Long Time Gone (10 page)

“Gentlemen,” she said, briskly, “I’ll be happy to make wine recommendations for you. That’s what I’m here for. But as I said, I can’t drink on the job. Now, what can I pour for you?”

The men glanced at each other, then one of them shrugged. “Some of the syrah. And don’t be stingy, baby.”

The others snickered. Erik resumed walking across the room, letting his boot heels strike the floor more noisily than usual. The leathers glanced at him without much interest.

“Afternoon, officer,” one of them drawled. “Checking IDs?”

Erik ignored him. “Everything okay here, Ms. Barrett?”

Morgan’s smile seemed frozen. “Great, Chief. We’re having a terrific afternoon.”

“Yeah, only Ms. Barrett here won’t even have a drink with us. What fun is that?” One of the leathers turned around, propping his arms against the bar and attempting a sneer. In Erik’s opinion, his Brando impersonation left a lot to be desired.

“Ms. Barrett is obeying the law when she refrains from drinking on the job. Perhaps you weren’t aware of it.” Erik rested his hand on the top of his baton. Not that he’d use it. Not that he wasn’t tempted.

One of the leathers snickered again. “Oh we know all about the law. Fact is, Officer, you’re talking to three members of the bar right here.”

“Right,” another leather chimed in. “Members of the bar at the bar, as it were.”

“Interesting.” Erik let his mouth edge into a half-smile. “That should save time if I have to lock you up. You can just call each other.”

One of the leathers cleared his throat. “No need for threats, Officer. We’re here to have a good time, spend a little money. No harm done.”

Erik raised his gaze to Morgan. “Ms. Barrett?”

Morgan’s smile looked pasted on. “No harm done, Chief. I believe the gentlemen were going to buy some syrah. I’ll call Ms. Maldonado to help.”

Erik watched her shoulders slump as the leathers moved to the other side of the room to give Kit their wine order. “I could have handled it,” she muttered.

“You did handle it.” He shrugged. “I just added a little firepower. Jerks like that sometimes need a little prodding.”

Morgan raised her gaze to his. Her eyes looked more like good bourbon than chocolate today. “Thank you anyway. They’d been sitting there for thirty minutes. I was about to call Esteban.”

There was a burst of laughter from the leathers. One of them shook Kit’s limp hand. She didn’t look any more impressed than Morgan.

The Brando impersonator walked back across the room while the other two headed out the door. He gave Morgan a somewhat oily grin. “So…Ms. Barrett, is it? Would you care to join me for dinner tonight?”

Morgan’s mouth stretched in something that looked more like a rictus than a smile. “No. Sorry. Other plans.”

“Oh, well.” Brando reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you ever need a good lawyer or a good time in Plano, look me up.” He gave her a smoldering gaze that probably wowed all the ladies at the Friday happy hour.

Erik watched him saunter toward the door to join his friends. “That man is possibly the biggest asshole in the state of Texas. Maybe I should do everyone a favor and shoot him now.”

Morgan chuckled, leaning forward on the bar. “Nobody in Konigsburg would convict you.” She cleared her throat. “What are you doing for dinner this evening?”

Erik shook his head. “I’m going to be on duty most of the night.”

“Which doesn’t mean you don’t get to eat, right?” She looked up at him from beneath luxuriant eyelashes.

“Yeah, I’ll probably grab something at the Dew Drop around seven, unless somebody else does something stupid I have to deal with.” He raised an eyebrow. “Want to join me?”

“I’ll give it my best, Chief. Try not to shoot any assholes between now and then, okay?”

Erik allowed himself a full-sized grin this time. “No promises, ma’am, no promises.”

Three hours later, he sat in the Dew Drop sipping what was probably the worst cup of coffee he’d ever tasted. And given his army experience, that was saying something. The Dew Drop’s food was only marginally better than its coffee since it was all microwaveable. He gazed at the limp slice of pizza in front of him and sighed.

