Hard Ride to Dry Gulch

“Since last night?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of development?”

“I’d rather not talk about it over the phone. Actually, I suppose I should call Mark Ethridge, but I’m not even sure he’s kept the investigation open, and you did offer to help.”

“Don’t worry about the chain of command. I’ll handle that. I was going to talk to Ethridge about the case, anyway. When do you want to get together?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Right now works for me. How about breakfast?”

“That would be great. I can meet you anywhere you say.”

“I’m almost finished up here, so how about I pick you up at your place?”

“What time?”

He reached for the form she’d filled out, and checked her home address. It was probably a twenty-minute drive in light Sunday-morning traffic. “Is a half hour from now too soon?”

“That would be perfect, but, Travis...” She paused again. Unsure of him or facing new fears? He couldn’t tell which.

“Go on,” he urged.

“Don’t mention to Joni or Leif that I called you.”

“Joni surely knows your son is missing.”

“Yes. They both do. Leif even offered to hire a private detective to help find him.”

“You turned him down?”

“I’d already hired one.”

That, Travis hadn’t known. “Your decision,” he said. “You don’t have to admit to anyone you called me, if that’s how you want it.”

“It’s just that I don’t want to spoil Joni and Leif’s honeymoon, and there’s nothing either of them can do. Besides, Joni has spent enough time holding my hand and crying with me over the last ten months.”

“Then this is our secret,” he said. “See you in half an hour. I’ll try to offer more than a hand or a shoulder to cry on—though I have both if they’re needed.”

“Just help me find Cornell and bring him home.”

Travis couldn’t promise to bring him home. Cornell would have a say in that. But he would find him. Hopefully, alive.

He left the precinct and headed to her house. She lived in a neighborhood of small brick homes built close together, with well-tended yards. No gated access. Few trees. Driveways sported basketball hoops.

A young man pushed a baby stroller down the narrow sidewalk. An attractive woman in white shorts and a knit shirt walked behind them, keeping a close watch on a toddler who was pedaling furiously on her bright red trike.

It looked to be a good middle-class neighborhood to grow up in. Much nicer than the one Travis had lived in for the first few years after his mother’s death.

Then, most of the houses had been in need of repair and drive-by shootings were as commonplace as his foster father’s drunken binges.

Travis figured if it hadn’t been for his mother’s influence during the early years and Leif’s efforts to rescue him from the ghetto, he might have grown up as troubled and in trouble as the young punks who committed most of the crimes in Dallas.

He turned at the corner and started checking addresses. Faith’s house was in the middle of the block, a redbrick with white trim. The hedges were neatly groomed. Colorful pansies and snapdragons overflowed from pots by her door. In spite of her grief, she was keeping up appearances. Probably wanted home to be welcoming if or when Cornell showed up again.

Travis pulled into the driveway and took the walk to her covered entry. She opened the door seconds after he pushed the bell, handbag in hand, clearly ready to go.

“You’re prompt,” she said, stepping out the door without inviting him in.

“Also loyal, and I floss after every meal.”

A quick smile played on her lips but didn’t penetrate the veil of apprehension that covered her eyes.

She walked in front of him to his car. The white jean shorts she wore were cuffed at mid-thigh. Not too tight, but fitted enough to accentuate the sway of her hips. A teal blouse tied at the waist. The morning sun painted golden highlights in her dark hair.

He had to hurry to reach the door and open it for her before she climbed in on her own. He got a whiff of her flowery perfume as she slid past him. Crazy urges bucked around inside him. Not the time or the place, he reminded himself. Business only—at least until Cornell was found.

“There’s a breakfast spot in a strip center just a few blocks from here,” Faith said. “I hear they have good pancakes.”

“Do you like pancakes?” he asked.

“I used to, when I was a kid. I usually just have toast and coffee for breakfast now. I doubt my stomach will even tolerate that this morning.”

“No appetite, huh? Is that because of the new development you’re going to tell me about?”

She nodded, and he thought again how youthful she looked to be the mother of a teenager. She’d said she was thirty-five, which meant she’d given birth to him at seventeen. There must be a story there, as well.

“Tell me where to go,” he said.

He followed her directions. The restaurant was small, noisy and crowded. Not the best spot for a serious conversation.”

“Any chance we can get a seat on the patio?” he asked the young blonde hostess.

“How many in your party?”

“Two.”

“I think I can manage that.”

She smiled and led them to a table in the middle of the patio.

“How about that table in the back?” he asked.

“Okay with me, but it doesn’t have an umbrella, so you’re going to be in the sun.”

But it would give them a lot more privacy. He looked to Faith.