“What’s that, a .357 Magnum?” Joe asked. O’Bannon nodded.
“I used to carry one of those myself,” Joe said. “I couldn’t hit anything with it. Well, once . . .” he let his voice trail off.
“Jeff ’s won some trophies in open-range pistol shoots,” Pete volunteered, trying to ease the situation.
“That’s good,” Joe said, reaching for the ticket book that he kept in his back pocket, “but it’s archery season, fellows. Archery. Bows and arrows. When you carry a handgun, you’re violating regulations as well as the whole spirit of the season.”
“I told you it was for self-protection only,” O’Bannon said. “I didn’t even shoot it!”
“I understand,” Joe said, flipping the ticket book open. “And in other circumstances—like if you were somebody else—I would likely issue you a strong verbal warning. But, Jeff, you’re special.”
Thumbing through his well-worn booklet of regulations, Joe found the page he was looking for and read out loud from the light of the headlights: “Statute 23-2-104(d). No person holding an archery license shall take big game or trophy game animals during a special hunting season while in possession of any type of firearm.”
Joe wrote the ticket while O’Bannon glared at his former friend. “You’re also in violation of the concealed- weapons statutes unless you have a valid permit signed by Sheriff Barnum,” Joe said. “If I remember correctly, you could be looking at six months or so in jail. Do you have a permit?”
“I’m contesting this,” O’Bannon said, snatching the violation sheet from Joe and wadding it into his front pocket. “I’ll see you in fucking court!”
“Yes, you will,” Joe said. “In the meantime, I’d advise you to stay home for a while. It’ll play better with Judge Pennock if you show some remorse, even if you’re just faking it.”
O’Bannon looked like he was about to have a stroke. His eyes bulged and his jaw was thrust forward. His hands had clenched into meaty fists.
Joe tensed and laid a hand on his gun as a warning. He felt slightly ashamed for taking the frustration of the day out on Jeff O’Bannon. But only slightly.
Pete looked from O’Bannon to Joe, and back to O’Bannon. “Can I get a ride to town with you?” he asked Joe.
Joe smiled. “Jump in.”
After dinner—takeout again that Marybeth grabbed from the Burg-OPardner on her way home from work—Joe checked his messages. Nothing from the lab on the samples he had sent, nothing from Trey Crump on the bear, nothing from Hersig on any progress in the investigation.
Marybeth came into the office and shut the door behind her. “Did you notice anything odd at dinner tonight?” she asked.
Joe grimaced. He studied her quickly. No new haircut, her clothes looked familiar. Something else, then.
“When Cam brought Lucy home earlier, she was pretty upset. Cam had asked the girls not to explore the outbuildings at their place, so guess where they went after school?”
“Is she all right?”
Marybeth nodded. “She’s fine. She’s upset that she got in trouble, though. She said Cam was pretty angry with them and told Jessica she couldn’t play with Lucy for a while.”
“Nobody hurt, though?”
“No. I told Lucy it was her job to listen to Cam and Marie when she was at their house, and to follow their rules.”
Joe nodded.
“You didn’t notice that Lucy never said a word during dinner?” “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”
“So how did your task-force meeting go?”
Joe leaned against his desk and filled her in. She made faces as he described the meeting, and laughed when he told her about McLanahan’s theory about Arabs.
“I bet you wish they would have forgotten about you when it came to naming the members of that group,” Marybeth said.
“I’ve got Trey and Hersig to thank for that.”
She stood in silence, studying Joe. “Do you think Portenson will be trouble for us?”
Joe nodded. “I’m sure he’ll be watching me closely. He also mentioned Nate.”
“I’m sorry, Joe.”
He shrugged, as if to say we knew this was possible.
Anxious to change the subject, he asked about her day.
“Cam’s listing more homes and ranches every day. Ranchers are talking to each other and singing his praises. But those mutilations are big news . . . no one wants to buy right now. Cam’s trying to get them to lower their prices. It’s a little tense around the office right now. But if things go well, he asked me if I’d be interested in going full-time, Joe. As a realtor.” She beamed.
Inwardly, Joe moaned and guilt washed over him. “That’s great, honey.”
“That’s not really what you think, is it?” she asked, smiling slightly. “Of course it is. We need the money.”
“Joe, I like the Logues. I admire them. And you know I’d be a hell of a good realtor.”
“Yes, you would. You are good at everything you do.” “Damn straight,” she said.