He’d spent the rest of the afternoon making sure Hefner’s troops had gotten the message about the “behave yourself” policy. Most seemed to be fairly quiet, although a few had shown some
Wild Bunch
tendencies that he and Nando had managed to tamp down. Unfortunately, he discovered that the story about Hefner and Brody had gotten out somehow—he suspected that Linklatter had been listening at the door since neither Erik nor Nando had told anybody. Now he was having to answer questions he didn’t really want to deal with.

And Morgan hadn’t come to the Dew Drop with everybody else.

“You realize this means Brody was clearing somewhere between twenty and thirty thousand dollars per rally,” Docia said. “He had four rallies, so we’re talking about something in the neighborhood of a hundred thousand overall.” Even in the darkness of the Dew Drop, he could see outrage in those wide green eyes. He suspected that getting pissed was not good for somebody as pregnant as she was. Cal had his arm around her shoulders, looking a lot like a compassionate grizzly bear.

“He probably used the money to head for Brazil.” Erik made the mistake of sipping his coffee again, then tried not to grimace. “Or Bermuda. Wherever your better class of fugitive heads these days. I don’t know much more about it than you already know—we turned everything over to the Rangers who’ve got the file on Brody.”

“Damn. I was hoping for some juicy details I could pass on to Allie when she finishes selling bread to the bozos.” Wonder squinted at Erik’s plate. “You shouldn’t be eating Ingstrom’s food, Chief. He’s applied to have it added to the historic registry.”

Allie slid into the chair beside Wonder, leaning over to kiss his cheek. Wonder might have blushed, but it was too dark in the Dew Drop to tell. She glanced at Erik’s pizza. “You poor man. If I’d known you needed dinner, I’d have brought you some soup and a kolache.”

The thought that he might have had Allie’s soup rather than Ingstrom’s pizza was enough to kill what little of Erik’s appetite remained. He heard the door swing open and turned, hoping for Morgan. Instead, Nando walked in with a stunning brunette who looked vaguely familiar. Across from him, Allie’s expression soured.

“Is that Kit?” Docia frowned.

“That’s Kit.” Allie narrowed her eyes. “With Nando Avrogado. Another thing I didn’t know about until now.”

“Kit?” Erik recognized her now—the pourer from the tasting room at Cedar Creek.

“My niece.” Allie sighed. “This
in loco parentis
business sucks.”

“Allie, she’s twenty-one.” Docia grinned at her.

“Yeah. Tell that to my brother Tony. If he finds out she’d dating Nando Avrogado, he’ll have my head.”

Nando stopped beside Erik’s chair, nodding at the group. “Everything quiet?”

Erik shrugged. “So far. Any problems at Cedar Creek?”

Kit grimaced. “Obnoxious yuppies. And we ran out of sangiovese. Morgan and Ciro are slapping some labels on bottles tonight so we’ll have more to sell tomorrow.”

Which at least explained Morgan’s absence. Another reason to be pissed at the bikers—he wouldn’t even have the pleasure of seeing Bambi this evening. And he still had to check out the bars on Main, the campground and the city park. Erik took one last shuddering sip of coffee and pulled his hat from underneath his chair.

Time to go put the fear of Texas justice into some half-assed motorcycle clowns who’d had the temerity to ruin his weekend.

Chapter Nine

Morgan figured her Saturday would have to be better than her Friday night. She and Ciro had put foil tops and labels on fifty bottles of sangiovese, along with another fifty of syrah. At least she had a machine to help her instead of doing it by hand like her father had in the early years. Still, by the time they’d finished, she was well-nigh giddy with boredom.

Of course, as Carmen had helpfully pointed out, her father wouldn’t have waited until the night before the bottles were needed to finish the labeling. He would have checked the inventory and realized that more bottles should be on hand for a big weekend like the motorcycle rally.

Once again, Morgan wished Carmen would go back to torturing Nando and Esteban and leave her alone. It didn’t help that Carmen was absolutely right.

She’d missed the Dew Drop. And Erik. She hoped the freakin’ bikers would at least order a few more cases of wine to make it up to her.

Skeeter clicked happily around the tasting room, looking for any leftover tidbits of cracker and cheese he could gobble. Morgan shook her head. “You know it’s not good for you to eat people food. Go find some dog food.”

