Borrowing Trouble (15 page)

Nate held up his hand. “I'm good. We've got a big dinner tonight.”

“Where you going?” Brady asked.

“We're taking my mom to Reno for dinner. Lina is staying with the baby.” Nate put Lina in a headlock. Nate had always treated her like an uncle even though technically they were only related by marriage.

Griff could've offered to help her, but she might've gotten the wrong impression. Ah, who was he fooling? Since Lina had come back to town she hadn't seemed to care whether he was dead or alive. At least before, when she'd come home from school for long weekends or holidays, she looked for every excuse to run into him. Griffin wondered whether she had someone.

“You find a car yet?” he asked her.

“Not yet. I'll have more money after next weekend. I'm working for Brady at Jake and Cecilia's wedding.”

“I'm keeping my eye out for you.”

“Thanks. That thing you did to the battery has the Scout running much better now.”

He doubted that. The International Harvester was on its last legs. “Good. How's school?”

“It's great. I love my apartment and I love being able to spend long weekends home with my brothers, Emma, and Maddy.”

“What about me?” Nate said.

Lina smiled at Nate and rolled her eyes. “And Nate and Sam.”

“You sell any more places?” Nate asked Griff. “Not that Sam and I are desperate for neighbors.”

“Dana's gonna hold another open house in March. The market's looking better and she thinks spring will bring more buyers to the Sierra.”

Lina took her plate and cup to the sink and loaded them into the dishwasher. “I need to get out front.”

As she walked out, Sloane came in and did a double take at the crowd in the kitchen.

“Hey, Chief,” everyone said in unison.

She turned to Brady. “I didn't realize you were having a party.”

“My cinnamon-roll French toast is a party.”

“Here, Sloane, take Lina's seat. She went back to work,” Sam said.

Brady fixed her a plate and poured her a cup of coffee. “Any crime today?”

She deadpanned and in a Rhys-esque Texas drawl said, “All quiet on the Western front.”

Everyone laughed and Nate asked, “You find who those bones belong to yet?”

“Not yet, but I'm working on it. What did I miss?”

“Griff's real estate agent is holding a big open house at Sierra Heights in March,” Brady said. “The market's coming back.”

“I can't afford one,” Sloane said. “But I'll come to make the place look busy.”

Griffin chuckled. “We did that before. Had Harlee and Darla model some of the models. And boy, did we get action. This guy bought one.” He slapped Nate on the back. “Sam's dad bought the one Sam used to rent before she married Nate. Why don't you buy one, Brady?”

Brady held up his arms, palms out. “Too fancy for me. Not to mention that it would feel too much like roots.”

“You better not be planning to leave us,” Nate said. “I need you, man.”

“Not any time soon,” Brady replied.

The discussion came around to Jake and Cecilia's wedding. Griffin took his plate to the sink and like Lina had done, loaded it into the dishwasher.

“I've got a bike waiting for me,” he told the crowd. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“How's that going? . . . The custom motorcycle business, I mean,” Nate asked.

“Good. I've got a list of orders.”

“And the Gas and Go?” Nate was a consummate businessman who could talk for hours about profits and losses.

“The best thing I ever bought. Between selling gas, food, and sundries; the tow business and the smog checks, I'm more than flush.”

“What about the car wash?”

“It's a loss leader, but it works.”

“I thought it was pretty genius myself,” Nate said. “Especially in this drought, when people can't be running their hoses.”

“Exactly. I paid up the ass for the car wash, but it recycles every drop of water used. I'll see you guys around.”

On his way out he saw Lina sitting at the reception desk, thumbing through a textbook.

“Doing homework?”

“Just some background reading. You taking off?”

“I'm in no rush,” he said.

“Are you upset that you haven't sold more houses in Sierra Heights?”

“Nah. You and I both know that I don't need the money. But I'd like to be rid of the headache of keeping up the place.”

She nodded in understanding. “I'm sure it'll happen. It just takes time. Dana must be really good at her job for you to give her all those listings.”

“Yep, she's good.” He thought about telling her the truth about him and Dana, but what would be the point? Lina was clearly no longer interested in him and she was still too young.

“Are you both going to Jake and Cecilia's wedding?”

“I'm going alone,” he said.

“I just thought since it was Valentine's Day . . .”

“So you'll be working it, huh?”

