Scratchgravel Road (13 page)

Josie smiled. “This’ll take your mind off Teresa. I think I know where our dead man worked.” She was pleased at their startled expressions. “The old Feed Plant.”

“The dead guy was on the cleanup crew?” Otto asked.

“It’s a good possibility.” She watched Otto’s expression turn to dread.

“Is that where the sores came from? He was exposed to radiation? And we were exposed. You better call Cowan ASAP.”

She tilted her head and held a hand up. “Don’t panic yet. The old cobbler—Jeremiah Joplin? He worked there for years during full production. He said he never saw anyone with sores like what we saw. If anyone in the community had seen wounds like that they would have exposed it when the big cancer scare took place.”

Otto shook his head. “This is bad.”

“Sauly worked at the plant when they first started cleanup. He worked there for years,” Marta said. “I’m sure he’d talk to you.”

“I’ll go visit him tomorrow.” Sauly Magson was one of Josie’s favorite local characters. He was an old hippy who lived by his own set of standards and was one of the most content and happy people she had ever met.

“Have you talked with the manager at the Feed Plant yet?” Otto asked.

“No. Can you call and schedule an appointment for us to meet with him tomorrow? We could meet in the morning if you can work an earlier schedule.”

“Will do.”

Lou buzzed the intercom and her voice came through the speaker on Josie’s desk phone.

“Chief?”

“Yes.”

“National Weather Service announced a severe thunderstorm warning for West Texas. Stretches from El Paso down to Presidio. Six inches tonight. They expect the Rio to flood Presidio before dawn. They’ve started evacuations down by the river. They’re moving families out into a temporary shelter they set up at the elementary school in Presidio.”

“All right. Thanks, Lou.”

“Mayor wants everyone sandbagging tomorrow in shifts. I signed you and Otto up for a two-hour shift. Seven to nine in the morning.”

“Thanks, Lou,” Josie said.

They looked out of the large windows in back of the PD. Fast-moving gray clouds stretched as far as they could see in all directions.

“What an ugly sight,” Marta said.

Otto looked grim. “This is supposed to keep up for the next week.”

Josie looked at her watch. It was almost five o’clock. “Otto, can you call Cowan and fill him in?”

He nodded. “Will do.”

“Just have him call my cell if he has any questions,” she said. “Marta, we’ll call the county attorney when I get done at the Feed Plant in the morning. Find out where we stand.” She stood and grabbed her keys off the desk. “For now, let’s pay a quick visit to Mr. Wetzel. Rattle his cage a little.”

*   *   *

Josie left a phone message for the county attorney and then she and Marta made a dash out the front door to Josie’s car. Dripping wet and cursing the rain, they drove to Wee Wetzel’s bail bondsman’s shop, one of three ranch-style homes located directly across the street from the Arroyo County Jail. His
CERTIFIED BAIL BONDSMAN
sign hung from a chain off the TV antenna that climbed the front of his house.

“I asked Teresa how she knew about Wetzel and she said Enrico told her. He promised to pay her back after he got out and proved his innocence,” Marta said. She opened her door and spoke to Josie over the top of the car. “How could she fall for such trash?”

Josie thought about Javier, Marta’s ex-husband, an abusive alcoholic, but she said nothing.

They walked under umbrellas across the front yard, a twenty-foot-wide patch of sand, and Josie knocked on an aluminum screen door that hung crooked in its frame. The mesh screen had apparently been shredded by the dog that they could hear yipping and growling on the other side of the scarred wooden door.

A woman in a neon-colored velour track suit opened the door and stuck her head out. Her hair had been dyed a burnt orange and teased up around her head. Josie showed her badge and Marta stayed behind her.

“You here for Wee?” she called out, raising her voice just above the dog’s.

Josie nodded and the woman put a finger up and slammed the door. Several minutes later a man opened the door just a few inches. A red veined nose and thick fleshy lips appeared in the crack of the door.

“Yeah?”

“We need to have a talk,” Josie said.

“What do you want with me?”

“I’m here to ask you some questions. Mind if I come in a minute?”

