What She Saw Page 5

  Turning on her heel, she walked to the car, leaving him sitting on the bench behind her. Something smelled fishy, and when things smelled fishy it was best to stay away.

  Chapter 3

  Buck watched Haley walk away, feeling something between frustration and genuine concern. He couldn’t blame her for her response. It did sound like something out of as movie, and something for which he was willing to bet life in this town hadn’t prepared her.

  On the other hand, his life experience had taught him to be suspicious by nature. If things didn’t fit, if things weren’t orderly, then something was going on. Sometimes it wasn’t a big deal. All too frequently it had been. And noticing those out-of-kilter things had often been his biggest guide to solving a crime.

  He’d come on this trip expecting to find out absolutely nothing at all. He’d figured it would be a while before he learned something about what was happening with those shipments, if he heard anything at all. Instead it had practically landed in his lap because of an observant waitress. Follow that with a dead driver who’d been seen doing something squirrelly with another truck, and his internal klaxon had become deafening.

  But how did he explain that to someone else? Especially someone like Haley, who had no idea that long-haul trucks shouldn’t be trading loads in a truck stop in Nowhere, Wyoming, or that a driver might be killed because of it. Who wouldn’t even begin to understand the dimensions of shipments disappearing and reappearing.

  It was an alien world to her.

  Then, of course, he must seem like the next best thing to a drifter to her. Rootless, wandering, a total unknown who had just approached her with the wildest story imaginable. She was just being smart, by her lights.

  Maybe she was right. Maybe nothing threatened her at all. Maybe he looked like a bigger threat than having half seen something through the window of the diner.

  He’d certainly come on pretty strong and from somewhere out in the stratosphere, given the world she knew.

  He sighed and rose, heading back to the motel. So, okay. He couldn’t ignore his instincts. He couldn’t be sure that Haley was at risk, but he couldn’t be sure that she wasn’t. That didn’t leave him any really good options, except to do his best to keep an eye on her from a distance without worrying her.

  In the meantime, he had to wait a few days before he went to the local cops to get the result of their accident investigation. He wanted autopsy results. He wanted toxicology results. Those took time.

  For now he just had to remain on alert for anything that seemed odd.

  Like a very expensive funeral, paid for by an anonymous donor, for a guy who’d been bragging that he was about to come into some money.

  As he was walking along quiet, darkening streets, he thought about that funeral. A large donation struck him as a bit obvious for someone who wanted a quiet operation.

  But maybe it had bought some silence. Maybe the Listons were up to their necks in this.

  If they were, he had to find out.

  He realized as he strode the quiet, tree-lined streets that he’d resumed more than the mantle of his old job; he’d resumed its habits. As if he’d never let go of them, his vigilance heightened, his eyes scouring every shadow and cranny, his ears listening for anything unusual.

  Tension ran along his nerve endings, more out of habit than real necessity at this point. No one other than his bosses had any idea why he was hanging out here, and to the casual observer it must appear he had his eye on Haley.

  Well, hell, he did. Not that that was going anywhere, but he was an ordinary man and like any other guy he couldn’t avoid being attracted to a woman like her. He’d seen enough other truckers noticing her in the same way.

  He wondered if he should have just kept his mouth shut, left Haley out of his suspicions, made himself a bit obnoxious by seeming to be interested in her without telling her why. It would have been an easy enough role to play.

  But he didn’t want to scare her by acting like a stalker, although maybe that’s what he had done anyway.

  Losing his touch, he thought. Or maybe it was one he’d never really had. Dealing with soldiers was a whole different ball game, requiring a very different approach. His touch with women hadn’t won him any high marks, either.

  As he neared the motel, though, he knew the game was about to change, for good or ill. There was a squad car parked near his unit, lights off, motor off, and occupied by a large deputy.

  He took care to make some noise, make his approach overt. He’d never taken kindly himself to someone coming upon him without warning.

  As he neared the car, the big deputy he’d seen the night before last climbed out. “Got a minute?” the big man asked as Buck neared.

