On the front porch, Rhonda slid an arm around Marty. He pulled her close and they leaned together, their heads turned toward the chicken house. It shocked me when she rested her head on his shoulder in a tender, domestic moment.
I draped my arm around Poupon’s back, grateful for even his minimum companionship. He tolerated for half a second, pushed himself to his feet, and started back toward Elvis.
Guess we were done with our stakeout.
9
Morning brought the smell of rain and damp air sneaking through my window along with gray light and the bright notes of blackbirds and robins, maybe a few sparrows and chickadees to round out the choir. I’d had my normal battle with the bedsheets and, as usual, come out the loser. Worrying about Carly and the preppers had looped with thoughts of Ted running against me in the next election, still three years away. There was the ever-present worry of financial ruin and finally, indignation and embarrassment that my brothers and sisters discussed my dating life. Or lack of it.
Still, mornings always boosted my spirits. Worries didn’t loom as large in the light of day. What’s not to love about a spring morning in the ’hills, even with the threat of rain? On my way to the front porch to get a good dose of morning, the lump on the couch startled me.
Poupon. I’d forgotten him. “Off the furniture.”
He opened his eyes, raised his head, and oh-so-slowly, as if he hated mornings as much as Diane, the sister who slept through stampeding mustangs, he slid his front legs on the floor, stretched, then stepped his back legs off. Without eye contact, he followed me to the front porch and dutifully descended the steps when I held the screen door open.
Giving Poupon his privacy, I hurried to the kitchen to rustle up coffee and maybe breakfast. I wanted to get to the courthouse to be there when Stormy towed the car in. But I remembered not only did I not have coffee, I’d left the hamburger in the microwave. I’d zapped it too long, and the edges had turned a rubbery gray. The sniff test came out negative for spoilage, but I didn’t want to risk death over a half pound of ground beef.
Definitely time for Twyla’s witch’s brew and a cinnamon roll. No, not a roll. I needed to start eating better—said the woman who lived alone and caught random meals, a most unbalanced diet.
I let Poupon inside, fed him, and had a serious discussion about staying off the furniture, but when I popped out of the shower, he’d climbed back on the couch. Dressed in my brown trousers and crisp official shirt, I hesitated at the front door. If I left him in the house, he’d probably sleep most of the day on the couch. I could run home at noon and let him out. But what if I got busy? There’s always the potential for disaster with being a sheriff, though mostly I had ample time to cruise around, stop for coffee, even spend whole days working cattle or in the hayfield.
“Come on.” Poupon gave me a bored expression. I added more insistence. “Let’s go.” Still nothing. I clapped. “City life has spoiled you. Around here, we get up and get after the day.”
He ignored me until a gentle tug on his collar convinced him I wasn’t going away. He hopped off the couch and followed me out. He might have been insulted I only offered him the back seat of the cruiser, not shotgun, but he didn’t argue.
The ten-minute drive to town allowed me to convince myself that today, I’d start off right. Oatmeal. Maybe yogurt and fruit. I couldn’t guarantee Twyla stocked anything that healthy, so I’d settle for eggs. No toast. Definitely not a cinnamon roll.
Damp sand and rain-heavy air greeted me as I stepped from the cruiser. The morning smelled musty, like humidity intended to stick around long enough to soak everything. I crossed the highway and hip-checked the glass door of the Long Branch. Two doors opened off the vestibule. One headed into the bar, the bigger and more interesting of the Long Branch division. The other, letting out the smells of bacon and sausage, with a coffee-infused benediction, was today’s choice. I shoved into the restaurant side, my mouth watering and my eyes rolling back into my head at the promise of liquid life.
A shriek ambushed me. “Oh my God! Look, Ted, it’s Kate!”
No. No. Oh my God, no.
Roxy stood in front of the cash register. She grabbed my hand as if we were reunited twins separated since birth and yanked me toward her. I pulled back but couldn’t slip out of Roxy’s death grip. Aside from her affair with my husband that ended my marriage and left me homeless, almost everything else about Roxy torqued me.
Her loud laughter probably made everyone in out-state Nebraska turn to see me floundering to escape.
I jerked my hand from her grasp but, because of a lifetime of Dad’s training, couldn’t help from forcing a polite smile.