Skeeter gave her his most soulful starving-puppy look. “Forget it,” Morgan snapped. “I know you, remember? Go find Fred.”

Skeeter sniffed around the bar one more time, then trotted disconsolately toward the door as Kit walked in.

“Morning,” she yawned. “Got enough wine for the troops?”

“Let’s hope.” Morgan started to slide bottles into the bin under the counter. Behind her, Skeeter whimpered.

Morgan turned as Arthur pushed through the pet door and limped into the room. He gave Skeeter an ominous glare as he moved toward his food bowl, favoring his left front foot.

Morgan put the bottle she’d been holding back on the counter and approached him gingerly. At his best, Arthur wasn’t particularly sociable. When he was sick or hurt, he could be a real pain. “What have you done to yourself, cat?”

Arthur flicked an ear in her direction but kept limping to his usual spot beside the door.

“Rough night, huh?” Morgan knelt beside him and reached for his paw.

Arthur batted her hand away, showing the tips of his claws.

Morgan sighed. “Okay, okay. I won’t bother you now. But later today I’m going to have a look at that paw, cat.”

“Something’s wrong with his paw? What did he do?” Kit opened the office door and tossed her purse inside.

“Dunno. He was limping, but he won’t let me get close.” Morgan stood up, brushing off her hands. “I’ll check him again later when he’s had time for a nap and hasn’t been on his feet for a while. Maybe he’ll be in a better mood.”

“Poor kitty.” Kit started to lean down, then took a good look at Arthur’s glowing golden eyes and thought better of it.

Arthur gave them both a malevolent glare.

Morgan stroked him lightly along his spine, then rubbed her fingers. “You’ve got some gunk on your fur, cat. Been rolling in the muck, have we?”

Arthur stretched and collapsed into a loose ball, paws curled under. Morgan rubbed him behind his ears, and he rumbled.

“You’re kidding.” Kit raised an eyebrow. “He purrs?”

“Sure. Deep down he’s a sweetie.” Morgan stood up, squinting toward the parking lot. The rumbling wasn’t just coming from Arthur. From outside she could hear the sound of bikes bouncing up the drive. “Crap. They’re here ten minutes before opening time. Why do I have the feeling today is going to be a bitch?”

Kit grinned, giving Arthur’s head a cautious scratch. He opened one topaz eye but didn’t move. “Batten down the hatches, skipper, looks like we’re in for a bumpy ride.”

The bikers came in waves, Morgan discovered. Sort of like locusts.

They did buy a lot of stuff, she’d give them that—wine by the glass, by the bottle, by the case. They also ordered the pre-made cheese plates that were the only food Cedar Creek sold. By one o’clock, she’d had to send Esteban to Allie’s bakery to get more cheese and bread.

Being this busy was actually a great way to keep from thinking about Erik Toleffson. Not that it really worked, given that she seemed to be thinking about him even when she wasn’t. She hadn’t really needed him to protect her from the jerks in the tasting room yesterday—she’d been doing her job long enough to know how to protect herself, with Esteban’s help of course. But there had been something sort of…reassuring about his presence in the room. She liked knowing he was there, and knowing he was ready to do whatever needed to be done to keep her safe.

Not that she hadn’t been safe, surrounded by customers and winery workers. But still.

She had a feeling that interesting things could have happened between them last night if she’d only been able to make it to the Dew Drop. The stupid bikers had a
lot
to answer for.

She and Kit took turns running the tasting bar and serving cheese plates. One or two of the bikers complained because they didn’t sell any other food, but most of them were happy to sit on the patio and drink wine in the cool shade cast by the awning and the live oaks at the edge.

Esteban still sat at his corner table, looking massive and sleepy. He only had to get up once, when a couple of the bikers got into a loud argument over the relative merits of Napa versus Sonoma. One look at Esteban’s biceps and they’d subsided into grumbling.

Business finally began to slack off around four as the bikers headed back to town for a motorcycle show and dance in the city park. Kit and Morgan collected stray wineglasses and swept up crumbs and trash on the patio.