“I need the money for a car. Brady does a lot of these and I'm hoping he'll add me to his regular team.”

“You used to like working at the inn.” He couldn't help himself from brushing a speck of lint off her sweater.

“I still do, but I'm trying to cobble together as many hours as possible without interfering with school.”

He'd give her part-time work at his motorcycle shop doing light bookkeeping or working at the convenience store at the Gas and Go, but it would be too much temptation. “I'll try to find a good car in your budget. In the meantime, don't rely too heavily on the Scout.”

“Maddy and my brother insist I drive one of their cars at night. I'll be okay until I get something. I better get back to work, though.”

It wasn't as if he was stopping her. The phone hadn't rung once. “Me too. See you around.”

Griffin walked outside to a dark sky and a cool rush of air. A quarter of the way to his Range Rover the clouds opened up on him. He ran the rest of the way in a downpour. There had been no forecast of rain this morning. In fact, it had been clear and sunny when he'd left his house. As far as winters went in the Sierra, this was one of the driest on record.

By the time he got to the Gas and Go, the showers had stopped and the sun came peeking out over the mountain range. Griff couldn't help but wonder if his sudden soaking was Mother Nature's way of giving him a sign. A sign to stop dicking around and go after what he wanted. He just had to figure out what that was.

S
loane got called out shortly after the squall. One dry winter and everyone forgets how to drive in the rain and snow. A Subaru Legacy crashed into a telephone pole off the highway, knocking out service to forty houses. At least there hadn't been any injuries, but there were wires all over the road and she needed to direct traffic until one of Griff 's tow trucks and a Sierra Power crew arrived.

Nice way to spend a Saturday. Jake had offered to go, but Sloane figured he had better things to do just a week before his wedding. When she got to the scene, Clay McCreedy had parked his pickup at the side of the road and was guiding motorists around the mess.

“Happened to be passing by,” he called to Sloane as she got out of her SUV.

“Glad you were.” Clay was sure capable. Word had it he used to be a naval fighter pilot. That's probably where he got the swagger. It looked good on him. “You mind doing that for five more minutes while I get a statement from the driver?”

“Whatever you need.” That's how it worked in this town. People pitched in. Sloane's dad said that's how it used to be in Chicago in the old days. Her brothers would laugh and say, “When was that, the Stone Age?”

Sloane talked to the driver, jotting down notes just in case she needed to make out a report. The Subaru looked pretty banged up. Griffin came with the tow truck and the driver said he would catch a ride back with him to town.

“Hey.” She waved up at Griff.

“Good thing I came in today,” he called out his window. “My weekend driver called in sick. I'll get the car out of here as fast as I can.”

“Thanks.”

Clay waved his cowboy hat in the air by way of a greeting to Griff and Griff tooted his horn.
Funny town
, Sloane thought as she walked over to Clay to relieve him.

“How's filling in for Rhys?” Clay asked.

“Good. But I'll be happy when he's back.”

“He's sure singing your praises,” Clay said. She suspected he was just being nice.

“Were you on your way to town?”

“Yep. I was headed to Owen's for a haircut. I stopped to make sure the guy was okay. He'd already called 9-1-1. I've been meaning to ask if there are any clues about that body my boy found?”

“I'm working on it. Hey, by any chance do you know if Justin is friendly with Rose Jones from school? She's a freshman.”

“Can't say that I do. Why?”

She sighed. “Rose is going through a tough time at school, and that day at the Meet Up it seemed like Justin had a lot of friends. I just thought it would be nice for a popular upperclassman to show her a little support.”

“Rose Jones?” When Sloane nodded, he said, “I'll pass the word on.”

“Thanks. She'll be back to school in a couple of weeks.” Sloane stopped southbound traffic so a few northbound cars could get around the power lines.

Clay raised his brows. “She okay?”

“It's a bully situation. But I think she'll be fine.”

“Not Justin?”

“No no. Mean girls.”

“I hear they can be brutal. I'll talk to him.”

“I'd appreciate it. And thanks for being a Good Sam.” She stopped cars coming both ways so that Clay could cross to his truck and get safely back on the road.

Not long after, Griffin left with the Subaru in tow and a couple of workers from the power company showed up and got the wires out of the road. Sloane's work here was done. Back in her SUV, she did a quick run up McCreedy Road, knowing that the chief lived up there somewhere. Clay too. From what she'd been told, the land, for as far as the eye could see, belonged to the McCreedy cattle ranch. Nice chunk of property. At the end of the road she saw a froufrou birdhouse mailbox engraved with the name Shepard.