Ted, my tall, broad-shouldered, Ben Affleck look-alike of an ex-husband, stood behind Roxy and offered a sheepish smile, as if apologizing for Roxy’s extravagance. I bet he did that a lot.
Because I allowed myself to be distracted by Ted, Roxy had an opportunity to throw her arms around me. “We never get to see you!”
“Not like yesterday at the fairgrounds.” I tried not to stare at her boobs swelling from the top of her maternity T-shirt. Her belly didn’t make a dent in the shirt yet, and it seemed unfair her already impressive breasts should get a jump on the baby bump. It also rankled me that unlike Sarah, who had a wrung-out, pasty look from her constant morning sickness, Roxy glowed.
Roxy released me and grabbed my hand again. She pulled me down the narrow aisle between red molded plastic booths lining one side with windows and the other side a dark fake-paneled wall. Most of the booths held several diners, and I nodded and smiled good morning on my way. Roxy fairly bubbled. “Looky who happens to be here.”
She stopped at a table littered with egg and syrup-smeared plates, paper napkins crumpled up, and empty heavy ceramic coffee mugs. Trey Ridnoir, all spiffy, hard-chested, well-groomed, and ready for business in his state trooper blue and gray, smiled up at me. A flush crept up his neck to his cheeks.
Roxy looked from one of us to the other, her amply lip-sticked mouth in XXL grin. “What a coincidence. I mean,” she put a hand on her hip, “do you come in here for breakfast a lot?”
Only like every other day. Oh dear God. She was setting me up. My cheeks burned with a combination of humiliation and rage that left me tongue-tied.
Thankfully, Trey kept his senses, despite his cherry complexion. He stood—all six foot one of muscle—and fished in his pocket for a tip. “It’s great to see you again.” Had Roxy let him in on the matchmaking, or was he blindsided, too?
I managed one sentence. “What brings you up this way?” Trey lived eighty miles south in Ogallala. We’d worked together on a murder last winter, but I’d only seen him a few times since.
He nodded at Ted, who’d joined us in the middle of the restaurant, amid the rapt attention of the breakfasters. “Ted invited me, and since I couldn’t make it up to the roping yesterday, I thought it would be fun to catch up.” He shifted his gaze to Roxy, shooting her an accusatory glare.
Roxy was too old to play coy, but that didn’t stop her. “Well, I thought you hit it off last winter with that awful railroad incident. But you haven’t had a chance to see each other since.”
What the hell was she talking about? If Trey had wanted to call me, he knew where I was.
Our smiles contained an extra thick layer of awkward sauce.
Roxy waited for our conversation to spark, and when it didn’t, she goosed it. “Did you know that Kate has eight brothers and sisters and they’re all named for the Academy Award winners of the year they were born?”
Trey looked way more amazed than it warranted. I didn’t know Trey well, but enough to know he was toying with Roxy. “No way.”
What could I possibly add to that fascinating fact?
Roxy pushed again. “Now that Sarah is going to have a baby, Kate is going to need some new friends.” She patted her stomach. “Life changes so much when a little one arrives. And you two have so much in common.”
“Really? What?
” Trey overdid his surprised reaction to the point of melodrama and still, Roxy didn’t understand he was teasing her.
Roxy’s eyes tilted to the sky. “Oh, well, you both like art, because Kate’s mother is an artist and you studied art in college.” She paused. “And you both went to college.” She shrugged, her boobs doing a happy dance I hated. “Oh, who’s kidding? You’re both single.”
I regretted not having my gun in my holster so I could shoot myself, or Roxy, or both of us.
My savior appeared in the form of my five-foot-two, rusty-voiced, hangover-toughened Aunt Twyla. “Do your sparking someplace else. We got a breakfast crowd here wanting their eggs.”
That was the break I needed. “I’ve got to get to the courthouse anyway. Stormy is towing a car in. Good seeing you.” I wasn’t sure you could technically call what I did running, but it was no stroll.
Fat raindrops helped cool me as I threw myself into the cruiser and turned it up the hill. So much for coffee and breakfast, but getting to work might help soothe the burn of Roxy and Ted trying to set me up.