Wetzel huffed and opened the door. He wore a pair of mechanic’s navy work pants and a V-neck T-shirt with yellow underarm stains. The small dog had stopped barking but growled and hunkered down in a corner as Josie entered with Marta following behind her.

A noisy window air conditioner recirculated lukewarm air that smelled of cigars into a small living room space that had been converted into an office. The space included a desk, filing cabinets, and piles of file folders, loose papers, and brimming ashtrays. A neat stack of
People
magazines lay on the floor and Josie figured the woman spent at least some time in the office. She wondered at the idea that Wee could have found a woman desperate enough to live with him.

Marta stood with her legs slightly apart and her arms crossed across her chest, her expression grim. “You make it a practice to allow kids to make bail for convicted felons?”

“I ain’t breaking any laws.” Wetzel sniffed deeply as if he might spit onto the floor.

“That’s not what I asked,” she said. “She’s sixteen years old. She’s using her babysitting money to bail out a meth user. A person with any conscience would at least have called the minor’s parent.”

He smiled widely. “I think you owe me an apology, Officer Cruz.” He turned and walked back to his desk. He dug around on his desk, muttering to himself. He finally held a paper up in triumph, his smile revealing teeth stained the same yellow as his underarms.

“Take a look at this. That wasn’t no kid that signed those papers. That was a twenty-one-year-old woman. I got a Xerox copy of her license to prove it.”

Marta took the paper from him and examined the photocopy. Josie looked over her shoulder. The license was a good forgery. It looked clean on the copy. Marta was quiet for a time, staring at the page, obviously not prepared for this new revelation.

“You knew that was my daughter. You can’t tell me you thought she was twenty-one years old. She’s a baby!”

Wee laughed a low and seedy chuckle. “That wasn’t no baby that came in here in that tight pair of jeans and skintight T-shirt.”

“You nasty son of a—”

Marta took a quick step across the room toward Wee. Josie had no doubt she aimed to punch, and no doubt about her ability to do damage, and in spite of a strong desire to watch it all unfold, she grabbed Marta by the arm and took the paper out of her hand.

“We’re not wasting any more time,” Josie said, and pulled Marta to the door.

“Give me that paper back! That’s my document! I don’t got another copy!”

“I’m seizing this as evidence,” Josie said.

They walked out the door and Josie folded the sheet and put it in her shirt pocket as they approached the car.

Marta turned to face Wee as she opened the passenger-side door of Josie’s jeep. “Listen to me closely, Wee. You are scum. And when scumbags start messing with kids I take a personal interest. And when it’s my own kid I get vicious. I’ll figure out a way to nail you for this. Next time I’ll have you in cuffs.”

“You and what army, sweetheart?” he yelled, and let the door bang shut.

*   *   *

Josie arrived home that evening and found Chester lying on the front porch, his head atop his crossed paws and long bloodhound ears splayed out on either side. He looked mopey.

“You’re as tired of this rain as I am, aren’t you?” Josie reached down and scratched the top of his head and behind his ears. Appearing thoroughly exhausted, he struggled one leg at a time to a standing position, but he still managed to push himself through the door first.

Josie hung her gun belt in the kitchen pantry and got Chester a snack before starting the shower. She turned the water on hot and laid her uniform on the bed so she could change over to a fresh one for the next day. She’d have to polish the brass and switch the badge, nameplate, and medals over before morning. She’d always thought undercover work would be preferable for the sole reason that she would not have to change a uniform over.

She laid a pair of khaki shorts and a lacy pink sleeveless blouse on her bed. After her shower she swiped concealer on to hide the dark circles under her eyes and then brushed her brown hair out and pulled it behind her head in a clip. She looked in the mirror and thought about Dillon’s pretty secretary, the classy Christina Handley, and dug through the vanity drawer to find mascara and lip gloss. She applied both and flashed a smile into the mirror, feeling a bit ridiculous, but satisfied with the final effect.

Josie was generally comfortable in her role as a thirty-something-year-old tomboy. But Christina caused Josie to picture herself as Dillon might, or even as a complete stranger might, and it made her uncomfortable. Christina accessorized. She wore heels and makeup and had her hair done in a salon, not the Quick Clips across the street from the courthouse that Josie frequented. It wasn’t that Josie couldn’t choose appealing clothes and shoes to match; she just didn’t want to. The process was tiresome and she preferred to spend her time doing other things. And until Dillon had hired Christina as his secretary, Josie hadn’t given her wardrobe a second thought.

