Waking the Dead (27 page)
When Zach shook his head at the offer, she cocked a brow. “Go ahead. I won’t tell the sheriff that the owner is running illegal gambling from his establishment. I’ll even bring you a beer.”
“No reason to tell her.” He continued to propel her through the crowded floor. “The guy offering me his chair is Gibbs, one of Andrews’s finest.”
Cait turned to look over her shoulder. Tony Gibbs was tall and lanky, with close-cropped dark hair, a predominant nose, and large ears. He was leaned forward over the table, talking quickly to the other men playing cards. With a flash of intuition, she knew that she was the topic of conversation.
Thoughtfully, she continued to wend her way through the tables, ever aware of Zach right behind her. If the waitress at JD’s could be believed, the deputy also had more to say about her and this case than was probably wise for someone in his position. She was more eager than ever to speak to the man, if only to see how well apprised he was about the details of the investigation. Stopping at an empty table, she looked at Sharper. “This one okay?”
“First the drinks.” His hand exerted light pressure at the base of her spine. She could feel the heat emanating from his flesh through the thin fabric of her top. “This place doesn’t run to wait staff. If we want something, we have to get it at the bar.”
“I don’t really need . . .”
He leaned closer, the low timbre of his voice rumbling in her ear. “You’re a stranger, and everyone in the place is wondering what the hell you’re doing here. A beer will help you fit in.”
Without argument, she continued moving forward and found a spot at the bar. He was right, of course. And she shouldn’t have needed the reminder. It suited her to blame her unusual lapse in judgment on the excitement of the day. That was more comfortable than to think that his words to her in the motel room had rattled her too much to think clearly.
“What’ll you have?” The bartender was the polar opposite of the man she’d encountered at JD’s last night. His gleaming bald head was the color of toffee, and when he ducked down to speak to her, she could see a large winged dragon tattooed on his dome. His arms were bare, save for full sleeves of tattoos twining up them. His hands were as scarred as the heavily pocked tables and bar top. She recognized the prison tats on his knuckles. Wondered how long it’d been since he’d gotten out.
“Coors Light.”
“Budweiser.” Zach’s voice sounded behind her.
There was a woman to Cait’s right, one of only three females in the place. She gave Cait a quick once-over before shifting her attention to Sharper. “Gonna introduce your new playmate, Zach?”
“I’m Cait.” She handed the huge bartender a ten and took the cups he set down in front of her, passing the beer back to Zach. Her attention returned to the woman next to her. “Do you live around here?”
The woman lifted a shoulder. “Depends on what you call living, I guess. Rent an acreage about a mile down the road.”
She was wearing what seemed to be a uniform of sorts among women Cait had seen in the area. A spandex top with spaghetti straps with a long velvet layered skirt. Soft flat-soled boots, laced up the front. The single brown braid hanging down her back was threaded with gray. She wore no discernible makeup.
“That qualifies.” Cait took a sip. “How long have you had the acreage?”
The woman twirled around on her barstool to face Cait. “That particular one? Couple years. I used to live over my shop in town, but my kids needed more room.”
“I walked down Main Street last night.” Cait studied the woman, wondering which of the stores had been hers. “Most of the stores weren’t open, though.”
The woman flicked a glance at Zach and gave a wry grin. “Something tells me you wouldn’t be in the market for what I sell anyway.”
Following her gaze to the man in back of her, Cait noted that Zach looked amused. “You never know,” she responded mildly. “Which shop was yours?”
“Al’s. You probably didn’t notice it.”
“The taxidermy shop.” She studied the woman with renewed interest. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have expected that one to be yours.”
“Kathy has been doing the bulk of the work there for what . . . six years?” Zach’s voice sounded behind her.
“More like ten. Al sort of lost interest long time ago. I was always around. I’d done his books and answered his phone seems like forever. Sort of moved into helping him with the work, and before I knew it, I was taking over for him when he retired.”
The bartender set a drink in front of the woman and cleared away her empty without any signal from her. And it didn’t escape Cait’s attention that in the act he managed to brush his hand against Kathy’s.
She smiled easily at the other woman. “You have a unique occupation. I saw the full skeleton in the window of . . . an otter?”
“I can’t take credit for that.” Kathy sipped at her mixed drink. “It was Al’s. I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea how to go about reassembling an animal’s skeleton. I do a few animal skulls for people, but I always boil them.” She wrinkled her nose. “Al used to use beetles to clean them, but that was way too gross for me. Those bugs gave me the creeps. He used to think it was hilarious to drop one in my hair.” She shuddered. “He could be a jerk sometimes. I made him get rid of them when he decided to retire. I’d much rather boil the skulls than deal with those damn bugs.”
“Do you know what he did with them?”
“Don’t know and don’t care. Gave them away, probably. Couldn’t take them to Arizona. That’s where he went, wasn’t it Zach?”
“Couldn’t say,” Zach responded laconically. “I wasn’t around at the time.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Kathy gave him a wink. “I’ve gotten so used to seeing your pretty face around here, I forget you were gone for a bit.”
“Twelve years.” His tone was bland. “I can see how that might have escaped your mind.” Their give and take had the easy banter of long acquaintances.
“Kathy, you need anything else?”
The woman looked at the bartender askance. “I just got a fresh one a couple minutes ago, Rick. Did you forget already?”
“We’re going to grab a table.” After making the pronouncement, Zach took Cait’s elbow in his hand and steered her to the table they’d passed earlier en route to the bar.
Once they’d sat down Cait said, “I came here because I want to speak to some locals.” And to hear what they had to say about this case.
“You’ll get your chance.” He lifted a hand to return a newcomer’s wave as the man made his way up toward the crowd at the bar. “Everyone here has seen you talking to Kathy, so they know you’re accessible. Within a half hour, they’ll start heading over here, one by one. At least the bravest among them.”
