I wanted to laugh at her phraseology, but it wasn’t exactly humorous. The word endanger stuck out like lips on a chicken. Someone had stolen the weapons from Pinyon Pawn without her knowledge. Were they still in the area, preparing to wreak havoc on our community? Had they killed Lucky, though his body had shown no sign of struggle? Or moved on to another county to lie in wait for law enforcement or to attack another innocent victim?
I stepped outside and found Lightfoot disconnecting his call. He flicked me a look as he made a note. “Either a man with a high voice or a woman with a low voice on steroids. Bubba’s words, not mine.”
“How often do you see a break-in like this one?” I asked.
He paused to remove his cowboy hat and smooth his hair back into his ponytail. “Goes in spurts until you catch the perpetrator.”
“Once a month? Once a year? Every six months?”
He watched me with amusement. “You need a ride?”
I debated. If I rode with him, I could continue to pick his brain. However, if I drove my own car he might be called away or his usual reserve might slam back into place.
“Sure.” Anthony or Uncle Eddie would readily give me a ride back to my car.
“How often do break-ins occur in our county?” I asked as he held open the passenger door of the SUV.
He waited to reply until he sat behind the wheel. “I’d say,” with a practiced motion, he started the SUV and threw it in reverse, “every three months on average.”
I managed to pull the passenger door shut by throwing my entire body weight into it. “What’s the next step when this happens?”
With a wave to Barnes, he continued, “Check the wire for similar robberies, first in the neighboring counties—”
“And then throughout the state?” I asked.
“Yes. We run the prints and the MO. Usually we find a connection.”
I studied him while he studied the road. In losing his uniform, he’d lost a good portion of his stodginess. “Almost immediately?” I asked just to keep the conversation going.
He threw me an exasperated look. “What did I tell you about TV detectives?” We were blocks away from Main Street, but the traffic had slowed to a crawl.
“They’re more handsome and intelligent than real detectives?” I smiled sweetly.
We turned onto Main Street, driving under a street-wide banner declaring BROKEN BOOT’S CINCO DE MAYO, THE FUN FIESTA!
“So you’re basically saying criminals are stupid?” I teased.
His brow furrowed. “Stupid’s not the word I would use.” With deep consideration, he searched for the perfect word.
“Too harsh?”
We’d stopped at a light. An elderly couple as similar as twins with brown skin and dark hair threaded with silver crossed the street in front of us. Lightfoot’s gaze followed them until they made it safely to the other side.
“Do your parents ever come to see you?”
He glanced at the light, but though the light turned green, the traffic was backed up into the intersection. “Here?”
I shook my head in mock frustration. “Where else?”
He hesitated for so long I thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Once. I usually go to see them during my vacation.”
“When was that?” I asked softly, yearning to coax more information out of him.
“A couple of years ago.” Something in his face changed with the admission. He gave me a suspicious look as if I already knew the answer. “When I was serious about someone I was dating.”
“Right. You mentioned her to Senora Mari when we rode to the station together that time when Anthony was in jail.”
He smiled. “That was the first time the senora called me an Indian.”
“I’m still embarrassed when I think about it.”
“Lenna. Her name was Lenna.”
“What happened?” I asked softly.
“She preferred New Mexico, and her career there.” The light changed again, and this time we continued toward the gazebo and the band.
“I’m sorry.” And I was. Couldn’t anyone stay together? Was it too much to ask for a betrothed to stay the course?
Suddenly he smiled, showing all his teeth, and the effect was amazing. “I’m not. Sometimes life gives you lemons, and other times it gives you tamales.”
Chapter 10
Senora Mari’s Dream
I woke with a start, the smell of chili and cheddar wafting through my brain.
Senora Mari placed her child-sized hand over my mouth. “Don’t scream. It’s me.”
My pulse raced until my sleep-fogged brain recognized my abuela, who had once again invaded my privacy in my own home. “Too late,” I said in a muffled voice.
I sat up against the carved mesquite wood headboard and her hand fell away.
She tossed Lenny lightly to the floor and perched in his place on the edge of the bed. “I have something to tell you.”
“Yip, yip, yip.”
I groaned. “You said it, Lenster.”
“Shh!” She reached down and stroked his head.
In spite of my abuela’s proclaimed animosity toward my Chi friend, I’d received reports she was coming around. I reached around her and placed him in my lap. “He doesn’t like to be supplanted.” I kissed his pointy head.
She gestured toward his doggie bed that both looked and smelled like a week-old crunchy beef taco. “That is his home. Plant him there. I have something important.”
I was stalling because I could guess what her big news would turn out to be. “You’re a regular dream factory these days, Abuela.” I softened my sarcasm by adding my version of a Spanish accent to the endearment.
She pursed her lips. “You have been home for a year now and your accent is still insuficiente.”
“True.” My comprehension of Spanish was much better than my ability to speak it. “Tell me your dream. Did you see someone die in this one?” I didn’t know how Lucky Straw met his maker, but inquiring minds needed to know.
“Do not make fun.” She lifted her chin.
“I’m not. I need a lead and you’re the closest thing I’ve
