Cop by Her Side (The Mysteries of Angel Butte) Page 9

  “Ah...both, I think. I know she’s called me on both.”

  Jane wondered if a seven-year-old actually could memorize three separate phone numbers, but maybe. It was also possible that some of those phone calls had been prompted by a friend’s parent, who had told her the number or even dialed for her.

  When Jane went to the guest room, Alexis was sitting bolt upright in bed looking scared, and with a gasp threw herself at Jane. “I thought you were gone!”

  Jane explained that she was leaving temporarily, but that Daddy would be home with her, and watched as the little girl tore off in search of Drew. It gave her a pang. The girls loved her, she knew they did, but truthfully she was like a stuffed animal Alexis was fond of yet only cuddled as a substitute when her pitifully worn blankie couldn’t be located. Jane shook her head, bundled her dirty clothes into the duffel she’d brought, then carried it along when she stuck her head in the kitchen to say goodbye.

  Alexis seemed content enough eating the Eggo waffle her father had toasted for her, but Drew trailed Jane to the front door, hovering a little closer than she liked.

  “When do you think you’ll be back?” he asked plaintively, looking as if he was about to cry.

  She wanted quite desperately to go back to work and be Lieutenant Vahalik again, not Drew’s fill-in...what? Not blankie. Wife? The thought brought a wrench of anxiety.

  No, that was ridiculous. Maybe he and Melissa had been having problems, but he loved her. Look how devotedly he’d stayed at her bedside! He’s grateful to me, that’s all, Jane told herself.

  “Probably dinnertime, but I’ll call, okay?” she said, and couldn’t help feeling a wash of relief at her escape.

  Chagrined, she wondered if she’d lived alone too long and was past being able to adapt to the demands of real family life, when you couldn’t have fun for the day with the kids and then return them to their parents and go home free as a bird.

  She wondered if Clay would be disgusted to know she had any doubts at all about whether she wanted children. In his world, single women were probably supposed to be hankering to immerse themselves in motherhood.

  For just a moment, she found herself wondering what their children would look like, if she and Clay had any.

  She snorted and got into her car. Yep. Those would be the children she was supposed to stay home and care for while he headed out the door every morning to earn their daily bread. To solve cases, play hero and rise in the ranks.

  And that would be while her career stagnated and died.

  But, damn it, not two seconds later she was wondering if she’d see him today.

  * * *

  DREW WAS SITTING on the floor trying to fit a teeny tiny sweater on a Bratz doll whose hair reminded him of Jane’s. Alexis was much more deftly dressing her doll, the one with hair more like hers. Born bossy, she had picked out the outfit he was to dress his doll in. It looked kind of slutty to him—the skirt was miniature, and then there were tights that looked like those leggings ballet dancers wore, followed by hot pink boots. His fingers felt big and clumsy.

  At the sound of the doorbell, his whole body jerked. God. This was even worse than when the phone rang. Who could it be? Maybe Jane had come back for something and couldn’t put her hands on her key...?

  He blindly thrust the doll at his daughter. “Daddy has to answer that,” he said.

  Through the stained-glass sidelight he could make out the tall, bulky shape of a man, and he knew. It was the cop again.

  Sure enough, when he opened the door, there was Sergeant Renner, impassive and somehow merciless. There was no lightness on his rough face to suggest he had good news, but no pity to foretell bad, either.

  “Sergeant,” he said past the tightness in his throat. “What is it?”

  “May I come in?”

  “No” wasn’t a viable answer. Nodding stiffly, Drew stepped back.

  “You don’t have news?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid not. Is there someplace we can talk?”

  “I’m alone with my youngest.”

  “Jane’s not here?”

  He explained she’d persuaded him to stay home today and that she was on the way to the hospital.

  Not seeing a lot of choices, Drew finally led the cop to the dining room table, where they had a degree of privacy but he could see Alexis—and she could see him.