Poupon shared my outrage when I spouted off. “As if I can’t find my own man. Not even that. As if I need to pair up. This is too much. Too damned much.”
We pulled into my parking spot behind the courthouse, the Mercury Marquis nowhere in sight. Poupon seemed content to make a den in the back of the cruiser, and I had to resort to a sharp clap to command him out. He did his front legs down, stretch, step out like the King of Sheba bit to show me what he thought of my orders.
The smell of scorched coffee greeted me when we climbed the stairs from the back door of the courthouse toward the main floor, where Ethel Bender’s office, the Grand County clerk/assessor, faced off with the county treasurer’s office.
Betty Paxton, the treasurer since Ronald and Nancy kissed in the Lincoln bedroom, shot from her office into the hall at the same time Ethel, still wearing her rubber rain boots, scurried after her, squeaking and leaving wet footprints on the linoleum.
“Morning,” I sang at them. It wouldn’t hurt to be friendly.
Betty reluctantly slowed to say good morning, and Ethel edged in front of her on the way to the commissioner’s room, where the communal coffee pot spewed. “Look at you here all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”
I normally showed up about this time. “Always try to get a good start on Mondays.”
Betty’s gaze dropped to Poupon, who ignored us. “Who’s this beautiful boy?”
Ethel appeared in the doorway of the commissioner’s room, having scored the first cup of the day. She scowled at Poupon. “No dogs allowed in the courthouse.”
As if not understanding no dogs and courthouse, I gave her a cheery smile. “I’m babysitting him for Diane. I’ll keep him in my office.”
Betty patted him on the head and murmured happy dog talk.
Wanting to move beyond potential war, I managed the old standby, “Get any rain out at your place?”
Ethel must have decided not to fight the Poupon issue, but then, she’d always liked Diane. “If you’d bothered to check the radar, you’d know the rain hasn’t started yet.”
Temptation clawed at me to reach my hand out and tip the bottom of her cup. Instead, I made a point of looking at my rain-pocked brown jacket. “You’re right.” We stood as natural as ketchup on ice cream, neither of us finding another word.
Betty straightened from her conversation with Poupon. “My cousin, over to Dunbar, said they got nearly a quarter inch.”
Ethel challenged her. “Your cousin doesn’t know anything. I heard they only got one-tenth.”
I brought it to a halt when I said, “Any rain is good rain.”
Ethel stared at me as if I’d said the stupidest thing she’d ever heard, so I plunged ahead with an intellectual discussion. “How’s the coffee?”
“It’s crap. But it’s all we’ve got.” Ethel pushed past me to her office.
Betty frowned after her. “It’s my day to make the coffee. She swears I make it like weak tea.”
I had to agree, but I kept it to myself.
Betty, now the clear loser in the daily race for the first cup, took her time going to the pot. I followed and Poupon stayed in the hallway. She reached for her #1 Grandma mug and filled it. She handed me a NACO (Nebraska Association of County Officials) mug, the one I used because I didn’t have a cute one of my own. “You notice on Tuesdays and Thursdays we go through a lot more of the creamer.”
Betty made coffee on Mondays and Wednesdays and Ethel had Tuesday and Thursday. Fridays alternated between the two battle axes. I’d thought to do my part and made coffee one Friday when I’d arrived first. Ethel had blown up and Betty nearly cried because I hadn’t trusted her to make it. I vowed not to get between them again. If I could help it.
I sipped what tasted like hot tap water, hating Roxy all the more for denying me my Long Branch fix. I leaned against the wall with my cup, acting casual. “Who owns the old Olson place north of town?”
Betty looked over the rim of her cup. “Since the old man died?” She leaned back, cradling her coffee cup. “Assessor should have records. But that’s hit and miss in this county.”
Never one to miss a dig at her fellow county official. “Thanks, Betty. Try to stay dry.”
She laughed as if I’d spewed a great joke. “We’ll all be waterlogged before this storm passes. At least it’ll make the grass grow.” She cleared her throat. “Uh. Kate.”
I winced, knowing what was coming and already feeling guilty. “Yes?”
Betty’s expression steeped in apology. “I really hate to nag, but you know, your budget was due last week and…?”
