“His foreman. Santos Rodriguez, he runs things. But Santos isn’t—”
“No one ever thinks people they know are guilty.”
“I was going to say,” she straightened and her mouth tightened, “that he’s not the type to run a big con. I don’t think. He’s not—he’s just not a slippery person. Not like Derek.”
Damn. Rodriguez was his number one suspect. “So noted.”
“Hmm. What are you going to do to solve this?”
“I’m going to hang out and talk to people. Very low key.”
And possibly do a little snooping that you don’t know about. Whatever it takes.
“Remember, I’m not a detective. Or at least, I’m on vacation.”
“Hang out. And question people.”
“Nothing so confrontational. Just a bit of idle gossip here and there. If I had to question people, it would be a lot harder. So your help is essential.” He reached across the desk and put his hand over hers. “And much appreciated.”
“I guess I can handle that.” Her pulse fluttered under his thumb, and she snatched her hand back. “It’s not like you’ll be ordering me around.”
Heaven deliver him from amateurs. “Make no mistake, Allie,” he said, leveling a serious look at her. “I’m in charge of this investigation and I’m not putting you in danger. If I give an order, I expect you to follow it.”
She snapped a salute. “Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.”
“Don’t be a smart ass. Sometimes the bad guys play rough, and I don’t want you getting hurt.” Like he’d been. The recently-healed bullet wound in his leg throbbed at the memory.
“Right. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to do some work. Some things can’t be pretense.” She rose and stalked out of the room.
He gave her a few minutes to cool down before he followed. She stood in front of a medium-sized cage in one of the two rows that lined the last room at the back of the house, holding the door open while she peered inside.
“What—?” he began, and stepped back when he saw the limp pile of fur inside.
“Mrs. Bartelett’s cat. She’s due to wake up from surgery soon.” Allie closed the cage and busied herself running a mop over the floor.
He jumped aside to keep his shoes dry. “Tell me about Rodriguez.”
“I’m sure you know more about him than I do.”
“Possibly.” He crossed his arms.
“All right.” Her shoulders slumped and her voice dropped to an almost-whisper. “He’s running things at the company now. I guess he hasn’t changed things much. He sends money to his mother in Mexico. He goes to church. He doesn’t get into trouble. But I don’t really know him.”
“Too bad.”
“Come on. Let’s go up front so I can tidy the waiting room. We can talk about where you’re staying.” She rinsed the mop and strode down the hall.
Zeph followed, hope lightening his steps. He had a choice? Let’s see now. If he had a choice between staying at the shabby old Trail’s End Motel on Main Street or here at Allie’s, which would he pick? Yeah. Faster than light, his mind shot to an image of Allie in his bed…and superimposed on it a gun-toting, tobacco-chewing old rancher, intent on protecting his daughter. “Does your father own a shotgun?”
“What?” She stacked a bunch of scattered
Cat Fancy
,
Dog World
, and
Equus
magazines on an end table, and he shuddered at the tooth marks and chewed corners of the table. “Of course. Probably everyone in Stone’s Crossing does. Why? Are you worried?”
The front door opened, and a man strode in as though he owned the place. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice so full of assurance and command that Zeph straightened involuntarily.
Shit. Allie’s father, the retired judge. He’d hoped to put this confrontation off as long as possible. Allie’s father was no grizzled rancher, of course, but still one intimidating old dude, every gray-suited inch a commanding presence. If Zeph hadn’t studied preliminary reports, including photos, of the possible suspects in Stone’s Crossing, he wouldn’t have believed the man lived in this little back-country town. The understated stripe of the tie, the glossy shoes, the hundred-dollar haircut, all shouted “City.”
“Zeph Granger,” Zeph said, trying to sound as though he hadn’t been envisioning the most carnal images of this man’s daughter just a moment ago. “Just visiting. And you?”
“Lincoln Wentworth.”
Zeph stood a little straighter, bracing himself. No puffed up self-importance here. Wentworth was the real deal, a powerful, important man who expected some recognition. The file hadn’t covered what the man might be doing in his retirement. Running a building scam, perhaps? “Allie’s father? Glad to meet you, sir.”
