investigation? You and Heather Baker dated a few times, didn't you? What were you doing the night she was murdered?"
Cook's face went gauzy white before going bloodred. "Go fuck yourself, Austin." He slammed the door on his way out.
Clint hadn't planned to start with Marvin Cook. Hell, Clint hadn't even known he would run into Cook at his new job, but he'd certainly seized the opportunity fate had tossed his way. Too much of his life had been squandered already. He wasn't about to take for granted another minute, much less a day.
He walked to the door through which Cook had exited and watched beyond the grimy window as the pissed-off guy climbed into his truck. Within the hour word would get around that Clint Austin was asking questions. The natives would grow restless in a hurry, especially those who had something to hide.
Burning rubber, Cook spun out onto the street. Clint had to smile. It was about time someone else felt the pressure of the past. The entire investigation into Heather Baker's murder had centered around the idea that Emily Wallace was the intended victim. What if the killer had been after Heather instead? No one had even considered that scenario. Not once. It was past time someone did. And rattling Marvin Cook's cage was only the beginning.
When Clint would have turned back to the menial tasks Cook had dumped on him just because he could, his gaze snagged on another vehicle in the parking lot. Dark blue. Malibu.
Though he couldn't see the occupant, he knew it was her .
What do you know? She'd shown up after all. Emily Wallace had come to see him home. He hoped she was a fan of the waiting game.
This, he thought as he surveyed the shop that looked as if it hadn't been swept, much less mopped, in years, was going to take a while.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Den
7:59 p.m.
"It just ain't right."
Troy Baker reached for his beer. It was his sixth or seventh and he hadn't even been home for supper yet. His wife would just have to bear with him. He was in the middle of a major crisis here. He hooked his heels on the footrest of his bar stool and chugged the cold brew knowing it wouldn't cool the fire in his gut. Marvin had called him, all fired up about some stupid remark Austin had made; then the fat bastard had refused to meet Troy for a beer. Asshole. Marvin wanted to stay out of this, he'd claimed. What the hell was his problem? What kind of friend backed off like that?
Fucking coward.
"Damn straight it ain't right," Larry Medford agreed as he plopped his empty bottle on the bar. "Austin should have gotten the hint when we run his ass off the road." Larry leaned on the counter, rested his head in his hand, and looked Troy in the eye. "What you think it's gonna take to send him packing?"
Troy wagged his head in frustration. "I don't know, but whatever it is, I'm gonna make sure it gets done. God knows we can't count on the law to do this right."
The sound of pool balls breaking had Troy twisting around on his stool. "Perry, come over here, man."
Perry took his shot, sending a stripe into a corner pocket. He dropped two more before he knocked one spinning across the green only to fall short of its intended destination. He straightened away from the table and strode over to his pals, the cue stick in his hand. "You know I'm gonna have to drive you home, don't you, buddy?"
Troy didn't give a damn how he got home. He had bigger fish to fry right now. Austin was waltzing around town like he owned the place.
"We should burn Higgins out," Troy growled under his breath. "How the hell could he give that sonofabitch a job? His own daughter went to school with my sister!"
Perry shrugged. "Ray probably put the pressure on him." He gestured for his challenger not to wait before taking his turn. "You know how Ray can be. Higgins probably had a slew of parking tickets he hadn't paid." Perry slapped Troy on the back. "You're drunk, buddy; you're talking crazy."
Crazy. Yeah, right. Troy was making
Cook's face went gauzy white before going bloodred. "Go fuck yourself, Austin." He slammed the door on his way out.
Clint hadn't planned to start with Marvin Cook. Hell, Clint hadn't even known he would run into Cook at his new job, but he'd certainly seized the opportunity fate had tossed his way. Too much of his life had been squandered already. He wasn't about to take for granted another minute, much less a day.
He walked to the door through which Cook had exited and watched beyond the grimy window as the pissed-off guy climbed into his truck. Within the hour word would get around that Clint Austin was asking questions. The natives would grow restless in a hurry, especially those who had something to hide.
Burning rubber, Cook spun out onto the street. Clint had to smile. It was about time someone else felt the pressure of the past. The entire investigation into Heather Baker's murder had centered around the idea that Emily Wallace was the intended victim. What if the killer had been after Heather instead? No one had even considered that scenario. Not once. It was past time someone did. And rattling Marvin Cook's cage was only the beginning.
When Clint would have turned back to the menial tasks Cook had dumped on him just because he could, his gaze snagged on another vehicle in the parking lot. Dark blue. Malibu.
Though he couldn't see the occupant, he knew it was her .
What do you know? She'd shown up after all. Emily Wallace had come to see him home. He hoped she was a fan of the waiting game.
This, he thought as he surveyed the shop that looked as if it hadn't been swept, much less mopped, in years, was going to take a while.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Den
7:59 p.m.
"It just ain't right."
Troy Baker reached for his beer. It was his sixth or seventh and he hadn't even been home for supper yet. His wife would just have to bear with him. He was in the middle of a major crisis here. He hooked his heels on the footrest of his bar stool and chugged the cold brew knowing it wouldn't cool the fire in his gut. Marvin had called him, all fired up about some stupid remark Austin had made; then the fat bastard had refused to meet Troy for a beer. Asshole. Marvin wanted to stay out of this, he'd claimed. What the hell was his problem? What kind of friend backed off like that?
Fucking coward.
"Damn straight it ain't right," Larry Medford agreed as he plopped his empty bottle on the bar. "Austin should have gotten the hint when we run his ass off the road." Larry leaned on the counter, rested his head in his hand, and looked Troy in the eye. "What you think it's gonna take to send him packing?"
Troy wagged his head in frustration. "I don't know, but whatever it is, I'm gonna make sure it gets done. God knows we can't count on the law to do this right."
The sound of pool balls breaking had Troy twisting around on his stool. "Perry, come over here, man."
Perry took his shot, sending a stripe into a corner pocket. He dropped two more before he knocked one spinning across the green only to fall short of its intended destination. He straightened away from the table and strode over to his pals, the cue stick in his hand. "You know I'm gonna have to drive you home, don't you, buddy?"
Troy didn't give a damn how he got home. He had bigger fish to fry right now. Austin was waltzing around town like he owned the place.
"We should burn Higgins out," Troy growled under his breath. "How the hell could he give that sonofabitch a job? His own daughter went to school with my sister!"
Perry shrugged. "Ray probably put the pressure on him." He gestured for his challenger not to wait before taking his turn. "You know how Ray can be. Higgins probably had a slew of parking tickets he hadn't paid." Perry slapped Troy on the back. "You're drunk, buddy; you're talking crazy."
Crazy. Yeah, right. Troy was making
Similar Books
