Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [54]
“Wish I was there, blondie.”
“Me, too. Have you been gone a week?”
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“Nope, not even a full day. I saw you this morning, remember? Been a week since we did more in bed than sleep.”
“Maybe that’s why we’ve been snarling at each other.”
“Gee? Ya think?”
“You mocking me, smart-ass?”
“Yep. Tell me what went on today. Everything.”
“How much time you got, bossman?”
“Much as you need. I’ll make time for you. Always.”
His sweetness was my undoing. I closed my eyes and let it pour out. Martinez was quiet after I finished the whole sordid mess I’d managed to get myself into again. “What?”
“And you’re surprised I sent my guys to check on you tonight? Goddammit, Julie, they should move in with you.”
“Not even funny.”
I heard another male voice in the background. Our time was up. Strange to think this was the longest phone conversation we’d ever had.
“Sorry. I’ve gotta go.” He mumbled something I didn’t understand and hung up.
One of these days I really had to learn Spanish. I could always utilize new curse words.
I set the security system and shut off the lights. I peeked out the front window. No sign of a night watchman.
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Instead of a warm body, the bottle of Don Julio accompanied me to bed. But it did the trick; it knocked me out cold and kept the nightmares away.
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Evidently my body needed time to heal. I stayed home from work the next day and managed an entire night of uninterrupted sleep.
Early in the morning the thermometer on my
porch read a chilly nine degrees. I scraped my windshield and drove to the office. Didn’t look like Kevin made it in yesterday either. I checked the messages, shuffled through the mail, doing all the boring shit office drones do.
I flipped on the computer and scanned the
headlines for the local online editions. Vernon Sloane’s tragic death headlined the Rapid City paper. The article didn’t shed new light on the situation. Didn’t list me by name as the person who’d discovered the body. Good. I’d had enough press in recent months. The article went on to say the matter remained 188
under investigation by the Rapid City Police Department. No family members could be reached for comment. The manager of Prairie Gardens also declined an interview for the story. Then it listed a link to Vernon Sloane’s obituary. I followed it. His funeral was tomorrow? Amery told us there weren’t other relatives, but two days from aboveground to belowground seemed pretty damn fast.
No mention in any of the papers about the body discovered in Bear Butte County. I surfed the Net, checking my usual sites because I don’t keep a computer at home. Most people found that odd and they’d bestow that pitying look upon me, as if I’m too proud to admit I’m computer illiterate. I’m not. I just don’t see the appeal of e-mail. Ditto for cyber friends. Real friends were hard enough to keep up with.
I smoked. Drank a pot of coffee. Balanced my checkbook. By 2:00 I’d decided to call it a day. My cell phone rang in the stairwell. Trish. I couldn’t stomach any more blubbering thanks for saving Brittney’s life. Ignore it.
She’d probably keep calling, so I reluctantly said,
“Hello?”
“Julie? Thank God I got a hold of you. Doug is at the sheriff ’s office. I-I don’t know what to do.”
“Slow down. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s happened. Why is he at the sheriff ’s office?”
Trish exhaled loudly. “Sheriff Richards called and asked Doug to come in for questioning about Melvin 189
Canter. And Doug just went! Is that even legal? Is he supposed to have a lawyer present? I don’t know how any of this works.”
I slumped against the cement wall. “Probably routine questioning. The dead guy did work for him and he was found on your land. Did they arrest him?”
“No!”
“Okay. Then he doesn’t need a lawyer”—yet—
“but he also does not have to answer all the questions the sheriff is gonna ask him.”
“So if he says something they don’t like, will they arrest him?