Wentworth nodded. “Yes. Allison is my oldest.” He paused and looked Zeph up and down. Zeph resisted an urge to squirm. “Luke says good things about the way you helped him during his recent trouble. So you’re back. Is this a social call? I would have thought you’d be out at Luke and Hannah’s place.”
Shit. One more person who knew his profession. This job might be harder than he’d expected. And he didn’t like the suspicious glint in the man’s eye. Would Allie tell her father Zeph had come to Stone’s Crossing under false pretenses or would she cover for him? And would it be worse for the old goat to think Zeph had come on business or hounding after the guy’s baby girl? Double shit. “Actually I—”
“According to Betty, he’s here to court me,” Allie said from the doorway, shooting an evil look at Zeph.
He hoped Wentworth didn’t notice.
Apparently not, because Wentworth’s gimlet stare transported Zeph back to high school encounters with a date’s parents. He shook off the unfortunately unearned guilt and smiled. “That’s right. I’ve got a couple of weeks off and couldn’t think of a nicer place to spend them. Anyplace where Allie is has to be a good place.” He said it without even gagging over the implication that Stone’s Crossing might be a good place. And he’d meant the part about Allie. Seeing her again was actually better than he’d expected.
“Hmmm.” Wentworth’s stare didn’t soften. “Where are you staying? I hadn’t heard that anyone had checked into the Trail’s End.”
“Ah, well, no, sir. I stopped for lunch when I got to town and ran into Allie and Hannah at the café. So I haven’t—”
“Well, hmph. You’ll be more comfortable at my place. I’ll call Martha and tell her to expect you.”
Stay at Wentworth’s? The man had handed him a gold plated opportunity to investigate. But Allie’s father? Damn. There went any chance of being with Allie. The man would keep track of every when and where—
Focus, remember? He had to think like a detective, not like a—guy. The man might not be number one on the suspect list, but he’d certainly made the top ten. “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much. I accept.”
“At your house?” Allie said in a strangled voice.
“He’ll be more comfortable there than at the motel. Will you be home for dinner, Allie? It’s at six thirty, Granger. See you later.” Wentworth left, humming under his breath.
“You accepted his invitation?” Allie said, her voice high and disbelieving.
“Were you going to let me stay here?”
She nodded. “I thought for your cover—” She broke off at the expression on his face.
“Cover be damned. Of course I’d rather stay here.”
“So why did you accept his invitation?”
“Allie. One, he’s your father. I couldn’t stand here and tell him I planned to shack up with his innocent little girl.”
“Of course you could. Or I could have.”
“Getting me killed isn’t the kind of help I wanted.”
“He wouldn’t—well, maybe he would.” She shrugged. “That’s one. What’s two?”
“Staying with someone so well known… um…important…in town, that’ll be a help with my investigation.”
He’d have his tongue torn out before he told Allie that staying with her father also gave him the perfect chance to check the guy out.
****
Zeph gave a silent whistle when he stopped in front of Wentworth’s house. Big, very big. White, very freshly-painted white. And old enough to be a Gold Rush original. The circular driveway dwarfed the Carrera. Some kind of horse-drawn thing could have turned easily in the space.
He knew from the report on Wentworth that the reserved and pleasant woman who answered the door at Wentworth’s house was the housekeeper, Martha. “Mrs. Wentworth?” he asked.
“No, sir.” She paused, and he gave her high marks for not assuming he was the expected guest.
“I’m Zeph Granger. Mr. Wentworth told me to—”
“Yes, Mr. Granger. I’m Martha, the housekeeper. Please come in.” She tried to take his suitcase.
No way. Martha was at least his mother’s age and he’d been brought up right. Sweet little old ladies didn’t carry his luggage. “Not a chance, Martha,” he said, and followed her up the stairs to his room. Once she’d left, he stowed the locked briefcase inside the empty wheeled garment bag and locked that. Sharing a potential suspect’s lodging always carried the danger of discovery, but he’d be damned if he’d make it easy.
