The Green-Eyed Doll (2 page)

“No need to wait. Her not showing up for work is enough reason to check it out. Tell Jake I’ll meet him at the florist shop. Run a background on her and start a file. If I’m not back before you leave, toss the info on my desk.”

“There’s no room on your desk.” Her surly tone held a hint of laughter.

“Oh. When you’ve finished with the Drummond woman, run this license num....” He stopped. Disgust filled his belly. Other than personal curiosity, he had no reason to use the system to check out the new woman in town.
Wouldn’t Dad have been proud?
That kind of unethical behavior was his trademark.

“You gonna give me a number?”

“No. Never mind.” Matt pulled onto the highway and headed toward the small town of Curry.

His mind drifted to the newcomer in town. Her driver’s license picture hadn’t done her justice. He would’ve used something more definitive than the word red to describe her hair. Shoulder length, her curly locks brought to mind a wildfire out of control. Bright green eyes had looked directly into his. Judging from the sparks shooting from her gaze, the lady had a temper to go with the hair. His cop’s instinct had perked up when she broke contact with his gaze.

Yep. A redheaded puzzle had arrived in his town. She piqued his curiosity. He kicked the cruiser up a notch and put the air conditioner on high, pushing the image of those bright green eyes from his mind.

Concentrate on the missing woman.

****

Friday, July 28th, noon

Catherine’s hands still shook from her visit with the sheriff when she parked in front of the Saddleback bar. She ran a brush through her hair, regrouped, and refocused. Any job had to be better than the funeral home.

The outside of the bar wasn’t much to look at—a huge, square, sheet metal building with few windows. Three pickups, all with oversized tires, and one car sat on a large gravel lot. A big neon saddle with a rider topped the sign out front advertising a weekly pool tournament and a band on the weekends. The absence of a help wanted sign worried her. Was this the right place?
Can’t hurt to ask.
Catherine got out, straightened her shoulders, and went inside. The odor of stale beer and cigarettes slammed into her senses. The door closed and plunged her into darkness.

“Welcome. Come on in here.” The raspy voice sounded like it might be female. “Walk straight ahead a few steps. Your eyes will adjust.”

Catherine made her way toward the voice, and her vision became acclimated within seconds. The place wasn’t as dark as her first impression. Along the back wall hung dozens of beer signs, illuminating a long, shiny, wooden bar lined with chrome stools. Tables and chairs were tucked around a small stage and a square dance floor barely left room for four pool tables. How difficult could working here be?

“What’ll you have?” The sandpaper voice belonged to the woman behind the bar.

“Coke, please.” Catherine sat on a barstool. “The sheriff said you need help. Who do I see about applying?”

“That would be me. Name’s Marty Carlton. I own the place.” She popped the top and then pushed the canned drink to Catherine. “So you met our hotter-n-hell new sheriff?”

“He’s new?” She wiped her sweaty palm on her pants and extended her hand.

Marty reached across the bar, her grip was strong and firm. Hard to guess age in the dim lights, but Catherine estimated Marty to be in her forties.

“New to us. Couldn’t be much more than a year.” Marty chuckled to herself. “He caused a mighty stir with the women when he first hit town.”

“I’m sure.” Catherine shifted the owner’s focus back to the question. “I’m Catherine McCoy. Do you need—” One of the men playing pool interrupted when he yelled out an order.

“Hang on a second,” Marty said, cutting Catherine off.

Marty pulled a couple of beers from the cooler and delivered them, taking a few minutes to chat. Her long, blonde ponytail tied with a pink ribbon swung from side to side, keeping time with the sway of her hips. Her skintight jeans and a two-sizes-too-small, pink tank top revealed way more cleavage than Catherine would be comfortable showing.

One of the customers followed Marty back to the counter.

“Be right back with you, Catherine. Gotta make change for the pool table.” Marty opened the register, put a bill in the tray, and counted out a handful of coins.

The man took his money, winked at Catherine, and sauntered away.

“I think he was flirting.”

“He’s a guy ain’t he?” Marty waved off Catherine’s question. “The tighter a waitress wears her jeans, the bigger her tips.”

Catherine understood the concept. “About the job?”

“You got experience working in a bar?”

“No. But I learn fast.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not local. Where are you from?”