  “Sure. Want to come inside or talk out here?”

  “Inside. A little privacy is a good thing.”

  “That seems to be a major concern around here.” Buck pulled out his key and threw the door open, flipping on the lights. He was careful to step inside, keeping his hands in the open, then stand away from any possible weapon and wait.

  The deputy looked around, taking in the duffel, the freshly made bed, the absence of any other personal belongings.

  Then he regarded Buck from head to foot, as if measuring him. Buck returned the look. Some things were second nature. The deputy might have a few pounds on him, and an inch or two in height, but at thirty-four he had at least a couple of decades on the deputy. He noted, though, that the man hadn’t felt the need to unsnap the holster on the nine-millimeter pistol hanging from his utility belt. For the moment, this was a friendly visit.

  The big man stuck out his head. “Micah Parish.”

  Buck shook it. “Buck Devlin.”

  “Mind if I sit?”

  “Help yourself.” Since there was only one chair, Parish took it and Buck settled on the edge of the bed.

  “We’re a friendly town, Mr. Devlin,” Parish said.

  “I get that feeling.”

  “Not many folks around. We kinda keep an eye on each other.”

  Buck figured he knew where this was leading, but he didn’t try to head it off. Let the man have his say.

  “Someone said you seemed to be having a bit of a disagreement with Haley Martin outside the funeral home.”

  “It probably looked that way.”

  Micah’s eyebrow lifted. “So what way was it?”

  “I was trying to explain something to her.”

  “Is that what she would tell me?”

  “I honestly don’t know what she would tell you at this point. I’m fairly certain she thinks I’m a nut or a liar right now.”

  One corner of Micah’s mouth hitched up, but it wasn’t with humor. “Would she be right?”

  “By her lights.”

  Micah’s mouth tightened into a straight line. “Quit fencing with me unless you want to be escorted out of town in the next hour.”

  Buck hesitated. It went against the grain to let anybody in on his investigations before he was ready, but he decided to let the cat out and see where it went.

  “Wallet,” he said, so Micah wouldn’t think he was reaching for a weapon, then dug into his pocket. He drew out both his IDs and turned them over.

  Micah scanned them. “So you’re a truck driver and disabled vet. Neither one is necessarily a recommendation.”

  “No. But maybe Army Third Military Police Group, Tenth Battalion will help.”

  Micah’s brow furrowed, his dark eyes searching Buck’s face. “Tenth Battalion. Criminal investigation division. I know what you guys do. The only question is what you’re doing here. This card says you’re medically retired.”

  “I am. My boss asked me to look into something for him. My misfortune to be the only former MP he has working for him.”

  Micah tapped the two laminated cards against his knee. “Mind if I keep these for a few hours? I want to run a background.”

  “Help yourself.”

  Micah slipped the IDs into his breast pocket. “
Tell me what you think is going on in my town and just how Haley fits in. That girl’s had enough trouble in her life. You bringing her more?”

  “Actually, I’m suffering from a white-knight complex. I’m hoping to keep her from getting into more trouble.”

  “That’s not helpful, Mr. Devlin. Is there some reason you don’t want to talk to me?”

  “How about that I don’t know who is involved?”

  Micah stiffened at that. “Maybe you should come to the office with me. I think our sheriff might want to talk to you, too.”

  Buck rose to his feet. “Let’s go. I’d like to meet your sheriff. Then maybe you two can tell me enough about yourselves that I know I can trust you.”

  Micah’s frown deepened. “You’ll ride in the cage,” he said flatly.

  “Fine by me. I’d rather look like a criminal than your cohort right now.”

  Micah wasn’t exactly gentle as he put Buck in the back of his vehicle. Which was fine by Buck.

  If anybody was paying attention, and they might be since his hanging out here was apparently suspicious enough to garner legal attention, they’d think he was in trouble.

  Right then, that’s just how he wanted it.

