even a bob. New make-up, new eyeglasses, new clothes, and suddenly the girl from yesterday has a dramatically different appearance. So it didn’t surprise me that I couldn’t positively identify the Jetta driver on Pierce’s friends list. There were about four women she might have been, but I couldn’t say for sure. Or maybe none of them were her.
I was studying each profile closely, completely focused on what I was doing, when there was a loud rapping on my passenger-side window and I almost had a stroke.
A woman was standing beside the van. Maybe seventy years old. And she was scowling. I regained my composure long enough to use the button in the driver’s door to lower the power window on her side. I gave her a broad smile. She elected to continue scowling. Her short gray hair was covered by a visor to keep the late-afternoon sun out of her eyes. Her cheeks were rosy from the exertion of a brisk walk.
“Boy, you sure startled me,” I said.
“May I ask what you are doing here?”
I avoided the question. “Well, not much. Is there a problem?” Trying my best to sound friendly.
“I live right down the street. I drove by this morning and noticed you parked here. And now I see that you’re still here.”
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“Is your van broken down?”
She came across as a retired high school principal, or the stereotype of one, anyway. Stern. Had heard every excuse in the book. Won’t be fooled.
“No, ma’am, fortunately, it isn’t.”
“We had a break-in earlier this spring, you know. One of my neighbors. That’s why we’re all keeping our eyes peeled.”
“I understand, but I can assure you that — ”
“Anybody parked here all day like this is going to get noticed. You have business at the church?”
“No, ma’am.”
“You’re on church property, you know. I came very close to writing down your license plate number and calling the sheriff.”
“I don’t blame you at all. It’s wise of you to be cautious. Feel free to ask for Detective Ruelas. Tell him Roy Ballard says hello.”
Her attitude changed by precisely one nanometer. “What exactly are you doing here?”
I knew better than to lie to a sharp old woman like her. “I’m conducting an investigation.”
“You’re a police officer?”
“No, I’m working for an insurance company.”
Her nose wrinkled at those words. Insurance company. Now I noticed her eyes scanning over everything inside my van. Well, everything that was in plain sight. Some of my most valuable items were kept in a concealed compartment underneath the rear passenger bench. That includes a Glock nine-millimeter handgun, which I am not licensed to carry, because a guy with my criminal history can’t get a license.
“You normally conduct an investigation this way? Park in the same spot all day?”
This woman wasn’t bashful, I’ll give her that. Downright pushy, really. She turned and looked one way down the road, then the other, as if attempting to puzzle out who or what I was investigating. Her gaze came to rest on Pierce’s gate. Damn, she was good. Then again, my van was facing in that direction, and there was nothing else down that way that I would be watching. Process of elimination. Simple logic.
She pointed. “I know the young man who lives there. I knew his grandparents well.”
She was feeling me out. Wanting to see if her deduction was correct.
“Is that right?” I said. “You know, my own grandparents used to live along this road.”
She looked at me. “What were their names?”
“Jim and Beulah.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, you’re kidding me. Jim and Beulah Ballard. They had the rock house on the hill, way back near the conservancy.”
“That’s the one.”
“Lovely people. Salt of the earth.” Just that quickly, she was a different woman. Friendly. Not suspicious.
“Yes, they were.”
“Had dinner with them many times. What a smart, engaging couple.”
“Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit that
I was studying each profile closely, completely focused on what I was doing, when there was a loud rapping on my passenger-side window and I almost had a stroke.
A woman was standing beside the van. Maybe seventy years old. And she was scowling. I regained my composure long enough to use the button in the driver’s door to lower the power window on her side. I gave her a broad smile. She elected to continue scowling. Her short gray hair was covered by a visor to keep the late-afternoon sun out of her eyes. Her cheeks were rosy from the exertion of a brisk walk.
“Boy, you sure startled me,” I said.
“May I ask what you are doing here?”
I avoided the question. “Well, not much. Is there a problem?” Trying my best to sound friendly.
“I live right down the street. I drove by this morning and noticed you parked here. And now I see that you’re still here.”
“Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“Is your van broken down?”
She came across as a retired high school principal, or the stereotype of one, anyway. Stern. Had heard every excuse in the book. Won’t be fooled.
“No, ma’am, fortunately, it isn’t.”
“We had a break-in earlier this spring, you know. One of my neighbors. That’s why we’re all keeping our eyes peeled.”
“I understand, but I can assure you that — ”
“Anybody parked here all day like this is going to get noticed. You have business at the church?”
“No, ma’am.”
“You’re on church property, you know. I came very close to writing down your license plate number and calling the sheriff.”
“I don’t blame you at all. It’s wise of you to be cautious. Feel free to ask for Detective Ruelas. Tell him Roy Ballard says hello.”
Her attitude changed by precisely one nanometer. “What exactly are you doing here?”
I knew better than to lie to a sharp old woman like her. “I’m conducting an investigation.”
“You’re a police officer?”
“No, I’m working for an insurance company.”
Her nose wrinkled at those words. Insurance company. Now I noticed her eyes scanning over everything inside my van. Well, everything that was in plain sight. Some of my most valuable items were kept in a concealed compartment underneath the rear passenger bench. That includes a Glock nine-millimeter handgun, which I am not licensed to carry, because a guy with my criminal history can’t get a license.
“You normally conduct an investigation this way? Park in the same spot all day?”
This woman wasn’t bashful, I’ll give her that. Downright pushy, really. She turned and looked one way down the road, then the other, as if attempting to puzzle out who or what I was investigating. Her gaze came to rest on Pierce’s gate. Damn, she was good. Then again, my van was facing in that direction, and there was nothing else down that way that I would be watching. Process of elimination. Simple logic.
She pointed. “I know the young man who lives there. I knew his grandparents well.”
She was feeling me out. Wanting to see if her deduction was correct.
“Is that right?” I said. “You know, my own grandparents used to live along this road.”
She looked at me. “What were their names?”
“Jim and Beulah.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, you’re kidding me. Jim and Beulah Ballard. They had the rock house on the hill, way back near the conservancy.”
“That’s the one.”
“Lovely people. Salt of the earth.” Just that quickly, she was a different woman. Friendly. Not suspicious.
“Yes, they were.”
“Had dinner with them many times. What a smart, engaging couple.”
“Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit that
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