Cold Wind - C. J. Box [18]
Deputy Sollis saw Joe coming and stepped out from the lilac bushes next to the front door of the ranch house. Sollis raised his hand to Joe, palm out, and said, “That’ll be far enough.”
Joe stopped, looking Sollis over. Sollis was square-shaped and his head was a block mounted on a stump of a neck. He was solid and buff, and his uniform looked a deliberate size too small in order to accentuate his pectorals, biceps, and quads. His eyes were black and small and could be seen like spider holes through the lenses of a pair of black wraparound shades. A fresh crop of acne crawled up his neck from his collar, and Joe thought, Steroids.
“Sheriff inside?” Joe asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“So let me in.”
“No, sir. No one goes in. Especially you.”
Joe put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I want to see my mother-in-law. Is she under arrest?”
A slight smile tugged on the edges of Sollis’ thick mouth. “I reckon, by now.”
“What’s the charge?”
“Charges,” Sollis corrected. “You can take that all up with the county attorney. My job is to keep everybody out.”
Joe stepped back, his hands still on his hips. The day was surreal. The last time he’d been inside this house was two weeks ago with Marybeth and his daughters. Missy had planned the menu—chile relleños smothered in green chile sauce in honor of Sheridan soon going to college—even though the meal had turned out to be Lucy’s favorite and not Sheridan’s. Missy favored Lucy over all the children, seeing in her the spark of a kindred spirit, although Lucy no longer welcomed the attention. Despite the mix-up, Missy still supervised the cooking, but never touched the food and didn’t eat it. Neither did Sheridan.
And here he was again, Joe thought. Only this time Missy was somewhere inside being placed under arrest for . . . murder?
He snorted.
“Something you find funny?” Sollis asked.
“This whole thing,” Joe said, gesturing toward the vehicles in the ranch yard and all the law enforcement personnel standing around. “I knew Sheriff McLanahan needed something to happen to boost his chances of reelection, but even I didn’t think he’d go after the wealthiest landowner in the county for this.”
Sollis’ jaw muscles started working, like he was chewing gum. “You best keep your mouth shut until you find out more about the case against her,” he said. “I think you’ll be surprised. And I’d advise you to back off and pipe down. You’re being observed by the media.”
Joe turned. The Saddlestring media consisted of Sissy Skanlon, the twenty-five-year-old editor of the Saddlestring Roundup, and Jim Parmenter, the northern Wyoming stringer for the Billings Gazette. They stood together under a tree behind a yellow plastic band of crime scene tape where they’d obviously been ordered to stay. Joe nodded toward them. Jim nodded back and Sissy waved.
“There’s at least two television trucks on the way,” Sollis said with some satisfaction. “From Billings and Casper. Maybe more.”
Joe asked Sollis, “So how long has the sheriff been planning this? It takes a while to get both Jim and Sissy in one place. And I see we’ve got DCI vehicles here, meaning Cheyenne was called in enough time for these guys to get here. How long has this operation been under way?”
Sollis began to say something, and then caught himself. A slow grin formed. “Naw, that’s not going to work. You need to talk to the sheriff. Or better yet, maybe you ought to hold on until you can visit your dear mother-in-law in jail. Seems to me she knows a hell of a lot more about what’s going down than anyone else, even if she’s not talking