He shoved the bag into the closet and went downstairs to check out the house and see what he might accomplish. Martha fussed over him with coffee and cookies, then made his day by first telling him that Wentworth wouldn’t be home until five and then saying, “I’ll be leaving for the grocery store as soon as the bread comes out of the oven.”
“You actually make bread? I thought it came from the store.”
Martha snorted. “Pre-sliced sawdust, that’s what comes from the store.”
Pre-sliced sawdust, maybe, but damned convenient.
As soon as she turned the corner, he hotfooted upstairs to Wentworth’s bedroom for a quick but thorough search. Finally, he admitted defeat. Based on the contents of the room, Allie’s father hadn’t had a dishonest thought in this life. He was neat without being freakish about it, wore expensive but not extravagant clothing, and read a lot of biographies. Nothing incriminating there.
Zeph looked at his watch and eased out of the room. With luck, he’d have time to check out the office next to the dining room. He tucked the ring of lockpicks in his pocket and ran lightly down the back stairs to the kitchen to make sure Martha hadn’t returned. The coast stayed clear, so he hurried down the hall and paused at the office door, all senses alert and adrenaline singing in his blood.
The knob turned easily in his hand. That could be a good sign. Guilty people didn’t often leave doors unlocked, and much as he wanted to catch the guilty party, he really, really didn’t want it to be Allie’s dad. Bad idea. It meant he had to keep reminding himself to stay neutral.
He slipped inside the room and considered possible escape routes. Not good. No other doors, and the windows could be seen from the front porch. He’d have to go out the way he’d come in, and if anyone came in the front door, he’d be plainly visible. His blood pressure shot up a notch, and he settled into the zone, trying not to imagine what Allie would think about this.
The neatness of the room didn’t surprise him after what he’d seen upstairs. His response to the room did—everything about it fit some vision he’d never known he held in the back of his mind for a perfect place to work—big desk, the scent of leather from the walls of books and comfortable-looking chairs flanking the fireplace, the age-blackened wood of what he’d swear was a Jacobean library table. He could imagine sitting in this room, with a fire in the fireplace, taking time from the work in front of him to look out the window at those mountains. Yeah, right, Granger. Pretty enough, but it ain’t red-carpet Hollywood. He grimaced at the flight of fancy and got back to work.
The lack of a filing cabinet surprised him, too. Apparently Wentworth didn’t keep anything important at home. A quick inspection of the room didn’t reveal a hidden safe, though he remained convinced Wentworth would have one. Clever not to have it in the master bedroom or office.
Desk drawers held enough nothing to make the search a waste of time. Except the bottom right one wouldn’t open. When he bent to look at it, he saw a serious lock. Bingo.
Another glance at his watch showed him he’d better hurry. In the interest of caution, he stepped into the hall, closing the door behind him, while he made sure he still had the house to himself. If he’d had a lucky rabbit’s foot, he’d have kissed it when he looked out the window just in time to see Wentworth start up the front steps. Zeph opened the door.
“Granger.”
“Hello, Judge. Just checking to see if I needed a jacket to go out.”
“Late afternoon’s always brisk at this altitude. Going to go back to Allie’s?”
Zeph shook his head. “She said she’d be busy for a while. Thought I’d take in the town while I wait for her.”
“Good idea. Don’t imagine you’ll get lost. Remember, dinner’s at six thirty. Martha gets testy if people are late.”
“Can’t have that.” Zeph grabbed his jacket and left for a quick survey of the town and a chance to call Allie privately. She’d have to act a lot friendlier than when they’d parted if she didn’t want to blow his cover. Depending on a civilian—not the way he liked to work. But Allie...he’d take her any way he could get her. The thought made him smile as he strode down the tree-lined street.
Stone’s Crossing turned out to be bigger than he’d thought. Visiting with Luke and Hannah, he’d seen only the business strip and the rodeo grounds outside the town limits. Who would have expected the streets of old-fashioned houses surrounding the central, magazine-perfect square? Norman Rockwell country, for sure, with wide lawns and playing children. A shaggy brown dog cruised by, clearly on a mission, and a cat observed him from the top of a fence. Animals. He’d had enough animals for ten lifetimes since he’d met Allie.