Seven Sisters - Earlene Fowler [108]
“You make those! They’re beautiful. I bought one for my gramma last year. She loves it.”
“Thanks. It keeps me off the street corners.”
Behind me I heard Detective Hudson impatiently clear his throat. Ignoring him, I said to her, “Being the mailman, I bet your husband knows everyone who lives out here.”
“Yeah, he does. Lived here his whole life. His family’s land goes back to one of the original Spanish land grants. We live out on the old place. Real log cabin. Takes us forty-five minutes just to get to the station here.”
“Guess you really like your privacy,” I said.
“After listening to those Wheatons yammer for six years, you betcha.” She stuck her hands deep into her pockets. “So, what are you two doing out here? Going to see the petroglyphs on Painted Rock? I think it may be closed right now. They’ve been having some trouble with vandalism.”
“No, actually we’re looking for someone.”
Her face instantly closed down. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, all we have is a post office box and we really need to talk to this person.” I smiled my friendliest, most disarming smile. “I promise, we’re not process servers.”
She gave a small smile. “Who’re you looking for?”
“Eva Knoll.”
Her face definitely took on a cool demeanor. “Why?”
“Just want to ask her some questions.”
She jerked her head over to the fire station, her friendliness gone. “Might be better if you talked to Lukie. She knows Eva best.”
“Lukie?”
“She’s the fire captain. Closest thing we have to the law out here. Talk to her.” A few feet away a faded green Chevy pickup pulled into the gravel parking lot. Five children under ten scrambled out of the bed and ran toward the small door marked LIBRARY. She waved at them. “My public beckons. Nice shooting the breeze with you. Tell Wade hey from Riccarla if you ever see him again.”
Behind me, Detective Hudson gave a mocking chuckle. “A half hour of playing ‘six degrees of separation’ and she tells you to talk to the fire captain. Very impressive interviewing. I was taking notes the whole time.”
I turned around and, without a word, punched him hard on the arm.
“Hey, hitting a cop is against the law,” he said, rubbing the spot.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let’s go see the fire captain.”
“Are you going to let me do the talking this time?”
“No, I still know these people better than you.”
“Fine, screw up our only chance to find this old woman.”
“I’m not going to screw it up.”
Inside the sparsely furnished fire station office, it took three minutes to get from the fire captain, a tanned, athletic-looking woman dressed in the neat, green uniform of the Forestry service, that yes, she did know Eva Knoll, and no, she wouldn’t tell us where she lived.
Behind me, Detective Hudson started to say something. I turned around and held up my hand for him to keep quiet. He glared at me. I glared back.
“Why not?” I asked her. “Like I said, we don’t want to hurt her or anything. We just want to ask her some questions. Riccarla can vouch for my identity and integrity.” I decided to pull out what I hoped was my ace in the hole. “I’m married to San Celina’s police chief.”
“You’re Gabe Ortiz’s wife? He’s a nice guy. Talked to him about old Chevys a while back at a Chamber of Commerce thing. He said he’s restoring his son’s Malibu. Sixty-five, I think it was.”
“Yeah, Gabe loves old cars. We have a restored 1950 Chevy pickup. Original interior. His dad bought it in Wichita, Kansas, the same year Gabe was born.”
“Cool,” she said, nodding appreciatively.
“About Eva Knoll . . .”
“I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”
“But, honestly, we won’t hurt her. We just want to ask her some questions.”
A deep crevice formed between the woman’s clear blue eyes. “I’m not questioning your identity or integrity and I’m sure you’re a very nice person, but things are different out here. Our motto is ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell.’ Folks move out here because they don’t want to be bothered by people, and we try to accommodate them. Sometimes it’s for illegal reasons. I’m not saying we don’t have our share of drug labs, but most times it’s just that