  Drew didn’t offer coffee. “What can you possibly have to ask that you haven’t already?” he asked wearily.

  “I want you to tell me about your wife’s work,” the sergeant said.

  Drew hid his dismay. How had the guy learned that Lissa’s job was a sore point between them? Or had he? Maybe he was poking until he noticed a wince.

  “She’s been with Stillwell for six years. Before she had Bree, Lissa worked for a dental supply place. She said it was boring and decided not to go back. Pay’s better at Stillwell, too.”

  “Uh-huh. I’ve been wondering about that. Do you mind telling me what your wife earns?”

  Drew stared at him incredulously. He and his family were the victims, but they were being treated like criminals. “What does it matter?” he asked.

  “I’m just wondering a little why Melissa’s job seems to be so important to her,” Sergeant Renner said blandly. “But let’s get back to that. Tell me what you think of her coworkers.”

  Afraid he’d stiffened, Drew talked about Betty Jean Bitterman, always described by Melissa as the old biddy. Lissa wasn’t always kind, but Drew had to admit that Betty Jean was halfway to being fossilized. Glenn Arnett had been new to the company sometime after Lissa had started there.

  “Maybe four years ago?” he said. “Yeah, I think it was after Lissa went back from maternity leave. You know, after Alexis was born.”

  The sergeant nodded.

  “She didn’t say much about him.” Drew told him about the one good friend Lissa had at Stillwell Trucking, the front office receptionist. Courtney Hendricks. Mostly the two women did girl things together, which was good—Drew had next to nothing in common with Courtney’s husband, who owned an auto-body shop.

  He should have known, though, that Renner was only working his way around to his true object of interest: James Stillwell.

  Clay paged back through his notebook as if he needed to find a reference before pinning Drew with those sharp blue eyes. “Mr. Stillwell assures me that he relies on your wife. Seemed a little strange to me, her being only a bookkeeper. Not even the only one. And he’s got Mr. Arnett.”

  This was what Drew didn’t like thinking about. What Lissa and Stillwell were to each other. When Drew asked, she told him he was being ridiculous. They’d had some pretty hot sex one time when she was reassuring him that she wanted him and not her boss. The reassurance had worked, too...for a few weeks.

  “My impression,” he said carefully, “is that Stillwell keeps Betty Jean on only out of gratitude for her years with him. I suspect he leans a little more heavily than usual on Lissa because she’s so much more computer savvy. She does a whole lot more than her half of the work. When Stillwell wants a figure, she can pull it up.”

  “Rather than him asking Mr. Arnett for that figure.”

  “Why are you asking me about this anyway?” he said sharply. “Why not talk to them?”

  “I might do that.” He paused. “I’ve been told that your wife and Mr. Stillwell seem flirtatious. I believe that was the word used.”

  He stiffened and hoped it wasn’t obvious. “Lissa’s style is flirtatious. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, then, let’s get back to her salary.”

  Unable to see any way out of it, Drew grimly told him what she brought home.

  Sergeant Renner glanced around, his eyebrows raised, as if assessing the house. “I assume you have a mortgage?”


  A big-ass mortgage. Drew had thought they’d overreached themselves when they bought this place, but Lissa had loved the house and at the time both their jobs had seemed safe.

  “Yes,” he said tersely.

  “You must have been having to dip deep into savings since you’ve been out of work.”

  Drew glared at him. “My wife handles our finances.”

  “I suppose that makes sense, since she’s a bookkeeper. But you’ll be able to handle the bills until she’s able to take them over again?”

  “Yes.”

  “You do online banking? Maybe you have investments beyond a savings account?”

  “We both have retirement accounts through our jobs. Once I hire on somewhere, I’ll roll mine over.”

  “You do know it may take your wife a while to bounce back after a head injury of this magnitude.”

  Whether Melissa might be brain damaged was one of Drew’s many fears. This time, the cop sounded compassionate.

