He grinned in spite of himself. He was contrary enough to find that sarcasm of hers sort of charming. “Somethin’ like that.”
She shook her head, took another bite. “I’m not the type to be swayed by a few kisses and pizza, Stryker.”
“Swayed into what?”
“Into sleeping with you.”
He choked a bit on a bite of crust. The woman had a habit of blunt speaking that was rare in these parts. And there was no reason on earth he should find that so alluring.
“I don’t recall askin’.” He waited a beat before adding, “But now that you bring it up . . .”
Ramsey eyed him knowingly. “Your reputation precedes you. Every female between nine and ninety may have a soft spot for you around here, but I’m not looking for a romance. Frankly, I don’t need the distraction.”
She may not have been looking for romance, he reflected as he reached for another slice, but he’d never seen a woman more in need of it. He wondered if she’d ever allow him close enough to provide it. “Heard you went to see Doc Theisen today.”
Her pizza froze midway to her mouth.
Wondering at her response, he went on. “Ran into him at the Half Moon tonight. He was talkin’ big about stealin’ you away and runnin’ off to Borneo with you.”
Relaxing again, she continued eating. “He answered a few questions for me. He’s a nice man.”
“None better. Present company excepted.”
“Of course,” she said with mock politeness.
They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, during which time he wished he’d brought along something to drink. Now that he wasn’t standing outside in it, the rain seemed cozy, with drops tapping the window and the thunder still rumbling ominously overhead.
“So does this count as our dinner?”
He shook his head sorrowfully. “Mighta known you’d try to welsh out on our date.”
“I’m not welshing. I’m asking a question.”
“No, this doesn’t count as dinner. Obviously anythin’ eaten after nine o’clock at night is a snack. For dinner, we’re goin’ to have to eat before eight.”
“I stand corrected.”
“Actually, after our conversation the other night, you got me to wonderin’.” He picked up the damp envelope he’d carried in and handed it to her. “I stopped by the police station today and got a copy of the police report from the night my daddy was arrested.”
She looked at him then, her expression somber. He found himself distracted for a moment by the gold flecks in her eyes. They matched the streaks in her short brown hair, which he recalled her mentioning earlier hadn’t come from a salon. “Cost me two hours of waiting and ten dollars twenty-five cents for copies, under the Freedom of Information Act.” It had also earned him a few odd stares from the officers on duty, and from Zelda Pike, the office assistant who’d run the copies. He had no doubt that his request would be fodder for speculation at Zelda’s regular weekly coffee group come Saturday morning.
“Nothin’ in it jumped out at me, but after those questions you asked the other night . . . thought you might pick up on somethin’ I wouldn’t.” Her silence was starting to wear on him. He wished he knew her well enough to tell what she was thinking.
“I’ll take a look at it. I have to admit, it didn’t even occur to me that Buffalo Springs had a police department.”
“It’s small. There’s talk every year of dissolvin’ it as a way to save the town some money. With the sheriff’s office stationed here, it seems like a waste to some folks.” He welcomed the switch of topic. There had been something a bit voyeuristic in reading through those pages written in dry police-speak and knowing they were talking about his daddy. It had taken far more effort than he’d care to admit to shift part of himself away in order to reach some sort of objectivity.
“Spent the rest of the afternoon at the courthouse.”
“For . . .” she prompted him.
He was gentlemanly enough to leave the largest remaining piece for her, but he helped himself to two others that were relatively puny to make up for it. “Lora Kuemper wasn’t buried in the cemetery.” He took a large bite, caught the dangling cheese with his tongue. “Not all of the red mist victims were. Thought I’d see if I could figure where they lived. Get permission to do some readings on the properties.”
“What exactly would you be looking for?” she asked, real curiosity in her voice.
“Cold spots. Signs of radioactivity. Changes in the magnetic field.” He shrugged. “There are all sorts of indicators of paranormal activity.”
“And you’re keying in on the so-called red mist victims because one of them is most likely to be haunting Buffalo Springs after this latest murder?”
He didn’t mind the skepticism in her voice. Most of the people he knew were skeptical about things that couldn’t be explained scientifically. “If there is any paranormal activity connected to the red mist, I’d expect to get readin’s from one of the earlier victims. Since it all seemed to start with the Beans, and Lora Kuemper, they’d be the ones I’d focus on first.”
“So you struck out at the cemetery?”
He thought of Reverend Biggers then, and of his fury with Dev’s presence there. “You could say that.”
“Well, I can’t say I’m having any better luck than you are,” she said in disgust, wiping her fingers on a spare napkin. “Some of the people I talked to today made Donnelle look positively chatty by comparison.”
Intrigued, he looked at her. “Maybe I can help you in that area again.” His mouth kicked up at the narrowed look she sent him. “Came in handy the last time, you have to admit.”
“I doubt it,” she said shortly. “These were hill people.”
“Their names?”
She looked at him impatiently. “Cora Beth Truman.”
Her tone made the words sound like a dare. “Played summer ball with her youngest son.” He smiled at her expression. “Who else?”
“Nellie Rodemaker.”
He stretched his legs, his foot bumping hers in a friendly fashion. “I believe she’s by way of bein’ my mama’s great-aunt’s oldest daughter’s girl.” He waited for her to make the connection.
“Wouldn’t that make her your cousin?”
“Second cousin, twice removed, I think.”
“Why don’t you just say that?” she wondered irritably.
His stomach pleasantly full, he sent her a lazy smile. “I just did. Were there any others?”
“Raelynn Urdall.”
“Roomed next to her son my first year at the University of Tennessee.” He shook his head as the memory took him. “That boy could actually slam a beer while standin’ on his head.”