“How’d we do overall?” Kit tied up the trash bags and added them to the stack already waiting for garbage pickup on Monday.

“Good, I think. I haven’t added everything up yet.” Morgan wiped her arm across her forehead. “I know we sold a lot of cases. We’ll have to call FedEx on Monday to arrange for the shipping.”

Fred waddled past, glassy eyed. Morgan shook her head. “Damn it. Those dogs are going to be sick as…well…dogs. They did nothing but beg all afternoon.”

“Puppy eyes,” Kit mused. “Works every time. How’s Arthur?”

“Oh geez.” Morgan turned back toward the tasting room. “I got so busy I forgot to check on him.”

Arthur lay where they’d left him, curled in a listless heap near the doors. Morgan knelt beside him. “Hey, cat, how’s it going?” As she reached toward his paw, Arthur lifted his head.

His mouth was wet with foam. “Oh, Jesus, Arthur!” Morgan gasped.

Kit knelt beside her. “Looks like he threw up.”

Morgan’s shoulders tightened. “I’ve got to get him to town. I’ll take him to Cal Toleffson’s clinic. They’ve got an emergency service.”

“How exactly are you going to get him there? Has he ever ridden in a car before?”

Morgan’s brow furrowed. “I got him to Horace for his shots a couple of times, but he shredded the plastic crate. I’ve got the carrier I used when I brought Fred from Austin. Arthur might fit in that.”

Kit stood. “You’re going to put Simba here in a pet carrier? One that smells like a dog?”

Morgan stared up at her, trying to tamp down the panic. “I’ve got to try.”

“Right.” Kit sighed. “Just wait a minute until I find the iodine and bandages. Then we can have at it.”

After the five drunks Erik arrested on the first night, the bikers began to settle down. He had a feeling the first five were sort of test cases, to see if he’d really throw them in the clink.

He did. With relish.

Given that he might actually need Konigsburg’s cells later on for more prisoners, he’d transferred the drunks to the county lockup later in the evening and then let their assorted friends, relatives and legal representatives sort it out. One of the biker-lawyers—it turned out there were several—gave him a lengthy speech about writs of habeas corpus until Erik gave him his best I-eat-lawyers-for-lunch look and told him to take it up with the judge on Monday. The lawyer, who was half-pickled himself, wandered away grumbling.

After a while, Erik even began to get a kick out of the situation in a kind of sour way. Among other things, dealing with the bikers was a great test for Konigsburg’s cops.

Linklatter was pretty much a wash, of course. Erik sent him to direct traffic, which he hadn’t yet managed to screw up and which kept him out of everybody’s way.

Nando was as good as Erik had figured he’d be—calm, efficient and just menacing enough to keep the drunks in line. Peavey turned out to be a lot better than he’d expected—slow-moving but steady and incapable of panic. Those qualities might be the result of a complete lack of imagination and humor, but Erik would take what he could get.

And one glance from Helen seemed to sober up even the most thoroughly plastered biker. Since he didn’t have enough cops to run the station and patrol the streets, Erik put her in charge of the building while the rest of them drove around in the cruisers. Somehow just having Helen stroll by the cell doors made the five prisoners much more enthusiastic about moving to the county lockup.

Bert Rodriguez and another of Friesenhahn’s deputies showed up the first day and drove through periodically after that, checking out the campground and the more active bars, but they hadn’t been needed as much as Erik had feared they might be. Mel Hefner was apparently able to convince his troops to be on their best behavior.

For the Saturday afternoon parade down Main, Erik had Peavey and Linklatter close off the intersections and then sat back to watch the line of bikes move up the street. For once, the noise didn’t make him feel like punching somebody in the face.

The bike show that evening was relatively peaceful, along with the dance afterward. Linklatter and Peavey took care of the routine patrolling. Erik and Nando were stationed in highly visible positions at opposite sides of the park. Erik considered having Helen do a walk-through, but decided it would be overkill.

