array of needs rather than constantly suing someone.
His clients trickled in sporadically and sometimes not at all. But that was all right with Neil. He didn’t want to be one of those harried men who died before they ever had a hand on a retirement check. Like his father had.
“Yeah, yeah. I need to be a nicer person. This afternoon when I call the woman back, I’ll try to be more sympathetic.” As he hurried to the door, he shot her a wicked grin. “And don’t look at me in that shameful way, honey. You know how I hate to disappoint you.”
Rolling her eyes, Connie motioned for him to leave and chuckling under his breath, Neil shut the door behind him and headed down the sidewalk toward the Wagon Wheel.
For early December, the day was mild. Most often, this time of year brought brutally cold weather to this northern corner of the state. It wasn’t unusual to see snow and even blizzard conditions, so the warmth of the weak, wintry sun shining down on his broad shoulders was an unexpected pleasure.
The Wagon Wheel Café was situated off Main Street and had been in existence for more years than Neil had been alive. It was far from the nicest eating place in Aztec. The vinyl booths were worn and the Formica bar running the length of the room had lost its red and white pattern from all the elbows and dishes sliding over it. But the down-home, friendly atmosphere and good food made up for any shortcomings. Once Thanksgiving had passed, the waitresses had cheered up the place by hanging Christmas bells and glittery tinsel from the ceiling. Poinsettias sat on every table and behind the bar a CD player constantly spun songs of the season.
During the weekdays, Neil always ate lunch here. But he didn’t often get to lunch with the busy county sheriff. And now that Quito and Clementine were married and trying to start a family, he saw his old friend even less.
When Neil entered the café, he immediately spotted Quito sitting in a booth situated by a plate-glass window overlooking the adjacent street. A stranger to Neil was standing at the edge of the table talking amiably to the sheriff, but as soon as he walked up to the booth, the other man politely excused himself.
“Sorry if I interrupted something,” Neil apologized to his friend as he slipped into the seat. “And before you start in—yes, I’m aware that I’m late, but it couldn’t be helped.”
Quito, who had a mixture of Navajo and Mexican blood, was a handsome man of rough features and a body built like a small bull. Neil had often wished he had just half of the sheriff’s charisma. It was no wonder that the man had easily held his office for the past fifteen years.
“I’m not griping,” Quito replied. “But I was beginning to wonder.”
“Have you ordered yet?” Neil asked.
“No. I waited for you.”
Before Neil could reply, a waitress appeared at the side of their table and the two men quickly ordered the blue plate special. Today it was pork roast with brown gravy, mashed potatoes, corn and cherry cobbler. Not a dieter’s dream, but Neil didn’t have to worry about any flab on his six-foot frame. At least, not yet. But he was thirty-nine years old. Who knew what middle-aged maladies might strike him next year?
“So were you flooded with clients this morning?” Quito asked once the waitress filled their coffee cups and left the table.
Neil laughed. “Not hardly. Other than me, I think Connie’s the only one who’s been in and out of the front door this morning.”
Amused by his friend’s response, Quito shook his head. “You don’t appear to be too worried about it.”
Neil reached for his coffee. “No need to worry. Worry can’t change anything. Besides, I never wanted to be rich.”
Which couldn’t be more true, Neil thought. He’d never been a man obsessed with acquiring a fortune. He lived modestly, on a place out of town, where the only neighbors he had were coyotes and sometimes bear. He’d purchased the land with money that his father had left him when he’d died of a sudden heart attack. James Rankin had only been forty-five years old at the time. His father’s premature death was an everyday reminder to Neil that money couldn’t buy happiness or immortality.
“Well, you’ll never be destitute,” Quito remarked fondly. “So if a client didn’t keep you at the office, what did?”
“Connie!”
“Your secretary? What’s the matter with her?”
“Nothing. She answered the phone,” Neil quipped.
Quito chuckled. “Isn’t that what you pay the woman to do?”
“I pay her to do what I tell her to do. And I told her not to answer the phone,” he said with a grimace. “On top of that, she made me talk to the caller.”
“What a hell of a thing for her to do,” Quito said with wry humor.
Seeing that his friend was practically laughing, Neil grinned. “Okay. Call me crazy, but I’ve had a hell of a week. I’m not a private investigator, Quito, but ever since I put that damn picture of Darla Carlton in the San Antonio Express, I’ve had to try to play Mike Hammer.”
Quito chuckled. “You’re showing your age with that reference. And that shouldn’t be so hard for you, Neil. You already have the playboy part down.”
“You’re as sharp as a tack today, old buddy,” Neil retorted, while thinking the sort of experience he’d had with women wasn’t likely to be helpful with Ms. Raine Crockett. She didn’t sound like the type who could be easily charmed by a man. “So why don’t you advise me as to how to deal with nut cases?”
Quito glanced at him. “Is that what this last caller was, too?”
Neil released a weary breath and started to answer, but the waitress appeared with their food. Neil waited until she’d served them and the two men had started to eat before he continued the conversation.
“Actually this one wasn’t a kook. In fact, she sounded pleasant enough, only a little strange. And two things she said did intrigue me.”
“The caller was a woman?”
Neil nodded as the conversation with Raine Crockett played over in his mind. He realized he was eager to talk with her again. And not just because she might accidentally be a lead to Darla Carlton. There had been something innocent and vulnerable in her voice. Her words had touched him in a way that had taken him by complete surprise; a fact that he wasn’t about to share with the sheriff. Quito would think he was crazy and Neil would probably have to agree with him.
“A very young woman,” Neil answered. “Her name is Raine Crockett.”
“And what was so intriguing about this Raine Crockett?” Quito asked, then added, “I might be able to help.”
“I’m probably going to need it,” Neil told him as he picked up his fork and shoveled it into the potatoes and gravy. “First of all, she said she was calling from a ranch north of Goliad, Texas. That’s not all that far from San Antonio.”
Quito nodded with deduction. “That’s where Linc’s stepfather was from.”
“Right,” Neil responded. “Now add that to the notion that this