Ramsey looked unimpressed. “Why would anyone practice doing that?”
“Posterity. Are those all the names?”
“The only other one was Rose Thornton. It was just after dark when I reached her place. But she didn’t answer the door when I knocked. She may have been sleeping. I know she’s older. She probably goes to bed earlier than most people.”
“Either that or she was ignorin’ you.” But it would be odd for Rose to show such restraint. If she didn’t want to talk to Ramsey, she’d have faced her down with a loaded shotgun. Dev had no doubt he’d get the same treatment, regardless of the fact that they weren’t strangers. Rose had never been the welcoming sort.
“Maybe she wasn’t home.”
“She’s home. Nowhere else for her to be. Only comes to town every month or so for provisions. Doesn’t have any family to speak of. Some distant cousins someplace north, I think.”
Ramsey shook her head. “No, I mean maybe she was out in the woods beyond her house. I saw some lights in her yard, like someone was in the trees with a flashlight searching for something.”
The thought of ol’ Rose with a flashlight filled Dev with bemusement. He could still recall when the old cabin she lived in had been outfitted with plumbing and electricity back when he was a kid. Hers was an isolated property. It was flanked by a gravel road on the north, the cemetery on the west, and woods on the other two sides.
“I doubt it,” he said dubiously. “Haven’t seen her for ages, so don’t know how she’s gettin’ ’round these days. But she has to be goin’ on ninety. Can’t see her out messin’ in the woods at night, with or without a flashlight.”
“Well, someone was there.” Ramsey dropped her crust in the box and wiped her fingers with surprising daintiness. “Maybe it was that Ezra T. you told me about. He runs the woods, you said.”
“He’s as unlikely to have a flashlight as Rose . . .” Dev straightened in his chair as a thought struck him. “Exactly what did these lights look like?”
She looked at him with an expression of exaggerated patience on her face. “Like someone was at the edge of the woods, shining a light around.”
“You saw just one light? Or several?”
His question seemed to take her by surprise. “It could have been several, I guess,” she said slowly. “I thought it was one light flicking all over, but I suppose there could have been three or so. It seemed to move fairly rapidly around, so that’s why I figured maybe someone was looking for something.”
Dancing lights. That’s how Becky had described what she’d seen in the woods. Dev continued staring at her, his mind working. Her words made him think of orbs, a manifestation of paranormal energy. Exactly one of the things he’d been looking for in the cemetery. Like what he’d be watching for at the old Bean or Kuemper places he’d traced through courthouse records.
“Quit staring, Stryker. You’re creeping me out.”
His mouth kicked up absently, but his mind was still racing. “Before we go back to talk to those healers tomorrow—”
“I never agreed to have you accompany me.”
He ignored her interruption. “—I want to stop at the courthouse and trace the ownership on Rose’s place.”
Ramsey frowned. “What does that have to do with . . .” Comprehension obviously hitting her, she rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Stryker. I didn’t see a ghost bouncing around, I saw lights. Don’t go making this into something out of a Stephen King novel.”
“Hard to say what it might be,” he said mildly. He didn’t expect her to share his interest in the paranormal, but it was starting to sting a bit that she discounted his expertise in the area. “But it’s worth checkin’ out. I definitely want to go to Rose’s with you.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Think of it this way. I make a bigger target than you. If she starts sprayin’ us with buckshot, I promise to cover that very fine ass of yours.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll take care of my own ass, thanks.”
“I’d be willin’ to bet you’ve been doin’ so for a very long time.” He didn’t need her “damn straight” response to be certain he was right. There was a guard around Ramsey that would be difficult to penetrate. And he couldn’t help wondering what had caused it.
She rose and began to tidy up, and he was content to sit back and watch her, even as he realized it was a prelude to suggesting he take his leave. Funny how he was becoming able to read her. And a little alarming, too. He made a point to get along with most people. But he didn’t recall ever feeling this instant connection before.
A connection she’d deny if given the chance.
After folding the box in half and shoving it in the trash-can, she crossed to the table again and reached for the leftover napkins. Dev seized the opportunity to take her outstretched hand and gave her a tug, landing her, with some strategic maneuvering, in his lap.
And then he took a moment to enjoy the way those green gold eyes of her heated.
“Do I look like a lap sitter to you, Stryker?”
Honesty forced him to admit, “No, you purely don’t. But I’ve found it’s the absolute best position for a little wooin’.”
It was a pleasure to watch the expressions flit across her face before stunned surprise won out, settling there.
“Wooing?”
“Courtin’,” he elaborated, bringing the hand he still held up to his lips. Pressing a kiss to her palm, he closed her fingers over it, one by one. “It occurs to me that’s an area sorely missin’ in your experience. I’m lookin’ to fill the void.”
“You’re looking,” she said dangerously, “for a broken nose.”
“Too late. My stepdaddy took care of that when I was fourteen.” And had taught him a valuable lesson in the process. If you’re stepping into the ring with someone bigger, you better have some skills to make up for lack of size. He’d learned the skills, and they’d served him well enough over the years. But damned if he’d ever feel grateful to the man for that.
Ramsey stilled. “Your stepfather did that to you?”
He brought her hand to his lips, brushed a kiss to the soft skin beneath her wrist. He’d never noticed before how small-boned she was. Had been too busy looking at those long legs and fantasizing about the curves that just might lie beneath her jacket, if he ever could talk her out of it.
“Mm-hmm.” He could feel her pulse beneath his fingers, the beat a little too frantic to feign disinterest. Because it pleased him, he dipped his head to nuzzle her neck.