  * * *

  Miles away, in a living room that looked ancient in every way, Mr. and Mrs. Liston sat in their usual chairs, hands linked, still wearing their best clothes. Mrs. Liston was crying quietly, but her husband looked almost empty.

  Across from them sat their eldest son, Jim. He had arrived only a few hours ago from Los Angeles. Until just a few months ago, he’d pretty much disappeared from their lives, much as Ray had, and they couldn’t understand it. But at least he was coming home again. For the past half year or so they’d seen him every few weeks. In a way they were grateful to him, because he’d helped Ray find that trucking job.

  But now Ray was dead.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said yet again. He sat there looking fine in his expensive clothes, and the corners of his mouth drooped.

  “We’re all sorry, son,” Mrs. Liston finally said. “You know your brother was a good boy.”

  “I know. We kept in touch, obviously. But you say the cops are asking about drugs?”

  Both the elder Listons nodded.

  “It was just a terrible accident,” Jim said soothingly. “Ray hadn’t been driving that long. I’m sure that’s what they’ll find out.”

  Mr. Liston spoke. “He didn’t do no drugs. I know that much. And that Martin girl said the same thing.”

  “What Martin girl?”

  “Haley Martin. Works at the truck stop. She saw Ray just before...she said he was fine. Just fine. She don’t believe it was no drugs, either.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t,” Jim said firmly. “I’m positive. Ray wouldn’t do that.”

  “No,” Mr. Liston agreed. “No. Not my boy.”

  Mrs. Liston wiped away her tears. “I’m gonna go get in my nightclothes. Then I’ll make us all some Ovaltine.” It had always been her soothing solution to everything. No one disagreed with her. Her husband went with her to change clothes.

  Jim sat where he was, then as soon as he heard them reach their bedroom, he stepped outside and pulled out his cell phone. The signal was almost nonexistent, but he got through. The call was brief; he said very little.

  But he did mention Haley Martin.

  * * *

  The sheriff’s office was located in a storefront on a corner across the street from the courthouse square, a bit of eastern charm transplanted to the West. Inside, the dispatcher’s desk was surrounded by other desks apparently for use by deputies. Each desk boasted a relatively new computer, all of which looked out of place on desks that were at least thirty years old, maybe older. Wooden floors creaked with every step.

  A young deputy sat at the dispatcher’s desk, sipping coffee and looking bored behind a console that would have done a big-city operation proud.

  Micah pointed Buck to a chair next to one of the desks. “Wait there.” Then he crossed to the dispatcher.

  “Get Gage in here. I need him. Then run these IDs.” He pulled out Buck’s IDs and tossed them on the dispatcher’s desk. “I want everything you can find, and then you’re going to forget all of this unless I say otherwise.”

  Evidently, Buck thought with mild amusement, gossip could be a problem in this office, too.

  “Who made the coffee?” Micah asked.

  “I did,” answered the young deputy, whose name tag said he was Rankin. “It’s not lethal.”

  Micah glanced at Buck. “Coffee?”

  “Black, please.” Evidently they hadn’t gotten past being courteous, always a good sign.

  Micah brought two mugs over to the desk, handing one to Buck. “Getting decent coffee around here is a trial. Our day dispatcher, Velma, turns it into battery acid. Nobody has the heart to tell her to stop making it.”

  “I’m used to stuff you can stand a spoon in.”

  “Then you might like Velma’s brew.”

  Silence fell. A call had been put out, but then the radio grew quiet. The only sound was Rankin tapping busily away, looking into Buck’s background.

  “Do you really need a night shift around here?” Buck asked eventually. Not that he was opposed to silence, but a little friendly conversation seemed in order. He wanted these guys to cooperate, if possible, but at the very least not to get into his way. Unless they turned out to be part of the problem.

  “We have roadhouses,” Micah said, as if that explained it all. It probably did. “You must have broken up a few drunken brawls in your day.”

  “Plenty.”

  “Cowboys coming in off the range are pretty much like soldiers on a pass. These days, cowboys aren’t often on the range.”

