What She Saw

As he neared the car, the big deputy he’d seen the night before last climbed out. “Got a minute?” the big man asked as Buck neared.

“Sure. Want to come inside or talk out here?”

“Inside. A little privacy is a good thing.”

“That seems to be a major concern around here.” Buck pulled out his key and threw the door open, flipping on the lights. He was careful to step inside, keeping his hands in the open, then stand away from any possible weapon and wait.

The deputy looked around, taking in the duffel, the freshly made bed, the absence of any other personal belongings.

Then he regarded Buck from head to foot, as if measuring him. Buck returned the look. Some things were second nature. The deputy might have a few pounds on him, and an inch or two in height, but at thirty-four he had at least a couple of decades on the deputy. He noted, though, that the man hadn’t felt the need to unsnap the holster on the nine-millimeter pistol hanging from his utility belt. For the moment, this was a friendly visit.

The big man stuck out his head. “Micah Parish.”

Buck shook it. “Buck Devlin.”

“Mind if I sit?”

“Help yourself.” Since there was only one chair, Parish took it and Buck settled on the edge of the bed.

“We’re a friendly town, Mr. Devlin,” Parish said.

“I get that feeling.”

“Not many folks around. We kinda keep an eye on each other.”

Buck figured he knew where this was leading, but he didn’t try to head it off. Let the man have his say.

“Someone said you seemed to be having a bit of a disagreement with Haley Martin outside the funeral home.”

“It probably looked that way.”

Micah’s eyebrow lifted. “So what way was it?”

“I was trying to explain something to her.”

“Is that what she would tell me?”

“I honestly don’t know what she would tell you at this point. I’m fairly certain she thinks I’m a nut or a liar right now.”

One corner of Micah’s mouth hitched up, but it wasn’t with humor. “Would she be right?”

“By her lights.”

Micah’s mouth tightened into a straight line. “Quit fencing with me unless you want to be escorted out of town in the next hour.”

Buck hesitated. It went against the grain to let anybody in on his investigations before he was ready, but he decided to let the cat out and see where it went.

“Wallet,” he said, so Micah wouldn’t think he was reaching for a weapon, then dug into his pocket. He drew out both his IDs and turned them over.

Micah scanned them. “So you’re a truck driver and disabled vet. Neither one is necessarily a recommendation.”

“No. But maybe Army Third Military Police Group, Tenth Battalion will help.”

Micah’s brow furrowed, his dark eyes searching Buck’s face. “Tenth Battalion. Criminal investigation division. I know what you guys do. The only question is what you’re doing here. This card says you’re medically retired.”

“I am. My boss asked me to look into something for him. My misfortune to be the only former MP he has working for him.”

Micah tapped the two laminated cards against his knee. “Mind if I keep these for a few hours? I want to run a background.”

“Help yourself.”

Micah slipped the IDs into his breast pocket. “Tell me what you think is going on in my town and just how Haley fits in. That girl’s had enough trouble in her life. You bringing her more?”

“Actually, I’m suffering from a white-knight complex. I’m hoping to keep her from getting into more trouble.”

“That’s not helpful, Mr. Devlin. Is there some reason you don’t want to talk to me?”

“How about that I don’t know who is involved?”

Micah stiffened at that. “Maybe you should come to the office with me. I think our sheriff might want to talk to you, too.”

Buck rose to his feet. “Let’s go. I’d like to meet your sheriff. Then maybe you two can tell me enough about yourselves that I know I can trust you.”

Micah’s frown deepened. “You’ll ride in the cage,” he said flatly.

“Fine by me. I’d rather look like a criminal than your cohort right now.”

Micah wasn’t exactly gentle as he put Buck in the back of his vehicle. Which was fine by Buck.

If anybody was paying attention, and they might be since his hanging out here was apparently suspicious enough to garner legal attention, they’d think he was in trouble.

Right then, that’s just how he wanted it.

Miles away, in a living room that looked ancient in every way, Mr. and Mrs. Liston sat in their usual chairs, hands linked, still wearing their best clothes. Mrs. Liston was crying quietly, but her husband looked almost empty.

Across from them sat their eldest son, Jim. He had arrived only a few hours ago from Los Angeles. Until just a few months ago, he’d pretty much disappeared from their lives, much as Ray had, and they couldn’t understand it. But at least he was coming home again. For the past half year or so they’d seen him every few weeks. In a way they were grateful to him, because he’d helped Ray find that trucking job.

But now Ray was dead.

“I’m so sorry,” he said yet again. He sat there looking fine in his expensive clothes, and the corners of his mouth drooped.

“We’re all sorry, son,” Mrs. Liston finally said. “You know your brother was a good boy.”

“I know. We kept in touch, obviously. But you say the cops are asking about drugs?”

Both the elder Listons nodded.

“It was just a terrible accident,” Jim said soothingly. “Ray hadn’t been driving that long. I’m sure that’s what they’ll find out.”