She raised her brows. “You think talking to me requires an act of bravery?”
“Woman who looks like you can be intimidating.” He managed to make the statement sound matter of fact. “But alcohol dulls common sense, so like I say, give ’em a half hour.”
Since it was difficult to tell whether she should be offended or not, Cait decided to change the topic. “They seem like an unlikely couple.”
Zach’s hand stopped in midmotion as he was bringing the cup to his mouth. “Who?”
She gave a slight nod in the direction of the bar. “Kathy and the bartender.”
His gaze followed hers. “Rick Moses. How’d you know they were together?”
“I’m a trained observer, Sharper.” Enjoying his surprise, she sat back and let her gaze wander around the area. Caught more than one set of eyes on her in the process. “And he was jealous that she was talking to you. That’s why he interrupted us there at the end. When’d he get out?”
He continued the act of bringing the cup to his lips. Took a drink and grimaced a little. “I hate draft beer,” he muttered, setting the cup back on the table. “Get out of where?”
“He’s been in prison. They aren’t married.” Kathy hadn’t been wearing a ring, and the furtive touching of hands seemed more like lovers. “I’d guess he’s been free for a couple years, at least.” There was a look convicts had fresh out of the system. Paranoia underlying a sort of jumpiness. The man had been out long enough to lose some of that edge, but not long enough for the prison tats to fade.
“Four years. Maybe five.”
“What was he in for?”
“I don’t know.” His nonchalance was deliberate. “Not my business.”
“And you’re all about minding your own business.” She saluted him with her cup and took a swallow. Then silently agreed with him about the taste.
“More people should feel the same.” He shifted in his chair and stretched his feet out, as if settling in. “Half the world’s problems would be solved if people just left each other the hell alone.”
“Ever thought about becoming a hermit?”
He gave a slow nod in mock seriousness. “I would. Haven’t figured out how to factor in sex on a regular basis, though.”
She laughed, amused. One thing that could be said about the man, he was genuine. No one would ever have a doubt where they stood with Zach Sharper. That trait of his made her wonder how he’d fared in boot camp with a drill sergeant shouting at the top of his lungs. Did becoming a soldier mean so much to him that he’d swallowed his innate sense of self-reliance for the chance to accomplish his dream?
“What else?”
His question jolted her attention back to their conversation. “What else, what?”
He jerked his head toward the people huddled around tables surrounding them. “Let’s hear some more of your observations. I’ll tell you how close you are.”
She let her gaze wander around the area for several minutes. “Guy over there to the right of Gibbs works on a farm. The blonde sitting in the corner, wearing the gray pullover? She’s an addict. Just starting to come down from something. The short guy on the far left of the bar is the likeliest one to start a fight. The one with the red bandana playing darts would be the last one standing if one did break out.”
“Present company excluded, of course.”
She inclined her head. “Of course.” It didn’t take any special observational powers to conclude that Zach Sharper was the most dangerous person in the place. Even with no prior acquaintance with the man, she would have figured that within a minute of entering the tavern. There was something about his still watchfulness that would mark him as such to anyone with a normal amount of caution. Something that warned this man would be good to have at your back in a fight.
And a risky one to cross.
“Not bad.” The expression of respect on his face would have been more satisfying if it weren’t accompanied by surprise. “Jodie Paulsen does chores for Tim Jenkins, who lives between here and Blue River. Beth Swenson’s drug of choice these days is meth. Tyler Babcock is more mouth than brains.” He turned his head slightly, considered the man at the dart-board. “I don’t know the other guy. Logger, probably. Not sure I agree on him.”
“Bet you twenty bucks he’s got a knife concealed in his boot.”
He took another quick look. “You’re on. How do you expect to find that out?”
With a smile of satisfaction she said, “Leave it to me. I’ve got a . . .” When her cell phone rang she dug in her purse, looked at the screen. Not her mother. It was ridiculous to feel this overwhelming sense of relief. But it wasn’t a number she recognized, either.
She rose as she answered it, striding toward the door. “Fleming.” The background noise in the place would make it impossible to hold a conversation inside.
“Caitlin Fleming?” The voice on the other end of the line was female. “This is Detective Cindy Purcell, Las Vegas PD. Got your message about my missing persons case in a pile of a hundred others when I got back on the job yesterday.”
“Thanks for the call back.” Shoving out of the door of the bar, she nearly ran into a couple on their way in. Neither gave her as much as a glance before brushing by her. “I’ve got seven sets of skeletal remains, and so far none of them are identified.”
“Well, I’d sure like to be able to close this case on Mark Chastens. Been missing for two years, and every lead I had fizzled.” There was a pause, as if Cait’s words had just sunk in. “You’ve only got skeletons?”
“That’s right.” Although she didn’t see anyone in the vicinity, she remained guarded in her responses.
“Chastens was in a bad car accident ten years prior to his death. Had screws and plates put in his right hip.” The detective’s voice was hopeful. “That match with any of the remains you’ve got up there?”
Faintly deflated, Cait said, “No.” She stared across the lot to where bugs were flying in crazed circles around a security light mounted on a pole and encased in wire. “That doesn’t match any of the victims.”
“Damn.” The word came out as a sigh. Then, “You’re sure? I mean maybe the screws came out or something.”
“I’d see evidence of their placement in the bone. I’ve got four sets of male remains. None of them sound like your guy. Sorry.” And she was. So far of the detectives who had returned her repeated calls, this made three of the missing persons who could be dismissed out of hand. Which had her even more excited about receiving the DNA profile on the elder Recinos. Their best chance of solving this case lay in their ability to identify the victims.
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