“Born and raised in Oklahoma.” Chills skittered across Catherine’s skin. She’d perfected the art of measuring her words without appearing to be evasive. Prevented her from answering too many personal questions.

“Hmm.” Marty’s head moved back slightly. “What brought you to town?”

“I’m passing through and need to work a few months.”

Marty came around the bar and sat next to Catherine. Closer and in better light, Marty’s heavy makeup and long, false eyelashes didn’t hide the lines around her mouth and the crows feet at the corner of her eyes. Catherine’s estimate of Marty’s age rose to at least fifty. Her pale blue eyes told a story of their own. Underneath the paint and powder, she had an air of sadness about her.

“Honey.” Marty’s voice grew louder when the jukebox blared with an old Trace Atkins song. “If you’re running from something or somebody, here may not be a good place for you. I don’t need the trouble.”

“I’m not wanted if that’s what you mean. There’s no crazy husband or boyfriend stalking me.” She pushed bad memories away. “I’m a hard worker and need a job. Truthfully, I need the money.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever met a woman who’s ‘just’ passing through.” Marty pursed her lips and sucked air through the narrow space between her front teeth. “There’s more you ain’t telling.”

Piercing blue eyes made Catherine squirm. “Well, you’ve met one now. It’s the same sad story you’ve probably been told a million times.”

“Cheating husband?”

“Dead husband.” The shock on Marty’s face quickly morphed to pity, which was the last thing Catherine wanted.

She should’ve lied. Damn, she was sick of untruths.

“Well, I don’t rightly know what to say.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have blurted that out.”

“Couldn’t have been a happy marriage. I’ve been a bartender long enough to know sorrow when I see it. Or the absence of.”

The air in the room thinned. Panic tightened her chest. This job couldn’t get away from her. “Long story short, we fell in love in college. I dropped out and worked while he finished law school. A few years after he passed the bar and signed on at his family’s high-profile law firm, he decided I was beneath him. I didn’t measure up to his intellectual level and lifestyle.”

Marty sat quietly.

Catherine gripped the can, hoping Marty wouldn’t pry and ask how Catherine’s husband had died. The bar was her only hope. The Final Touch Funeral Home was out. She’d just now added working around dead people to her
Never
list.

“You own a pair of boots?”

“I sure do,” Catherine answered, flashing her best smile.

“Well, I’ll try and forget you’re not a Texan. Let’s give it a go.”

“Thank you.” The tight coil in her belly relaxed a smidge.

“Here’s the deal. I pay thirty dollars a shift. You keep your tips. I need you Friday and Saturday nights, Sunday afternoon. Start tonight if you want.”

Catherine’s heart sank. The place was empty, except for the three men gathered around the pool table. “That’s not much to live on.”

“That’s ’cause you’re here in the afternoon. The Saddleback sets on the edge of a dry county. Come the weekend around six, everybody gets thirsty. We pack ’em in. You can easy make a hundred bucks a night. Sometimes more. What you report to Uncle Sam, that’s your business.”

“Then I’d love to give it a try. I’ll check around for some part-time work during the week.”

“I’m gonna like you, Catherine McCoy. I can already tell.”

For the second time today, Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. “Now all I need is a place to stay.”

“Don’t look at me. My place is barely big enough for one. We’ve got a couple of motels that aren’t too expensive.” Marty drummed long pink fingernails on the bar. “The Williamsons’ little house is empty and about five miles south of town. It’s furnished, and you might be exactly what Emma needs. I can give her a call. Ask if she’s interested in renting.”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.” This day was getting better by the minute. “That’d be really nice of you.”

“Nice?” Marty looked both ways and then wagged her finger. “Don’t you dare start that rumor. You’ll see a different me when this joint gets busy and the guys get rowdy.” Marty stood. “Sit tight. I’ll call Emma.” She put her hand on Catherine’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “I’m being nice to you, because you’re running. Maybe you’ll figure out whether it’s away from something—or to something—while you’re in Butte Crest.”

****

Friday, July 28th, 4:00 p.m.

“Crap,” he yelped. Daydreaming had cost him a scrape on the chin. He wiped the blood off with a washrag and finished shaving. Keeping his mind off his new doll was as hard as his dick.

She’d been difficult at first, fought some when he’d made her strip. The doll didn’t like mama’s lipstick or makeup. After a few whacks across her bare ass with a wire hanger, she’d painted her lips without arguing. Then he’d tied a red ribbon around her neck into a bow.

