answer. And she won’t be answering it until we’ve made a thorough investigation of the entire area.”
“How long will that take?” Charla asked.
Wyatt shrugged. “No telling. I can tell you this, though. The fewer interruptions we have, the faster we can get to the bottom of this.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Charla snapped.
“It means just what it sounds like,” Wyatt returned. “Last night, as I’m sure you all know by now, Deputy Tolbert was attacked, and the crime scene was compromised.”
“We talk plain out here, Lieutenant,” Billy Whitley said. “What the hell do you mean, compromised?”
“I mean, somebody stole one of the bones.” Wyatt couldn’t watch everybody at once, but he concentrated on soaking up the reaction to his words. His statement was no surprise to anyone in the room. Word had spread fast. “This is going to make Dr. Jacobson’s job harder. Not to mention that whoever took that bone contaminated the crime scene. I have a feeling that was the attacker’s intent.”
Tolbert spoke up. “I gotta say, I feel really bad about letting down my guard.”
A few murmurs of protest arose.
Tolbert waved his hands. “No, no. I should have been more alert. When I heard the road crew had dug up those bones, I figured it was another Indian mound. There’s been a few uncovered around here.” Tolbert turned his gaze to Wyatt. “It’s hard to wrap your brain around the idea that some dried-up bones you’re looking at could belong to somebody you knew.” He paused. “Somebody you dated.”
Charla laid her hand on Tolbert’s arm in a comforting gesture.
“Now I have a question,” Wyatt said. Since he was here, he might as well find out what he could. “Why would anyone pick that isolated corner of Jonah Becker’s land to bury a body?”
The tension in the room went up several notches. Wyatt waited. Eventually someone would be compelled to break the silence.
It turned out to be Jerry Collier.
“That’s a good question,” he said eagerly. Wyatt noted the glare Charla aimed at Collier, who wasn’t paying any attention to her. “That limestone road’s old, from back when Jonah’s grandpappy and everybody else got around on horseback. It’s four miles from town, and it’s far enough away from everything so that it’s dark and quiet. For years kids used to go out there to park. Time was, everybody knew about Dead Man’s Road.”
Collier’s words hung in the air. For a few seconds it seemed like nobody even breathed.
Dead Man’s Road.
Then Mayor Sadler cleared his throat. “Jerry, it musta been you out there parking, although I can’t for the life of me figure out who’d have gone out there with you.”
Everyone laughed.
The mayor went on. “Kids today don’t even bother trying to find a deserted place to park. Hell, they do everything right out in the open.”
“Why do they call it Dead Man’s Road?” Wyatt asked.
Collier answered. “Long time ago, an old Injun stayed in that cabin up the hill. Old man Becker let him alone. He died twenty years ago. My grandma says he must have been over a hundred years old. Most of the kids quit going over there when he died. I think they thought the cabin was haunted.”
“Okay, folks,” the sheriff said. “Jerry, if you’re through spreading gossip, maybe we can get this over with. I hope you all feel better about what we’re doing to figure out what happened out there. Now, Lieutenant Colter and I have things we need to discuss—official business relating to the crime. If you’ll excuse us—”
“Sheriff,” Wyatt broke in. “Since everybody’s already here, maybe I could conduct a few interviews.” He paused, observing each person’s reaction to his words.
“What the hell?”
“Hey, I don’t have time—”
“Is he accusing—”
“Hold it!” Mayor Sadler’s voice quieted the small crowd immediately. He pushed the brim of his white Stetson up off his forehead. When he did, the rattlesnake tail attached to the band rattled. “Now, folks, we’ve got a heck of a problem here. You know it and I know it. Marcie James’s disappearance was a tragedy. It’s the lieutenant’s job to figure out what happened out there on Jonah’s land. Now, I’m going to guarantee to him that each and every person in this town will cooperate.” He looked at each person. “I’m counting on you all to not make me out a liar.”
There were low grumblings, but nobody protested.
“Who has time to talk to the lieutenant right now?” asked the mayor.
The room suddenly went quiet as a tomb.
Chapter Eight
The mayor straightened and cocked his head. “Now listen here. I said, I’m counting on you all. Shane, I know you can take time to answer the lieutenant’s questions right now. And Jerry. Who else? Billy? Charla?”
Billy Whitley spoke up. “No can do, Woody. I told you Charla and I are headed into Austin today.”
“No problem,” Mayor Sadler said. “Just make sure you get with the lieutenant.” He turned to Wyatt. “Well, Lieutenant. As you see, a lot
of folks have places to go and things to do. S’pose you could schedule your interviews for later?”
Wyatt opened his mouth to answer, but the mayor wasn’t finished.
“Tell you what. You can use my conference room next door, in the courthouse. The building’s a dead ringer for this one. I’ll even have my assistant set up the times for you. Just let her know when you’re available and who you want to talk to.” He slid a card out of his breast pocket and handed it to Wyatt. “Here’s my office number. My assistant’s name is Helen.”
Wyatt nodded, feeling a little like a chastised schoolboy. Mayor Sadler had made all the arrangements for his questioning of the townspeople, and at the same time he’d manipulated him into doing it when and where he, not Wyatt, wanted it done.
Mayor Sadler was a sly one. Wyatt wasn’t keen on questioning people under the watchful eyes and ears of the mayor and his staff, but in light of Mayor Sadler’s perfectly reasonable compromise, any insistence on his part would only evoke more hostility.
Wyatt cleared his throat. “Sure. I’ll just need to—”
The mayor settled his hat back down on his head and headed for the door. The small crowd took that as a signal and began to disperse. Charla and Billy took off, and Jerry Collier sidled over to Tolbert and whispered something to him.
“Lieutenant.”
Wyatt turned. It was Daniel Taabe. Wyatt held out his hand. Taabe’s handshake was firm, and he looked Wyatt straight in the eye.
“I understand Dr. Jacobson is treating the site as a possible sacred burial ground.”
“That’s right. I can’t answer any questions about that, though. That’s her area.”
Taabe nodded. “Of course. I want assurance from you that any evidence you find will be discussed with me. As I’m sure you can appreciate, my interest is in protecting sacred Comanche rites and rituals, and preserving historically significant finds.”
“The only thing I can assure you is that I plan to find out the truth about what happened out there. If I can, I’ll see that you get the information as soon as I can release it.”
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