Cold Wind - C. J. Box [46]
Dulcie Schalk sighed and rolled her eyes while Sissy scribbled.
Joe wondered what it would be like to have access to a million dollars within a single afternoon.
“Until Friday,” Tilden Mouton said, nodding at Schalk.
As Joe approached his pickup in the parking lot, he heard his name called out. He looked over his shoulder to see Marcus Hand walking toward him in big loping strides. Hand had a bemused look on his face. “That was interesting,” he said. “I wish for our case the Aldens had bought more feed and trinkets in town. But that’s water under the bridge at this point.” He looked at Joe.
“I know you’re an honorable fellow,” Hand said. “Even Missy says it.”
“Good of her,” Joe said.
“My understanding is you know Bud Longbrake quite well—is that right?”
“Yup.”
“I’m getting the impression our prosecutor doesn’t know where he is right now, unless she’s more fiendish than she appears and she’s got him hidden away somewhere.”
Joe shook his head. “She’s not like that. Dulcie is a straight shooter.”
“Look,” Hand said, “my team will be arriving soon from Jackson and I’ve got PIs on retainer who can tear this little town apart. But it will take a few days to get them settled in and up to speed. Those are days we can’t afford if we hope to get an immediate dismissal. If you can determine Bud’s location before that and I can get a chance to interview him, well . . .”
Joe acted as if he didn’t understand.
“We might be able to kill this thing before it starts,” Hand said.
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” Joe said.
Hand put a big paw on Joe’s shoulder and gazed at him with warmth and sincerity that gave Joe a chill up his spine. “Let’s just say if you can help us, it would mean a lot to everybody you know and love,” Hand said. “And it would be the right thing. From what Missy tells me, that’s important to you.”
Joe turned for his pickup, and Hand said, “Not to mention it would be worth a lot to the both of us. Missy and me.”
Joe climbed in, slid the window down, and said to Hand, “You almost had me until that last bit.”
“Oh, darn,” Hand said with a mischievous wink.
AUGUST 26
The wind’s in the east. . . . I am always conscious of an uncomfortable sensation now and then when the wind is blowing in the east.
—CHARLES DICKENS, Bleak House
15
Groggy from lack of sleep and thinking too hard, Joe drove through light rain and fog the eight miles into Saddlestring. The cool dark morning reflected his outlook, so he hoped the sun would break through. The arraignment of Missy was scheduled for 1:00 p.m. in the county building, and he’d agreed to pick up Marybeth at the library so they could attend together.
A major reason for his discomfort was his unease at being on the other side of the legal proceedings. Usually, he was out in the field or going to court to help put a bad guy away—not to try to figure out ways to circumvent law enforcement procedure or the county attorney’s charges. In his uniform shirt and state-owned pickup, he felt like a traitor. He didn’t like the feeling.
He’d known Bud Longbrake for years as a solid and influential county citizen and rancher first, father-in-law and employer second, and bitter and pathetic alcoholic most recently. The loss of his ranch had devastated Bud, and even more so the loss of Missy, whom he worshipped. Joe was always taken aback how Bud had revered Missy and was blind to her schemes and manipulations. Once, as they drove back to the ranch headquarters in the middle of a sudden blizzard, Bud had turned to Joe and said he was the happiest man alive. He cited his productive ranch and his beautiful new wife, and confessed that the only thing