“And what, exactly, was that?”
“You haven’t heard? She manufactured some testimony to discredit him, then took his job.”
“His sister told you that?”
“Everyone knows it,” she said.
“Everyone except Rosita Flores.”
She shaded her eyes against the glare of the sun and looked up at him. “Who?”
“The Mexican woman he threatened to hand over to the border patrol if she didn’t let him take advantage of her.”
Lindstrom frowned. “Have you ever met this woman?”
The question took him by surprise. “No.”
“I didn’t think so,” she said with a superior smile, and pressed the button that would unlock her car.
15
Her stepfather was still at the feed store, but so was one of his workers. It wasn’t Gus; it was Tony, a kid of nineteen.
Having changed into a white tank top and a pair of jeans now that her meeting with the FBI was over, Sophia sat at the back of the parking lot on her motorcycle, feeling the sun bake the skin on her bare arms. She was waiting for Tony to leave. She knew her stepfather always closed, since he didn’t trust anyone else to handle the day’s receipts.
He’d be by himself soon. But would she have the nerve to confront him? She preferred to forget what had happened, to sweep it into the dark corners of her mind, as she’d been doing for fourteen years.
But if he had a nude picture of her in his possession, she had to make sure it got destroyed.
Wally Deloit, the only customer left, judging by the lack of cars in the lot, spotted her as he came out the back of the store. “Hey, Chief,” he said with a wave. “What’s going on?”
“Not a lot, Wally. How are you?”
“Hot. I’m about ready to become one of them snow-birds who just live in Arizona for the winter.”
The screen on the door slammed shut. Tony had come out with hay hooks so he could load a bale of hay into the back of Wally’s pickup. He waved, too, but didn’t stop to talk. Gary wouldn’t let him socialize while he was on the clock. Despite her stepfather’s other weaknesses, he was good at business. He’d turned a feed store that was barely getting by into a solid success. The local paper had done a big write-up on him not long ago.
“You won’t like leaving for months at a time,” she told Wally. “This place is in your blood.”
“You’re probably right.” He pulled a handkerchief from one of his pockets and mopped the back of his neck. “Any news on those murders?”
“Not yet. But I’m working on it.”
“You seen all them news trucks around town? Leland Jennings and his mother over at the Mother Lode are loving it. The motel’s filled up. First time they’ve had the No-Vacancy sign on in ages. But I can’t say I like having to wait for a table at the café when I’ve never had to wait before.”
So far, Sophia had managed to duck the news crews. Several had stopped by the station. Joe Fitzer, the officer on duty until her shift started at eight, had called to alert her. But they hadn’t tracked her down yet. They were just figuring out the characters in this drama and, out of uniform, she hardly looked like the chief of police, especially when she was riding her Harley.
“I’m planning to solve it as quickly as possible so they can all go home,” she said as Tony finished loading the hay and went inside.
Wally grinned at her. “I believe you’ll do that, Chief. Yes, I do. You’ll show this town what you’re made of.”
She flashed him a smile of gratitude for his support as he got in his truck and left. Then she was alone near the row of tractors and backhoes her stepfather rented out in conjunction with his feed-store business.
Seeking relief from the heat, she climbed off her bike and went to stand beneath the overhang, where there was a strip of shade.
Fifteen minutes later, Tony came out with a spring in his step that signaled he was off work. Her bike was still in the lot, parked not far from his truck, but he didn’t seem to notice it or her. He was preoccupied with placing a call on his cell phone. She was preoccupied herself, too stressed to take on the burden of being polite, so she said nothing.
After he drove off, she fidgeted for another few minutes, trying to gather her nerve. Then she went into the store.
Her stepfather was busy counting out the till. He turned when he heard footsteps behind him and smiled, but wariness entered his eyes, and his posture revealed surprise. She never came by after hours. If she visited at all it was by order of her mother—to pick up some hay for Anne’s horse or drop off a sack lunch. Even those visits were rare.
“Afternoon.” His voice was casual but his smile seemed a little forced.
Stopping a few feet away, she jumped into her purpose in coming. “I have a question to ask you.”
He looked down at the money in his hands, then put it back in the till. Her tone indicated this would not be an easy question to answer; she could see him mentally preparing.
“No problem. I can take care of this later.” He closed the drawer. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’d like to see your wallet.”
He blinked. “My what?”
“Your wallet. Will you hand it over?”
“Is this a holdup?” he joked, but she didn’t crack a smile. The butterflies in her stomach made her feel nauseated. She was so afraid she’d see a picture of herself in his possession—a picture of her at sixteen or seventeen without any clothes—that she was having a difficult time keeping her voice from shaking. “I’m serious.”
His eyebrows came together. His reaction seemed genuine, but he was such a good liar. She couldn’t trust his protestations of innocence. He’d lied to her face before—told Anne he’d never been in her bedroom, let alone tried to touch her.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Yes. And I think you know what it is.”
He hesitated, obviously searching for answers he couldn’t find. Finally he shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Gus told Leonard you have a picture of me in your wallet.”
The confusion didn’t clear entirely, but he seemed somewhat relieved. “I do. It’s getting a bit tattered after so many years, but it’s of all three of us.” He pulled out his wallet and showed her. “It’s from Christmas that last year you were living at home, remember?”
Even though he was holding it out to her, she barely glanced at it. “That’s not the one I’m talking about.”