The band for the dance specialized in fifties rock, yet another nod to the biker mystique. It didn’t even annoy Erik too much anymore, although the whole Brando thing was getting fairly old at that point.

He leaned his butt against the side of his cruiser and listened to the band play “Rock Around the Clock”. The bikers were dancing on the cement square in front of the bandstand. Some of them had had enough sense to remove their leathers, but a lot of them were staying true to their personas until the bitter end. Erik wondered if he should have had an ambulance standing by for the inevitable cases of heat prostration.

A sheriff’s patrol car pulled in behind him and Bert Rodriguez stepped out. His khakis looked freshly starched, as opposed to Erik’s drooping gray cotton. Erik liked the county uniforms better than Konigsburg’s, but it wasn’t his top priority at the moment.

Bert had been one of the interim chiefs who’d filled in while the town figured out what to do after Olema had finally agreed to go. On the whole, he’d been a good substitute, although neither he nor Fred Olmstead, the other fill-in, had bothered to do much of the paperwork that had piled up in the chief’s absence. That was now Erik’s problem, which he’d have to deal with as soon as the bikers returned to their real lives.

Bert leaned his six-foot-two-inch hulk against the cruiser beside him. “Quiet night.”

Erik nodded. “Unless you count Sha Na Na over there.”

Bert grinned. “They’re not so bad. It could have been country, after all.”

“Not with this crowd.” One of the bikers flipped his partner over his shoulder, staggering only slightly. Erik wondered again about ordering that ambulance.

He stared up into the dark canopies of live oaks overhead. Some of the bikers were sitting at picnic tables, concealing their beer cans in koozies. Erik had decided to ignore them as long as they stayed at the tables. In the great scheme of things, violations of the city park regulations were minor.

“Nice town you’ve got here, Chief,” Bert murmured. “Not bad at all.”

“Yeah, it’s got its points.” Erik glanced back down Main, but no one seemed to be up to anything.

“Everything seems to be working out for you.”

“So far. ’Course if the mayor gets his way that won’t be how it ends up.” Erik peered across the park. Nando lounged against his cruiser. As soon as the dance was over, he and Peavey would do a final patrol of the streets, and Erik could head back home to sleep for several hours.

“The mayor’s an oily SOB, but from what I could tell he’s not the most popular guy in town.” Bert grinned. “This isn’t rocket science here, Toleffson. Anybody who worked Baghdad and Kuwait City should be able to handle it.”

“Baghdad and Kuwait City weren’t exactly ideal preparation for Konigsburg. The city fathers might get upset if I started patrolling with an M-16.” And the insurgents he’d run into in Baghdad had nothing on Pittman in terms of sneakiness. Erik squinted at the far side of the park. Was that actually Pittman talking to Hefner at the picnic table under a stand of pecans?

Bert shrugged. “Like I say, you seem to be handling it from what I hear. But you know, if you don’t stick around, I may think real hard about applying for this job myself.” Bert grinned again. “Somebody’s got to save the town from Linklatter.”

“I’ll keep you posted,” Erik growled.

The band swung into a middling version of “Not Fade Away”. “Ever hear Joe Ely do this?” Bert asked. “His version is great. This version sucks.”

Erik watched the dancers hopping around, feeling unreasonably annoyed. Why should it matter to him if Bert decided to apply for the chief’s job? If he didn’t hang on to it, he wouldn’t have any stake in whoever took over after he left.

Except that he’d begun to think of Konigsburg as his town, for better or worse. And Linklatter would definitely be worse.

The dance broke up around nine, a lot earlier than he’d anticipated. Some of the bikers clearly needed to go back to their lush accommodations and collapse, assuming they had someone to help them out of their leather pants.

He watched the bikes move out, their engines making considerably less noise than they had when the first ones had rolled down Main. The noise ordinance was now being enforced, maybe for the first time in recent memory. He told Nando to get a cup of coffee and then check the campground one more time since that was where the serious drinking was liable to go on. Not that most of the bikers looked in any shape to be drinking anything stronger than iced tea. Bert and the other sheriff’s deputy promised to make one more swing along the highway before heading back to their regular beat.