Marybeth always handled these things well, he thought—the very idea of it infuriated him. She had made Joe promise that he wouldn’t do anything; wouldn’t go to the office and confront Cam, or urge her to find another job. Chances of finding another job with this kind of promise in Saddlestring, as they both knew, were remote.
“I knew I never really liked him,” he told her, buttering his toast. “Joe,” she cautioned him, imploring him with her eyes to let it go. As she did, Sheridan came to the table. She was always first, before Lucy. Lucy took much more time to color-coordinate her outfit and determine what her hair would look like for the day.
“I had that dream again,” Sheridan announced. “I’m starting to think I know where it’s headed. It’s a showdown of some kind.”
Joe dropped his knife on the tabletop, looking at her. “A showdown between whom?”
“Good and evil,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Who wins?” he asked.
She shrugged. “The dream hasn’t gotten that far along yet.” “Well, let me know,” he said cautiously.
“I will,” she said, reaching for the jam. “Oh, somebody’s outside. They parked next to your truck.”
“Did you see who it was?” Joe asked.
“A four-wheel drive with a light-bar on top,” she said, filling a bowl with cereal. “Probably Sheriff Barnum.”
“Great,” he said, pushing away.
“Joe,” Marybeth cautioned again.
Joe strode outside feeling as if he were about to enter a boxing ring. He clamped his hat on his head while he walked, and pushed through the front gate harder than he had intended to, making it slam open.
It was Barnum, all right, as well as Agent Portenson. They both sat in a cloud of smoke inside the vehicle. They squinted at him as he approached. Simultaneously, the driver and passenger doors opened, and both men swung out. What a good morning for them to show up, Joe thought sardonically. If only they had Cam Logue with them, he could deal with two problems at once.
“Sorry to disturb your breakfast,” Barnum said, his voice more gravelly than usual and his face more gray.
“No, you aren’t,” Joe said, taking a position on the other side of his truck and leaning his forearms on the hood. He did not trust Barnum, and the early-morning surprise meeting had a confrontational feel about it. If something was going to happen, he wanted his truck between him and Barnum and Portenson. At least until he bridged the gap.
“What do you want?” Joe asked. “Why don’t you get right to it? I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.”
“You could at least invite us in for a cup of coffee,” Barnum said, pretending he was offended.
Portenson snorted, and lit another cigarette.
Joe said to Barnum, “You are not welcome in my house, Sheriff. This is where my family lives. If you need to talk with me all you have to do is call, and I’ll meet you anywhere.”
“It’s also your office, right?” Barnum said, squinting. “Working among all of those girls, it must be tough to get anything done.”
“Right,” Joe said, looking squarely at Barnum. “Unlike the Sheriff ’s Department, where things get done but they’re usually wrong.”
Barnum stood still, but Joe saw the sheriff ’s jaw muscles twitch. Barnum’s flat, blue eyes didn’t look away.
“Boys,” Portenson said, waving his cigarette in the air. “We are getting nowhere.”
“What do you want?” Joe asked again. Barnum finally broke the staredown. “I mean, that can’t be discussed at a task-force meeting?”
“Sheriff,” Portenson said, “you want to start?”
“Keep the fuck away from our investigation,” Barnum growled. “Just stay the fuck away. You’re wasting everyone’s time.”
Joe smiled bitterly. “I suspected that was what this was about.”
“Just worry about your furry animals, and the alien hunter you were assigned by Robey,” Barnum said. “Don’t second-guess us and don’t reinterview all of our leads. There’s nothing you can find that we haven’t already.”
Joe looked to Portenson. The FBI agent seemed to be concentrating on his cigarette, and watching the morning sun hit Battle Mountain. He looked so out of place here, Joe thought. Portenson’s coat was too heavy for the fall, and too outdoor-gear trendy. His slacks and black slip-on shoes belonged beneath a desk in a temperature- controlled office.
“I talked with Robey,” Joe said to both of them. “I told him what I wanted to do. I’m not second-guessing anyone, but I thought that maybe I could find an angle on this whole mess that had been overlooked. You’re welcome to go talk to Cleve Garrett, if you want to. Go ahead and check up on me. I don’t care. Maybe you’ll turn up something I missed. We’ve got nothing so far. Not a damned thing. If I can look at the murders with a fresh eye . . .”
“You’re a goddamned game warden!” Barnum thundered, stepping around the nose of Joe’s truck toward him. “You’re no investigator. You’re only on the task force because the governor needed somebody from your agency.” Joe watched as Barnum’s face reddened. He had stopped just before he fully came around the truck.
“You should be out finding that bear, or counting fish, or whatever the hell it is you do. Leave the professional work to the professionals!”
“And who would that be?” Joe asked calmly.
“You son of a bitch!” Barnum spat, and Joe squared himself, ready. This had been brewing for years. He noted that Barnum wore his gun.
Joe was unarmed. Fine, Joe thought. He couldn’t imagine Barnum actually shooting him, not in front of an FBI