Both Mama and the prison guards had used the punishment and reward system. It worked for him, too. When his doll hadn’t behaved, he’d whipped her good. What a powerful feeling. A rush of blood had flooded his cock with every down stroke.

For a man who didn’t put much stock in fate, he had to admit destiny had smiled on him. When he’d stopped by a florist to pick up some carnations for Mama, he’d found his doll. Her green eyes looked right into his, and her red lips smiled. Oh, yeah. He’d found a live doll to replace the one he’d lost. He’d gotten flustered, tongue-tied to the point he’d left without buying flowers.

He’d immediately decided not to sell Mama’s trailer. It was the perfect box for his new doll. He couldn’t have handpicked a better spot to keep her. Isolated, out in the country and sitting at the end of a long dirt driveway, nobody would hear a thing.

All the storeowners on the square parked in the back alley, leaving the prime parking for their customers. He’d waited until nearly six, drove around back of her flower shop and waited until she closed.

His heart had jumped clear up to the back of his throat when she came strolling out alone. With no one around, he’d grabbed her and forced her into his pickup. Amazing how exciting it had been to feel her struggle against him. Talk about a rush. Blood had raced straight to his cock. He’d wanted to rip her clothes off right there in the alley.

He’d hated to leave her tied up and alone, but they’d have lots of time together—just the two of them. She was all his and he’d play with her.

Mama had been right all along. He did want to fuck the doll.

Chapter Two

Saturday, July 29th, 6:20 p.m.

Matt hadn’t slept Friday night. He’d rest when he found Julia. Fatigue numbed his brain, but he pushed on. He entered his notes on Julia Kaye Drummond into the computer then reread every word. How the hell did a twenty-four-year-old woman close her florist shop and vanish? He’d located her car in the alley behind her building with her purse and cell in the front seat.

A thorough search of her place of business, her home, and the surrounding area had netted zero clues. Crest County was normally quiet and peaceful. Ms. Drummond’s disappearance ate at Matt’s gut. He rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes, pressing at a headache the likes of which he hadn’t had in over a year. Monday morning, Matt would pull a second deputy, Rey Santos, in to help. Between Matt, Jake, and Rey they’d break this case.

Sue leaned against the doorframe to Matt’s office. “I’m going home. It’s after five.”

“You were a big help today.” He pretended to straighten the files on his desk. If his hunch was right, another lengthy chat about his personal life was about to take place.

“No problem. You got plans for the rest of the weekend?”

“Sleep tonight.” He stifled a yawn. “Tomorrow, Jake and I are canvassing Julia Drummond’s neighborhood.”

“You’ve done that once. What do you expect to find?”

“Won’t know until we look.” He grinned at her...waiting...waiting.

Sue stepped inside his office. “This is a sparsely populated county with nothing but rattlesnakes, underbrush, and mesquite trees. Gonna be hard for you to find a missus.”

Matt leaned back in his chair. Marrying him off was one of Sue’s favorite subjects. “Still not looking. Keep feeding me apple pie and I might propose to you.”

“Thirty-four’s a mite young for me. Besides, I buried one husband. Don’t want to go through that again.” Her face sobered. “You have your messages, right?”

“Got ’em right here. See you Monday.” After his gentle hint of picking up a file and glancing at the front page, the tap-tap of her shoes faded, indicating she’d left his office.

Sue Conner was one of Matt’s favorite people. Prim and proper, he couldn’t remember her wearing anything other than dark-colored dresses to the office. Somewhere between sixty and seventy years old, her sea blue eyes could cut a man in half or freeze him in his tracks. Her knowledge of the county’s past and present business boggled the mind. She’d successfully guided three sheriffs before him through their terms and not by using kid gloves. She ran a good bluff, but didn’t fool Matt for a minute. A sweetheart lived under her crusty exterior.

He pulled the messages off the post. Three calls from Ash Hunter, Matt’s first partner when he’d made homicide detective. After his transfer to the narcotics task force, they’d remained good friends. When Matt had been shot, Ash parked his butt next to Matt’s bed and refused to budge. His friend pushed harder than the physical therapist during Matt’s recovery. Ash probably wanted to talk about subjects better left alone. Matt lived in the present. Didn’t need to relive the past. He lived. Elena died. End of story.