Page 10

“I’m—”

A bloodcurdling scream filled the diner.

We all jumped and turned toward the noise.

Trisha was behind the counter, at the far end, near the coffee machines. One hand was over her mouth as she held her phone with the other, something I knew Virgie didn’t allow—no phones on shift! Trish looked up and around. Her eyes were bright, pooling with tears and fear.

“A body’s been found! No!” she squealed. Her eyes landed on mine—everyone in town thought of me as some sort of law enforcement officer. I wasn’t, not even close, but I hung out with that ilk more than most. Her mouth formed words though she didn’t say them aloud: “Is it Joey?”

I scooted off the stool and held back the shrug I felt in my shoulders.

Hell if I knew.

But I’d sure find out.

CHAPTER

4

I THANKED SONNY AGAIN and grabbed my hat from the counter. My phone was clean, but a part of me wondered if the blood that had covered it had been all mine. Was there a chance it could have been analyzed, and the man who’d attacked me potentially identified?

It was too late now.

I kept my old Jeep parked next to my property on a graveled plot of land that did the job well enough, but the only shelter came from a tall mesquite tree that dropped seed pods onto the exposed interior all year long.

Once I cleared away today’s gathering of pods, I hopped in and steered my way to the top of the S, where an old building housed the local police, next to a butcher shop that had been one of the first businesses in town and had garnered a reputation that brought in customers from all over the state. BV Butchery carried only “the finest” cuts of meat from the nearby working ranches. Today, a short line of four people snaked out from the front door, but I’d seen it go all the way around the building during sales.

Last I knew, Black Vulture’s force consisted of two part-time officers, Steve and Caleb, one of whom always carried a cell phone with him in case of emergencies. I didn’t think either of them had received much training, if any.

Black Vulture had seen its fair share of snake removals and petty theft, but there wasn’t enough crime to keep the local officers as busy as the county sheriff. I couldn’t imagine that we’d somehow acquired a real police chief, and I was hoping to get the details.

The main doors to the building were tucked under an old decorative stucco arch that had probably been put there for the sole purpose of adding some shade. In a half-moon arc, inside the dark lobby were four more glass doors. Three were dark—I didn’t think there had been any occupants inside those spots for years. The fourth one was bright with fluorescent light. “Black Vulture Police” had been painted on the glass.

I pulled on the door and made my way into the familiar space. Nothing much had changed since the last time I’d been there, but I didn’t see any people. With four desks, two of them messy with storage, and a break room in the back, the place was utilitarian and gray. Lots of gray. It always smelled like coffee.

“Hello?” I called.

After a beat or two, the distinct sound of a toilet flushing came from the back. When I heard a door open, I repeated, “Hello.”

“Oh, hello,” a man said as he looked up and noticed me. He was drying his hands on paper towel that he deposited in a gray garbage can as he made his way toward me. “Yes, can I help you?”

A little older than me I thought, his face held a scrutinous frown as he walked, but he was a pleasant-looking man. Just over six feet probably, he wore an official uniform and appeared to be in decent shape. His hair was short, and his brown eyes were bright and curious.

His hard gaze made me wonder if I’d respectfully taken off my hat. I had. I’d left it in the Jeep.

“My name is Hazel Dylan. I live—”

“Yeah. I know you, Hazel. Wilmot Dylan’s daughter?”

“Yes.” I watched him for some sort of clue. Was he about to rail against taxidermy or tell me my father had done great work? I got both. He did neither.

“I heard about you. Your dad.” He extended his hand. “I’m Knox Verro, the new police chief.”

“Nice to meet you.” We shook.

“How can I help you, Hazel?” The frown remained in place, but his eyes told me that he was listening. He put his hands on his hips.

“I … uh, was attacked up by the diner.”