“Of course. It’s on my list for today. I promise to get it to you.” I carried my mug into the hall and back to Poupon, who sat in the same spot, continuing to ignore everyone. “Come.”
He didn’t.
His neck reached my thigh, so I grasped his collar without bending, and at my gentle tug he stood and walked with me to my office. After unlocking the door and pushing it open, I waited for him to sashay inside before closing the door and sneaking down the hall into Ethel’s office. I didn’t want Betty to hear me and feel betrayed.
Brittany Ostrander, Ethel’s assistant, stood at the coat rack in the corner, shaking out her raincoat. She settled it on a hook and welcomed me.
Brittany was a year older than Carly. The girl on the phone last night, would she be about the same age? Was she huddling in the rain somewhere? Locked in a basement listening to it fall on the ground, maybe dampening the dark basement walls? Probably at home, snuggled under blankets, sleeping late and dreaming about rainbows.
Brittany rubbed her arms for warmth. “It’s really settling in out there. How much did you get at your place? Dad said we had three-tenths.”
I hoped Ethel heard Brittany report about rain. “None before I left.” I slipped around the counter on my way to the vault, where Ethel sat on her throne behind a heavy government-issue desk piled with files and bound ledgers. Brittany was supposed to guard the threshold of Ethel’s inner sanctum and deal with the citizens’ business. But Brittany didn’t have the fortitude to question the sheriff, so I broke through her weak barrier.
Ethel had heard me in the outer office and was ready. She’d taken off her rain boots and left them to dry before the radiator in the corner behind her desk. The vault, twice as large as the outer office, smelled of musty books and dust from the hundred and fifty years of records locked in here. A banana smell hung heavy, along with burnt popcorn. Ethel not only ate lunch at her desk every day, but a constant flow of snack detritus filled her trash can. The vault had no windows or ventilation, and that could account for Ethel’s troll-like personality.
Ethel folded her arms across her bosoms. On most women, they’d be called boobs, or breasts, or even tits. But Ethel had bosoms. “This is restricted access. You need to respect the rules of the office. Talk to Brittany, and if she can’t help you, she’ll ask me.”
I tr
ied to look contrite despite comparing her behavior to that of Poupon. “Of course. Normally I would, but this is confidential sheriff business.”
However reluctantly, Ethel showed interest. “How so?”
I looked over my shoulder, not because I cared whether Brittany overheard, but to make Ethel think I did. “There’s something fishy going on at the Olson place. I need to know who’s living out there.”
Ethel’s face fell. She wrenched open the top drawer of her desk and rummaged inside, finally pulling out a packet of Taster’s Choice. “No one is living out there. Unless they’re in tents or campers. We haven’t had any requests for building permits.”
It didn’t surprise me Rhonda and Marty hadn’t been in for permits. “Can you tell me who owns it now?”
She snatched a pair of scissors that could be used as hedge trimmers and violently snipped off the top of the instant coffee package. “A Delaware LLC owns it.”
“Can I get the records?”
She dumped the coffee into her full cup and shoved some papers around until she found a spoon. She stopped and stared at me. “Do you want some instant? Betty’s excuse for coffee needs a boost.”
Why she didn’t just heat up her own water instead of wasting the brewed coffee seemed irrelevant. I made a point of taking a swig from my cup and smiling. “No, thanks. Where are the records? I can look them up.”
She shoved back from her desk with the attitude of the long put-upon. Sighing with annoyance, she pushed her puffy feet into scruffy blue slippers. “It’s not going to tell you anything.” She rose and stomped to a shelf, hauled a ledger the size of a surfboard to a sturdy table in the middle of the room, and smacked it down. It took two hands to open the book and flip through the lined pages. Seemed like all this stuff should be filed digitally, and it probably was. But Ethel probably distrusted computers and kept her records the way they’d been doing it in Grand County since the 1880s.
She plopped her wrinkled finger onto the middle of the page. In her spidery handwriting, the parcels and tracts of the Olson ranch filled line after line. It had been purchased from Tyrell Olson over two years ago. The owner was, indeed, an LLC from Delaware listed as Hidden Valley Ranch. Really?
Bitter Rain (Kate Fox Book 3) Page 8