  “I can’t let myself worry about that until she wakes up.”

  “One thing at a time. I understand that.” He took another one of those assessing looks at the living room with a vaulted ceiling and soaring windows, the kitchen with gleaming granite countertops, garbage compactor, double ovens and copper rack over the large island with a second sink. “If I were you, though, I’d be taking a look at my finances, just to see where I am.”

  With a nod, he rose, thanked Drew for his time and left. Locking the door behind him, Drew had the unpleasant thought that Sergeant Renner had a point.

  The truth was, he admitted, if only to himself, he hadn’t asked as many questions as he should have about how the bills were getting paid. And—God—if Lissa didn’t wake up pretty soon, he wouldn’t have any choice but to find out how they were holding on to this house on a bookkeeper’s salary. Especially since right now she wasn’t earning a salary at all.

  The kernel of dread that had been with him for months twinged painfully.

  Tomorrow, he told himself.

  Maybe tomorrow.

  * * *

  CLAY STEPPED INTO the Kingfisher Café on the main drag in Angel Butte and looked around. He hoped this wasn’t one of those places where the servings were skimpy and the combination of ingredients weird. Where food was concerned, he was conservative.

  Like Dad?

  Irritable, he shook off the thought. Not like Dad. His father had grumbled whenever Mom had served anything unfamiliar for dinner. Clay was more adaptable. He wasn’t much for leafy greens, that was all, especially the ones that looked and tasted like weeds gathered from the roadside verge. And, hey, sue him—he liked meat. He was a big man, and he needed his meals to be substantial.

  He didn’t see Jane on his first scan of the interior, but his gaze did find a blackboard listing specials. The chili and a burger with blue cheese both sounded good to him, and he relaxed.

  Yeah, and he’d have eaten bitter greens for lunch without a word of complaint just so he could have a meal with Jane. She was the one to suggest this café.

  “Hi,” she said from beside him. “Have you been waiting?”

  He turned, surprised as always at how far down he had to look. Jane had a personality way bigger than her shorter-than-average height suggested.

  “No, just got here. Had to park a couple of blocks away.”

  “Me, too.” She wrinkled her nose. “Tourists.”

  Clay grinned. “And where would we be without ’em?”

  That dimple flickered in her cheek. “You and I would have a whole lot more leisure time.”

  “Assuming we still had jobs,” he pointed out. “Think of the layoffs in our respective departments if all those tourists, bless their hearts, didn’t bring crime in their wake.”

  Jane actually laughed. “You’re right. I just wish they wouldn’t take the parking spot I want.”

  The hostess appeared then to seat them, putting them at a small table against the wall. Clay’s knees bumped Jane’s under the table. He didn’t mind and couldn’t tell if she did.

  “I’ve never eaten here,” he said.

  She looked up from her menu, her surprise obvious. “Really? It’s the best place in town for lunch. Everyone from the police department and city hall eats here. Besides—” she leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially “—the owner and chef is best friends with Colin’s wife, Nell.”

  “Ah. As long as she can cook.”

  They put in their orders, then looked at each other.

  “You’re not getting much sleep,” he said.

  Jane grimaced. “I was a little shocked when I saw myself in the mirror this morning. Alexis keeps waking up with nightmares. And who can blame her?”

  Clay shook his head. Poor kid. “I stopped by the house earlier. Drew said you’d talked him into staying home.”

  “I hope he’ll take a nap when Alexis does. And that she actually sleeps. She must be getting tired, too.” She searched his face. “Why did you stop by?”

  “More questions for your brother-in-law.”

  “You are wasting your time going after him, you know.”

  “Are you so sure?”

  “I’m sure.” And damned if she didn’t sound it. “Drew and Lissa may have been fighting. I don’t know. But he’d never have hurt her or Bree. He might be able to tell you something useful, I won’t argue about that, but...” She started to shrug.

  “He’s so nice he’d never hurt another soul?” Clay’s interruption came out barbed.