As she walked into the kitchen, considering her need to go clothes shopping, she saw a sporty white BMW approach the house, with a long, sleek hood and short tail-end. Dillon was a car snob. For such a practical man, Josie thought his obsession with luxury cars was out of character. She wanted dependable and good gas mileage in a car; Dillon wanted style and panache.

He pulled in front of her house and unfolded his long, lanky body from the sports car and smiled wide when he saw her and Chester standing at the door waiting on him. He wore navy pants and a starched blue shirt with thin yellow stripes, and a yellow tie. He walked quickly toward the house, dodging the puddles. His dark hair was cut short, neck shaved, face sleek, teeth bright. Josie smiled and felt her stomach flip. He stepped inside the door and pulled her in to him. He had sad, downturned eyes that melted her heart. He kissed her lightly, then pulled back and looked at her carefully, smiling.

She smiled back at his expression. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He laughed and drew her in to his chest, squeezing her tightly. He pulled her back again and looked into her eyes. “Because I missed your quizzical looks.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re always trying to figure me out, and I have no secrets. There’s no mystery to me. You know exactly how I feel about you.”

Dillon leaned down and kissed her, a slow welcome-home kiss that made her body tingle and the world around her fade to black. His hands ran the length of her back and chills ran up her spine. She trailed a string of kisses down his neck and forgot all about dinner, until the dog broke the moment, nudging his nose between them.

Dillon followed Chester onto the back porch to watch him sniff around in the rain while Josie went into the kitchen to fix their dinner. She opened a can of fruit cocktail and split the contents into two bowls for their dessert. She poured water into the coffeepot to heat it up for brewing iced tea. Next, she opened two packages of Ramen and started water to boil for the soup. It was one of her favorite meals.

While standing at the stove she felt Dillon approach her from behind, felt his hands slip around her stomach and his body press into her back.

“I’m kind of busy,” she said, breaking up the noodles into the boiling water, and smiling at his touch.

“It’s the cooking.”

“What is it with you and cooking?”

“It makes me crazy,” he said.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree if you think I’m a Betty Crocker girl.”

“It’s not what you cook. It’s just seeing you there, standing over the stove, your hands occupied.” He kissed her neck. “I’m going to come up with a combination apron-negligee. We could sell it and make a million.”

Josie laughed. She turned the knob on the burner to zero and slipped around in his arms to face him. “Let’s save the cooking for later. I think I’d like to keep my hands occupied elsewhere.”

*   *   *

Cassidy Harper parked in her driveway, turned the engine off, and then gripped the steering wheel again. She looked at her cell phone lying on top of her purse. Her dad had left her several voice messages, practically begging her to call. If she called, she would be in tears in seconds, with the whole sordid story spewing out of her like a volcano erupting. She looked up at the living room window where a slit of light came through the closed curtains. It was 9:12
P.M.
and Leo was waiting for her, knowing to the minute how long it took her to drive home after her shift ended. He pulled back one of the drapes and stood staring out at her. The light from a table lamp illuminated his face and she watched his lips turn down into a frown.

She choked back a sob and picked up her phone and purse off the passenger seat. As she closed the car door, Leo walked out onto the front step, the screen door slamming behind him.

“You planning on coming inside tonight?” he asked.

“I’m coming.”

“What are you doing sitting in the car?”

She tried to judge his mood by his facial expression, but it was too dark outside. “I was just looking through my purse for something.” She looked at the ground, trying to dodge the pools of water covering the walkway up to the porch.

She walked by his body without touching him and went inside the house. He followed her into the kitchen where she laid her purse on the table and opened the refrigerator for a snack. She had absolutely no appetite but she needed to stall, to think of something to talk about.

“The cop stop by to see you today?” he asked.

Her heart pounded in her chest and she kept her head in the refrigerator to avoid looking at him. “Yeah. She just stopped by to make sure I was okay.”