I don’t have any dessert to offer,” Tess said. “But if you’d like a cup of coffee...?”
He would have loved a cup of coffee. And maybe to see her smile a few more times. Which meant it was past time he left.
“Thank you, but I’d better be going.” He hesitated. “I shouldn’t have come at all. I won’t ask you to lie, but it would be better if nobody knows we’ve talked.”
“If you’re parked out in front...”
“I’m not.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you want to sneak out the back and hop over the fence?”
“I’d probably trample on whatever you have growing out there, tear my pants on the fence and discover your next-door-neighbor has a Doberman.”
Tess chuckled. “No Doberman, but the rest sounds possible.”
“Let me give you my phone number in case you run into trouble.”
She nodded and jotted it down. He hoped she’d put it in her phone. She would probably never need it, but...the stand they had taken was infuriating a dangerous man.
She walked him to the door. “I’m glad you were there,” he said. “With two of us speaking out, we may be able to force the department to hold Hayes accountable.”
She offered her hand. “If you hadn’t been there, I’d have lost all faith in the police. So thank you.”
They shook, her hand fine-boned and a little cool to the touch. He opened the front door to find that dusk would enable him to depart unseen. He’d pass through the circle of light from only one streetlamp. No sheriff’s department cruiser lurked. “I’ll hope to see you in court,” he said politely. And not until then.
She’d retreated as obviously as he had. Like his tone, her smile was courteous and no more. “Don’t forget Fabulous Interiors when you get to that stage on your house.”
“I won’t.” He took the porch steps two at a time and moved with long strides to the sidewalk and down the street. Behind him he heard the quiet sound of her door closing.
* * *
SUNDAY, TESS VISITED Lupe again, giving only a single, shuddering glance at the small house next door. That was enough to tell her nobody had cleaned up the blood that had dried on the step and the concrete walk. Had the police ever even put up that yellow crime scene tape? If so, it was gone. Probably the landlord would eventually slosh soapy water and wash Antonio’s lifeblood off into the unkempt lawn.
It bothered Tess to know that everything Antonio and his relatives owned had been left behind, too, to be thrown away or given to a thrift store. Unless neighbors knew where his uncle and cousins had gone and helped them reclaim their possessions. Tess rather hoped so. She was tempted to ask if Lupe knew, but didn’t want to put her on the spot.
Lupe and Rey wanted to know what the police had said and what they’d asked Tess. She was even more conscious of the tension from Rey. He wasn’t hostile, but his usual wariness around her had been better disguised by civility. Lupe kept stealing quick, nervous peeks at him.
Tess made her excuses and left sooner than she’d planned.
She felt both angry and disturbed all evening. Reading about tragedies like Antonio’s death was one thing, seeing it in too vivid color was another. And the police response was just as unnerving. Her simple faith in her friendly local cops had been shattered.
Except for Zach Carter, of course, who’d made it clear he’d be keeping his distance.
She was a little bit sorry about that. He was a sexy man who also had integrity and construction skills. It was hard not to wonder whether he might have been interested in her under other circumstances.
Well, chances were she wouldn’t see him again until they both appeared in court—if that happened.
* * *
MONDAY MORNING SHE had parked in her usual spot in the alley behind the store and rounded the Dumpster before seeing the piece of paper pinned to the plain back door of Fabulous Interiors. That was odd. A message from one of their installers?
Ten feet away, she froze, clenching the straps of her handbag in a white-knuckled grip. In livid red marker, someone had printed BACK OFF BITCH OR ELSE.
Deep breaths, she told herself. Sticks and stones. Really, as threats went, this was high-school caliber. Immature and not specific.
But when she blinked, she saw Andrew Hayes’s face, flushed with uncontrollable rage. His fists flew. Blood spattered. Antonio’s head snapped back and he fell.
Deputy Hayes might be immature, but he was big and muscular and violent. And she was a threat to him.
Oh, God. Oh, God.
Fear seized her until she shook, but a rising anger gradually enabled her to move again. What she should do was call 911, wait for a Clear Creek PD officer to arrive and then let him talk to Detective Delancy.
What she did was take the piece of paper between her thumb and forefinger and carefully peel it off the door along with the packing tape that had been used to hold it in place. She then returned to her car. The sheriff’s department wasn’t ten minutes away. Before she put the car in gear she called Greg, told him she would be about half an hour late and asked if he could open.
“I might be five minutes late, but no more,” he said. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, but I’ll tell you about it when I get there.”
She parked in a visitor spot in front of the sheriff’s department that, along with county offices like the assessor’s, was attached to the county courthouse. After carefully picking up the piece of paper with the same two fingers in the same place, she stalked inside.
Going straight to the counter, she glared at the officer behind it. “I want to see Detective Delancy. Now.”
He looked twitchy, so her glare must have been effective. “Uh... I don’t know if he’s in or free to speak with you right now, but I’ll find out. Your name?”
She told him.
“Thank you, ma’am. If he isn’t in yet, I’m sure another detective is—”
“I want him.” She must have looked as mad as she felt, because he hurriedly picked up his phone and held a low-voiced conversation coupled with darted glances at her and the piece of paper she was holding in front of her as if it was a soiled diaper.
“You can go on back,” he told her, indicating a door at the end of the counter.
Just as she reached it, she heard a lock disengage.
She wasn’t impressed by the detective bullpen, if that’s what this was, she thought as she stepped through the door.
There was something like ten desks, each with a computer. A bank of file cabinets suggested not all records were computerized. Besides Delancy, the only other two people present were a middle-aged man and a younger one half a head taller. Both turned to look at her
