He frowned. “Something like that.”
“Do you mind?” I asked Patti. Though she understood I was keen to solve the murder and to stake my claim on the crime beat at the Bugle, she couldn’t help but tease. After all, she was the only Goth princess in Broken Boot.
“Heck no. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“See you later?”
“Depends on how tasty the fish is.” She gave Lightfoot a playful wave and began whistling Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive” as she headed toward the gazebo and the band.
Lightfoot frowned. “You coming or what?”
I glanced around to see who might have heard this strange request. “Sure. Uh, but how are you going to explain this to your peers?” I didn’t have the sheriff’s office’s procedures memorized or anything close to it, but it didn’t take an Einstein to figure out that was a big no.
He stared at me for a spell. “Let’s just say that I’m investigating the possibility of starting a community police academy and you’re my focus group.”
My smile must have lit my face from ear to ear, ’cause he managed to smile back. I gave a fist pump, but that made the familiar deep furrows on either side of his mouth reappear and his mouth actually turned down like a sad clown.
“Don’t push it.”
Immediately, I wiped the smile from my face. Or at least I tried. “Where are we off to?”
“Gold Rush Lighting.”
The police scanner buzzed. “You on your way, chief?”
I opened the passenger door. “Front or back?”
He glanced at the radio and nodded toward the backseat. “Don’t make me wish I’d left you behind to do . . . whatever it is you do.”
I jumped in the back. “All right, chief. Let’s go.”
Slowly he turned and caught me in his narrow-eyed stare. “Don’t call me chief.”
“But—”
“No one calls me that, except Barnes. And he and I are going to have a few words about his terminology as soon as this case is over.” He put the cruiser in drive and began to weave his way around the pedestrians wandering down the middle of Main Street.
“Isn’t that a compliment? Making note of your status?” I watched his reaction in the rearview mirror as the stones in his necklace and tribal bracelet glimmered in the afternoon sun.
“Oh, gee.” Sometimes I’m clueless and other times I’m just stupid. “I get it.”
“‘Bout time,” he said under his breath.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. That kind of thing must drive you nuts.”
“Nah. It rarely happens.”
I smiled at him in the rearview mirror, but he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the road. For a few minutes we traveled in silence. Gold Rush Lighting was north of town, on the way to Fort Davis. “The ME called me,” he said finally.
I leaned forward, caught up short by my vigilant seat belt. “It was murder, right?”
This time he scowled into the rearview mirror. “Lucky had a medical record card in his pocket with his doctor’s information on it.”
“What could the doctor say? I still think he died of electrocution.”
With a clench of his jaw and a slight shake of his head, he made a right turn onto Agave Road. “I don’t understand why you keep saying that. You have no evidence.”
True—but my gut was telling me I was right. “Okay, so what’d he say?”
“She told me he wears a pacemaker—”
“Which we already know.”
He met my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Well, now it’s confirmed.”
I sighed. “All that buildup over nothing.”
With a jerk, he braked and took the next corner. “That’s not the good part. Hold your proverbial horses.”
“Consider them held.”
“He had a weak heart. It wouldn’t have taken much for him to have keeled over on a good day.”
“Of course he had a dotty heart. The guy wore a pacemaker.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re about to keel over just because you wear one.”
I couldn’t remember Lucky wheezing or being short of breath. He certainly had plenty of hot air when he complained about his missing gluten-free foods at the reception. “So he wasn’t long for this world?”
He shrugged. “Can’t say.”
“Well, say something.”
“Forget it.”
“No, no. I apologize.” I undid the seat belt and leaned forward between the front seats. “You need someone to talk things over with. I get that. Someone who thinks outside the box.”
“On another plane, more like it.”
My wheels started to turn. “Lucky Straw was murdered. Admit it.”
He nodded slowly. “I could tell that’s where you were headed.”
“Don’t you think so?”
“No. But you do and I’m curious enough to want to know why.”
“One. Burn marks from a stun gun could’ve been hidden by his chest hair or all those freckles.” I counted on my fingers. “Two. There were enough extension cords in that place to choke him to death even if he wasn’t electrocuted.”
“You’re saying someone entered his tent and jimmied the electricity so that he’d be killed if he turned anything on.” Lightfoot’s brow furrowed.
“That or they created a short so that there would be a power surge and he’d be electrocuted, or fried like a fritter.”
“Hah,” Lightfoot chuckled. Then he immediately made a face as if surprised he’d laughed at one of my silly colloquialisms.
My wheels slowed. “Hmm. I don’t know. That’s an awful lot of trouble to only maybe kill someone. The killer could’ve easily been seen.”
“In the middle of the fairgrounds?” He shook his head. “With everyone still in bed? Not if they were an experienced electrician.”
“You’re telling me we need to beat the bushes for anyone with electrical experience?” We turned the corner and Gold Rush Lighting appeared at the end of the block. “Good thing God created the Internet.”
As we stepped onto the pavement, Lightfoot gave me a bemused smile. “How could we live without learning how to electrocute someone and sell their brain for medical research in New Guinea?”
“Look at you.” I grinned. “You made a joke.”
He hitched his belt. “Let’s go. And remember to keep your comments to yourself.”
I mimed locking my lips