“No way,” she said aloud. And Brady thought she was girlie.

She took the driveway up to a big white Victorian farmhouse that looked like a smaller version of the Lumber Baron. “Holy shit.”

An older lady, who Sloane assumed was Maddy's mom, came out onto the porch.

Sloane rolled down her window. “Hi. I was just on patrol and thought I'd cruise by and see how you were getting on.”

“We're doing fine.” Mrs. Breyer smiled. “Emma's taking her nap. Maddy and Rhys called a little while ago and are having a great time.”

“I'm glad. If you need anything, just call.”

Sloane turned around in the driveway and went back the way she came. Next, she tooled through Sierra Heights and found herself fantasizing what it would be like to live in one of the mini mansions. Despite all the bells and whistles, it sort of felt like a cozy place to live, nestled in the trees the way it was. A great environment to raise a family. Big community pool, tennis courts, rec room, golf course, the whole shebang.

She decided to head over to Rose's part of town. Skeeter's Camaro was parked on the street in front of the Jones's house. Sloane reminded herself to run him when she got back to the office, got out of her truck, and knocked on the door.

“What do you want?” Skeeter stood pressed to the screen, but didn't open it.

“Just checking on Rose.”

“She's with my mother.”

“Okay.” Sloane couldn't force her way into their house. “I'll see her on Monday then.” He slammed the door in her face before she could say more.

For the rest of the afternoon she patrolled neighborhoods and landed back at the station sometime around three to check messages. Connie stopped by a little later.

“Why aren't you enjoying your day off?” Sloane asked her.

“I wanted to make sure you weren't in over your head.”

“So far, so good. But I'll be happy when Rhys is back. I cruised by his house today while on patrol. Nice digs.”

“Clay McCreedy bought it and a bunch of land off the bank in a foreclosure sale, then sold the house and a couple of acres to Rhys. I heard Darla is moving in with Wyatt.”

“Really? They seem like a good couple. I have a hair appointment with her before the wedding.”

“She does good work.”

They both jerked their heads up when Wyatt came in the door.

“How 'bout that little rainstorm we got today?” he called to them.

“A guy hydroplaned on the wet road and slammed into a telephone poll,” Sloane said. Because around here that was big news.

“Whoa. You go out on that one?”

“Yep. Luckily, Clay McCreedy was driving by when it happened and directed traffic.”

“Was the driver hurt?”

“No, thank goodness. His car is trashed, though.”

“You got anything for me while I'm on rounds tonight?”

“Nope. Just the usual.”

“I've got a date with a blackjack table in Reno,” Connie said. “It looks like you've got everything handled without me.” She put her coat back on. “See you guys Monday.”

“I'm taking off pretty soon myself,” Sloane said, and turned to Wyatt. “Text or call if you need backup.”

“Will do. It's been nice having you as chief these last few days.” Wyatt booted up his computer and logged on.

Sloane left with a smile on her face. Parked in the chief's spot—one of the few perks of the job—she started to get in the driver's seat when something across the square caught her attention: a lanky man in camouflage who'd just come out of the sporting goods store. She couldn't make out his face, but his body type and something about the way he moved was distinctly familiar. With a bad feeling in her gut, she ditched her vehicle and went after him.

The man crossed the green in the direction of the Lumber Baron but at the last minute doubled back toward the barbershop. Sloane did the same. There were people out—a mother toting two kids and a family of five heading to the Bun Boy. Donna Thurston got into her car, and Mariah came out of the Ponderosa and dumped a carton of empty liquor bottles into the recycling bin. The mayor, Dink Caruthers, stopped to ask her when Rhys would be back, and by the time she got to the barbershop the mystery man was gone.

Darla had Harlee in her chair when Sloane walked in. “Did either of you see a tall man in camouflage come by here?” She'd like to know what model car he drove.

Both shook their heads. “You don't look so good. You're pale,” Darla said, and went into the back and brought Sloane a bottle of water. “You coming down with something?”

“No.”

“Who's the guy?” Harlee wanted to know.

Sloane wanted to downplay it. “From a distance he looked like an old friend. But what's the likelihood?”

“It's a small world,” Darla said. “You're still coming in this week for a trim, right?”