  “Times are bad everywhere.”

  Micah nodded. “Not getting any better, either. Too many folks trying to drown their sorrows.”

  The sheriff arrived in about fifteen minutes. A man who appeared to be somewhere in his late fifties, with a burn-scarred face and visible limp, entered the office wearing a light jacket, jeans and his badge clipped to his belt.

  He paused, looked at Buck. “What’s up?”

  “Well, that’s what I’m trying to find out,” Micah said. “Got a complaint from someone that this guy seemed to be bothering Haley Martin. According to him he wasn’t bothering her.”

  “Have you talked to Haley?”

  “Not until I figure out what’s going on here. Rankin’s pulling his background right now.”

  “And you needed me for?”

  “Well, I thought you and me together in a quiet office might get a little further. I get the feeling there’s something we need to know.”

  There were a couple of ways to take that, but Buck decided to take it favorably until he had reason to think otherwise.

  That was when Rankin looked up. “Holy cow,” he said.

  “What?” the sheriff asked.

  “This guy’s for real. I mean, really real.”

  “Would you like to explain that?”

  “You want the list of medals or the job description?”

  The sheriff took a printout from Rankin and led the way to an office in the back. Buck followed with his coffee, waiting to see how this played out. Every muscle in his body was coiled and ready. He’d seen corruption in local law enforcement before, and trust wasn’t his strong suit.

  For now, though, everything seemed on the up-and-up. The sheriff’s office was small. The nameplate on his desk, identifying him as Gage Dalton, Sheriff, looked as if it had taken more than one tumble to the floor. A computer filled one corner of the desk and a stack of papers the other.

  Gage sat behind it, and Micah and Buck took up the two chairs facing it, while Gage scanned the printout. A moment later he handed Buck’s IDs back to him.

  “Okay,” he said. “You’re former CID. Plenty of commendations. Plenty of blanks, too.”

  Buck said nothing.

  “Being former DEA myself, I kn
ow about those blanks. They don’t worry me much. So maybe you’d like to explain to Micah and me why someone would think you’re harassing Haley Martin and what you’re doing hanging around in my town.”

  Buck hesitated a moment longer, glancing toward Micah.

  “SF,” Micah said, referring to Special Forces. “Retired.”

  “I wanted to scope things out a bit more before I came to you,” Buck said frankly. “I don’t know much about what’s going on right now, but something is, and I wanted to have some feel for who might be involved before I go shooting off my mouth.”

  “It looks like the time for that is past,” Gage said bluntly. “You’re the stranger here, and you just got some unwanted attention. We can make your life easy or hard. Your choice.”

  “I’m worried about Haley,” Buck said. “Among other things.”

  “Why would you be worrying about somebody you hardly know?”

  “Good question. I asked myself that same thing. It remains, I’m worried anyway. Old instincts die hard.”

  “So explain,” Gage said.

  Buck explained. He gave them his boss Bill’s name, he told them about the shipment problem, he pointed out that Haley had seen something unusual in the parking lot, that Ray shouldn’t be dead, and that he was seriously concerned that something was happening here that could endanger her if someone thought she knew too much.

  “You could have just told us to keep an eye on her,” Micah pointed out.

  “Sure. And then everyone would know the cops smelled something wrong and I might never find out what’s happening with those shipments.”

  “Are you sure you’re not just dragging her in deeper?”

  “Nobody knows I’m investigating except my bosses. Everyone would think I was just hanging around because of Haley. At least that was the plan. A lot of guys would hang around because of her.”

  “So she’s your cover.”

  “Yes. And I tried to reassure her about it, but that didn’t seem to work. Which I can understand. But I tried. I didn’t want her to think I was actually stalking her.”

  “Backfire,” Micah remarked.

  “Clearly,” Buck agreed.

  Gage drummed his fingers on the desktop. “Apart from this being totally unconventional, was your master plan to follow Haley around until you figure something out?”