Stand Down

Peter sure did a damn good job of blurring that line, she thought. “I want you to keep your eyes open in this relationship, okay?”

Connie shook her head. “Don’t worry, Mom. I know what I’m doing. Everado is like any other guy—more concerned with his macho reputation than anything else. But I know he really cares for me, and I care about him too.”

Oh, the certainty of the young, Casey mused, resisting shaking her head. The only thing to do now was to accept her daughter’s pronouncement as sincerely as she could. “Of course you do, honey. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I just want you to be careful in what you do with him. Can you promise me that?”

Connie looked at her mother like Casey had just sprouted another head. “You aren’t going to do a reprise of the ‘birds and bees’ speech, are you?”

Casey grinned. “No, once was enough. I trust that you’re smart to take the appropriate precautions. But you’re still in trouble for skipping school.”

“Aw, Mom…”

“No buts, young lady. I will not have you slinging hash here or working a checkout counter at the local dollar store because you didn’t finish high school. You are graduating, and you are getting out of here and going to college.”

Casey felt Connie’s stare on her. “And what if Everado said no?”

Casey inhaled, then lobbed the question back at her daughter. “What if he did?”

Her daughter shook her head, blond hair gleaming in the sun. “There isn’t a man alive who’s gonna tell me I’m not going to college.”

“That’s my girl—but you’re still grounded for two weeks.”

“What? Oh, come on, Mom—”

“One more word outta you and it’s a month.”

Connie opened her mouth, then realized silence was the better part of valor and closed it again.

“All right. Look, I gotta head back to the office and finish up the work that I was interrupted in the middle of by the call to get you. You get started on your homework, and we’ll grab a pizza on the way home.”

“Mmm. Mexican from Rollins’s, with extra sour cream?”

“Sure, dear.” Casey let out her breath, pleased to have navigated that conversational minefield with her daughter. They were just within sight of the newspaper building when Connie’s cell phone rang.

“Hello?…hey, Everado…I know, I know, don’t worry about it…we’ll talk later…really?” She cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. “He says Deputy Quintanar wants to talk to me about the Bittermans.”

A cold ball of ice coalesced in Casey’s stomach. “What about?”

“I don’t know—hold on.” She put the phone back to her ear. “Why?…Well, yeah, I knew her, but not well…she was kinda stuck up, if you know what I mean—all right, all right, if he’s there, I expect we’ll talk to him…okay…bye.” She flipped the two-year old clamshell phone closed. “The deputy thinks I might be able to reach Kelly on her cell if I call her.”

“I thought you told Everado that you didn’t know her that well.”

Connie shrugged. “We were on the forensics team together for a year, so she knows of me. I can get her number. Hey, maybe I could say that you want to talk to her, get her side of the story.”

A small ray of hope bloomed in Connie’s stomach next to the ice. As much as she didn’t want her daughter involved in the “investigation,” if the deputy was going to officially request Connie’s assistance, and Casey could gain something by it anyway, then there was no reason not to try and turn lemons into lemonade.

“We’ll see, dear. Let’s keep that idea between you and me for the time being.” Casey spotted Quintanar’s cruiser parked outside the Gazette building. “Let’s see exactly what the deputy wants, and we’ll go from there, okay?”

JACK BITTERMAN AWOKE to find himself duct-taped to a chair in an empty, rectangular, metal-walled room, still dressed in the light blue button-down shirt and black slacks he’d left the office in to go home and get his family the night before. His shoulder and arm throbbed unmercifully, and he glanced over to see a large, drying bloodstain running down his shirt. The lower legs of his pants were stiff and crusted, and as the memory of the past few hours crashed down upon him, he realized that his clothes were sticky with his dead wife’s blood.

He didn’t have time to reflect or grieve about it, however, because the large metal doors at the end of the room opened to reveal three men—two outfitted in security uniforms and carrying three tires, and the third one dressed in a charcoal-gray suit. The two men took up positions on either side of Jack and set down the tires. The suited man stepped forward into the light.