  Her eyes widened. “What, you’ve decided you don’t like him?”

  I don’t like the way you defend him.

  “I think nobody is that nice,” he said curtly.

  “You’re wrong.”

  “You meet a lot of nice people every day on your job?” Clay asked with exaggerated interest.

  “Yes!” She pressed her lips together. “They’re usually the victims,” she said finally, grudgingly.

  Clay let out a huff of air. “You’re right. I won’t argue. There are decent people out there. He may be one. But, damn it, he’s hiding something.”

  He didn’t like to see the lines of worry on her forehead.

  “You’re a stranger,” she said. “And a hostile one at that. His whole world has imploded. Do you really blame him for not wanting to express every doubt about his marriage and his wife to you?”

  Put that way—no. But the fact he understood didn’t make Clay like Drew Wilson any better.

  “Why are you so hot to defend him?” he asked. “Are you that good of friends?”

  “Yes!” She glowered at him, not relenting even as her salad and his cup of chili were delivered by a cheerful slip of a girl who looked like a middle schooler to him.

  Maybe he should remind the proprietor of child labor laws. Or— Hell, maybe he was just getting old.

  Even when they were left alone, Clay didn’t reach for his spoon. “There’s not some awkwardness, you being such good buddies with your sister’s husband? I’ve got to tell you, I don’t think my brother would like it much if I was suddenly best friends with his wife.”

  “That’s...that’s ridiculous!” Anger didn’t look natural on a face as gentle as Jane’s. On the other hand, Clay thought with the first amusement he’d felt since they sat down, he would swear her wild curls writhed like Medusa’s snakes when she got mad. He’d never seen hair so alive.

  Thinking about what it would feel like falling over his chest was enough to keep him awake during nights when he couldn’t get her out of his head.

  “Is it?” he asked. “I don’t see you two having that much to say to each other.”

  “Why not?” she challenged him. “You must have had plenty of female friends who were nice. Did you run out of things to sa
y to them?”

  He felt as if a punch had robbed him of air. It was a minute before he could say quietly, “I guess I must have. None of them stuck, did they?”

  This was not a good time for a revelation.

  Jane and he stared at each other, neither of them seemingly able to look away. He was afraid his shock must be showing, and damned if there wasn’t a hint of shock in her eyes, too.

  “Drew and I aren’t best friends,” she said suddenly, her voice stifled. She looked away, as if someone had caught her eye across the café, but Clay knew better.

  He felt as if an essential connection between them had been severed. Stupid.

  “I’m being a jackass,” he admitted.

  “Why?” she asked, tilting her head when she looked at him again.

  “I didn’t like seeing the two of you wrapped around each other yesterday.” The words came out as a rumble.

  “But...” The word formed on her lips, almost soundless. She gave her head a slight shake. “It’s not as if you and I are even seeing each other.”

  He was blowing it here, Clay knew, and couldn’t seem to stop himself. “That’s not my choice.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes shied from his. She looked down at her salad as if it was some foreign substance. “You aren’t...seeing someone else?”

  “Right now? No.” Pride wouldn’t let him admit that he hadn’t had a date since last October, when she’d ditched him. For months, he’d deluded himself she’d forgive him and they could start again. Even once he knew that wasn’t happening, Clay hadn’t worked up enough interest in any of the women who might have been receptive to ask one out. He’d begun to worry about himself. He hadn’t been celibate for an entire year since he was about fifteen. Maybe middle age had hit, he’d thought with some horror.

  Then, two and a half weeks ago, he’d seen Jane again and knew what his problem was. Continuing celibacy had now become painful.

  “You?” he heard himself ask gruffly.

  Her teeth sank into her lower lip and she shook her head.

  Yeah, but just because she wasn’t dating anyone right now didn’t mean she hadn’t been sometime in the past ten months. Or decided what she really wanted was a man like her brother-in-law.