“Mm-hmm.” She sat on one of the plastic chairs near the window. If he'd ducked into one of the shops, she'd see him as he came out. “How dressed up are you guys getting for the wedding?”

“I'm wearing my bridesmaid dress from Harlee's wedding. It's more conservative than what I usually go in for, but Wyatt really likes it.”

Harlee, who was having her hair straightened, said, “I'm wearing a dress too, with a pair of stunning Badgley Mischka pumps I got for half price on my last trip to the Bay Area.”

“Isn't the wedding in a barn?” Sloane asked, keeping one eye on the window.

“Yeah. But it's a pretty fancy barn and it's not like we get a lot of opportunities to dress up around here,” Harlee said.

“It's a little tricky for me because I have to work a partial shift during the wedding.”

“I can give you the key to the barbershop so you can use the dressing room to get ready after your shift,” Darla said. “Wyatt said he'll just change in the police station in the locker room. But you'd probably be more comfortable in here.”

“Maybe.” Sloane was too distracted to think about it. “I actually feel a little queasy—probably something I ate. I'm gonna head home.”

“I could go over to the Ponderosa and get you some ginger ale.”

“I'll be fine,” Sloane said. “I'm working tomorrow. If you guys are around we should get a bite.”

“I'm in,” Darla said.

“As long as there are no big breaking stories, I'm in too. Just text us.”

Sloane programmed both their numbers into her phone while watching the square. No sign of him. On the drive home, she nearly convinced herself that she'd imagined him.

Brady came out onto the porch, took one look at her and said, “What's wrong?”

“I thought I saw Sweeney's partner, Roger Buck, here today.”

“Where?” Brady took the key from her hand and unlocked the door. “Let me go in first.”

Before she could argue that she was the sworn peace officer and the one with a gun, Brady went inside and searched her apartment.

“Nothing looks out of place. Take a look.” He nearly stepped on her, she was so close. “I told you to wait.”

She took a closer inspection. “It looks exactly the way I left it this morning.”

“Sit and tell me everything.” He patted the couch and sat next to her.

“Not a lot to tell. I got off duty, walked to my car, and saw a man coming out of the sporting goods store wearing fatigues. From a distance he looked like Roger, so I tried to move in closer. It was almost as if he knew I'd spotted him and he wanted to lead me on a chase. He walked to the Lumber Baron, then doubled back to the barbershop. I got waylaid by the mayor and lost him.”

“Did you go in the sporting goods store and ask about him?”

“No. I didn't want to sound crazy. There are dozens of guys walking around here in camouflage. Hunters, fishermen, archers, even birdwatchers.”

Brady got up, grabbed her landline, and dialed. “Lina, we have anyone by the name of Roger Buck staying with us?”

He held the phone to his ear with his shoulder and waited. “Thanks, Lina. Hey, while I've got you on the phone, what's Carl's number over at the sporting goods store?” He grabbed a pen off Sloane's hall tree and jotted the number down on the back of an envelope. “Thanks.”

He dialed again. “Hey, Carl, it's Brady. Did a guy in camo leave his credit card in there? His name is Roger Buck . . . said you were the last place he remembered using his card . . . No? Hmm. I'd appreciate it.” Brady muffled the phone with his hand and turned to Sloane. “He doesn't think so, but he's checking the cash register, and with his daughter, just to make sure.”

Brady paced while he waited. “Okay, Carl, thanks.” He hung up the phone and climbed over Sloane to reclaim his spot on the couch. “He says he doesn't have any credit card receipts for a Roger Buck, and according to his daughter, the only guy wearing camouflage today bought a pair of binoculars and paid in cash.”

“Wow,” Sloane said. “You might want to consider a career in law enforcement.”

“We still don't know any more than we did before.” Brady scrubbed his hand through his hair. “How sure are you this guy could be Roger?”

“Hard to say. At the time I saw him my heart started pounding and my fight-or-flight response kicked in, like I was certain. Now, I think I may have overreacted. Seriously, what are the chances he came all this way?”

“My feeling is your initial instinct is the one you go with. I'm not saying it was him. But we need to proceed as if it was.”

Sloane dropped her head onto her chest. “I just want peace from these people.”

“I know.” Brady massaged the back of her neck.

“That feels good. Don't stop.” Sloane moved her hair out of his way.