“Sure she was. She was a part of it, the star of it, and she loved to know it. Nothing made her happier than talking about others’ lives. Except maybe talking about hers. Made herself feel valued, I think.” Coleen leaned forward, like some sort of coconspirator. “Sometimes I didn’t know what to believe. Hard to think she made up all that bunk.”
“What sorts of things did she say?”
“Always going on about that husband of hers. How he had trouble in the bedroom. Never wanted to touch her anymore, she said. Actually asked me if I thought he was screwing around with someone else. Pauline was insanely jealous over Luther. No wonder. He wasn’t all that ugly as a young man. Once he got with her, he went to seed pretty quick. Of course, I can’t blame him for being gone all the time. The way those older kids of his carried on, the way Pauline did. I know for a fact she trapped him into the marriage. Deliberately threw out the birth control when he was in his last year of high school, and she a few years behind him. She had her eye on him from the beginning; she told me. Seemed to think, with him inheriting his daddy’s place, that he’d have some money. If nothing else, Pauline was money hungry, and she didn’t know how to get some of her own. Right pissed she was when his daddy’s place had to be sold for taxes after his death and her own mama bought it out from under Luther. Burned her britches something good that Luther had to rent his own family’s place off her mama.” She coughed, then blew her nose. Watery eyes looked at Miranda. “Sorry about that. Smoked for sixty-two years; don’t plan on stopping any time soon.”
“Was Luther in town right before they left? Had Pauline complained any more than usual?” Miranda asked. “I was friends with her daughter. I don’t remember her saying anything about her parents fighting then.”
“I just remember Pauline coming back all pissy and panicky that last day. Thought she and that boyfriend of hers had finally called it quits. But he picked her up four thirty or so. Saw him myself. Oily little potato.”
“Who was he?”
Colleen leaned forward, ready to deliver the juicy bits. “Didn’t I say? It was that cousin of Luther’s. That Hollace boy. Barely older than her oldest boy, and she was playing around in the bedroom with him—and bragging about it. Not sure if the baby was his or Luther’s. I don’t think, though, that she’d tossed the birth control before that one, too.”
“What was his first name?” Miranda asked. They’d heard nothing about a boyfriend from Clint’s reports. And she didn’t remember anyone named Hollace from Masterson.
“James, I think. He wasn’t from around here. Moved to stay on the Beise place a year or so earlier. Luther’s cousin, like I said. Left right after the Beises did. Joined the state police, I think. You’ll have to check with them.”
“Thanks, Colleen. You’ve given us a great place to start.”
“Yeah, well, you can thank me with some of your grandmama’s onion rings. That Dixie won’t ever bring me any. Says I’m too ornery as it is. For such a sweet-looking thing, she can be real ornery.”
“Deal.”
17
The last thing Jim wanted to be doing was facing off against Clint Gunderson and that Talley girl. Not like this. He hadn’t even been in the post ten minutes before Weatherby was calling him into the office. And there they were. The Talley girl and that partner of hers. Playing nicey-nice with Weatherby, even.
Up close and personal, the man with her looked like a real hard-ass. A real tough guy. The scar was what stood out the most. And the hardness of the eyes. This was one tough brute Jim wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. Or a lit one, even. Jim quickly looked away after his eyes met the man’s.
Up close, this Talley girl was just as gorgeous as the rest. The skin was pale, with freckles. Hair long and silky. The eyes were what did it though. Pure green.
Witch’s eyes. She hadn’t had eyes like that as a kid. No, she’d had thick glasses back then, he thought.
Must be wearing colored contacts; that made the most sense.
Jim took the seat Weatherby indicated. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck. He wanted to wipe it, but didn’t. He didn’t need to show how nervous he was.
“Do I know you?” he asked the woman.
“I’m from Masterson. Flo from Flo’s Diner is my grandmother.”
“That’s probably it. I ate dinner there the other night. You resemble the waitresses there.” He tried to keep his words casual. Good old boy. He was just there to help the FBI. For all he knew, Weatherby was assigning him to work with these two.
Wouldn’t that be ironic?
Well, Jim supposed stranger things had happened.
“I know.”
Weatherby was eyeing him. Suspiciously. No surprise there. Weatherby always looked at everyone just like that. “What’s this about?”
“We have a few questions to run by you,” the woman said. Well, apparently, she was the spokeswoman for the feds today. Before he could say anything, the door opened. A tall, lanky cowboy stepped inside. Complete with Stetson.
There was a hard edge to Clint Gunderson that hadn’t always been there. Rumor mill had it he’d been the one to slam his fist into Clive’s face the day Clive had gone around the bend. What kind of man hit his own father in the face, just days after his brother died? Clive hadn’t deserved that. Not at all.
“Jim, sit down.” Weatherby growled. Damned if he didn’t sound like he ate gravel for breakfast.
Jim didn’t have a choice. He sat.
18
Clint stared at the man he had known since his first appointment to the Wyoming State Police. Jim
