At that, the sheriff hung up, and Max noticed that his boss looked particularly pleased. “Good news?”
“Yeah. On the ski resort. The governor found a group of investors out of Salt Lake, and they’re drawing up plans. It looks like this might come together.” A slight man with a round belly, Sheriff Holmes had big cheeks and bushy gray sideburns, but a bald head that glistened under the overhead lights. He wore his politician’s smile as he peered at Max from behind a pair of aviator glasses. “You sure you don’t want a piece of this? Those who get in early, throw in a bit of cash at the start, all goes well, we’ll make a fortune.”
“I can’t afford it,” Max said, turning down the offer for what wasn’t the first time. “There’s not a lot of extra money these days.”
“Tough break. This could be a gold mine.” Sheriff Holmes gulped a healthy dose of air. “Speaking of that, how’s your girl?”
“Hanging in there.” Max didn’t like to talk about Brooke. He changed the subject. “Sheriff, I’m working on that missing person case, the Jefferies girl, Delilah, and—”
The sheriff furrowed his brow, decidedly unhappy.
“Didn’t I tell you to turn that case over to the local PD?” From the beginning, Sheriff Holmes had been dubious about the tip. A missing twelve-year-old, one would expect the parents would be begging for police help. As the day went on without any cooperation from the Jefferies family, the sheriff became convinced it was a ruse. Earlier that day, he’d ordered Max to refer the case to Alber’s chief of police. “I told you not to put any more resources into it. We had that talk, right?”
“We did. And I did as you asked. But the chief tried and couldn’t get anywhere either. The family wouldn’t let him in the door.”
“Those damn polygamists. They’re a cult, I tell ya. They keep everything so hush-hush,” the sheriff snarled. Once he started complaining about the polygamous towns, the complications of having the communities as his responsibility, Max’s boss could rail on for hours. Max had tried to explain the realities to the sheriff, to help him understand why towns like Alber were so resistant to law enforcement, but to no avail. The reclusive towns were a testy thorn in the sheriff’s side. “Always hiding something. Won’t talk—”
Rather than listen, Max cut in. “Chief Barstow offered to give it another shot tomorrow, but I decided not to wait on him. A young girl like that. This could be bad. So I put in a call to Clara Jefferies. Delilah’s sister.”
The sheriff looked even more displeased. “You told me about her. She’s a cop? A detective?”
“In Dallas.”
“She agreed to come?”
“On her way.”
The sheriff stuffed a few more files into his briefcase. “I wish you hadn’t done that,” he said. Max shot him a questioning look, and the sheriff said, “Chief Barstow won’t like it, you going past him when he offered to keep working it. We need to maintain good relations with the locals.”
“I know,” Max said. “But we’re losing time. If the girl has been abducted, time is important.”
“That’s the crux of your problem, having to say if,” the sheriff said. “A day into this, it shouldn’t be if the girl is missing.”
“You’re right. We should know,” Max admitted. “But while I can’t be certain, I think this is real. Like I said, I’m convinced Delilah is—”
“You told me what you think, but where’s the evidence?” the sheriff snapped. His brow puckered with concern, and he shook his head. “Not the way I would have played this, Max. I would have held back and made sure I had a case before I locked horns with the local PD.”
Everything the sheriff said was true, all of it standard procedure. Max knew that, but what choice did he have? A young girl could be missing. “Sheriff, I—”
“What’s done is done,” the sheriff said. “But in the future, when I give you a direct order, you obey it.”
Max’s right eye twitched just slightly. He thought about how he couldn’t afford to lose his job. With his past, there weren’t a lot of others waiting for him. “Of course. Absolutely.”
“Glad we’ve got that settled.” Sheriff Holmes grabbed his briefcase and walked toward the door. “Now, let’s both head home for the night. And let’s hope this Dallas cop has some sway with these people.”
Four
My roll-on waited in the closet. I’d lived in the studio apartment for five years and hadn’t used the luggage since the day I’d moved in, but had never bothered to put it in storage. I folded shirts and slacks, and lined them up on the bed. It was the end of August and it would be searing hot in Utah. Then I heard my mother’s voice. “Clara, a virtuous woman is modest. Only a loose woman exposes her arms and legs. Only brazen women tempt men by showing their skin.” I pictured the prairie dresses of my youth.
While I’d never return to those days, I needed to fit in enough to make the townsfolk, my family in particular, feel comfortable around me. I removed the short-sleeve shirts I’d packed and added two with long sleeves. I took out a knee-length pencil skirt in favor of a second pair of tan slacks.
Almost done, I packed my black leather holster and slipped my Colt .380 Mustang Pocketlite into my bag’s side pocket. With my credentials and badge, I’d bypass TSA and carry onto the plane. Just in case I needed it, I added a seven-round backup magazine to my luggage.
As the suitcase filled, I replayed Max’s phone call in my head. Was Delilah really gone? Over the years, I’d worked enough child abductions to know that when a kid disappears, the reasons can be terrifying.
A year earlier, a ten-year-old Dallas boy hadn’t shown up for dinner. His parents called his friends—no one had seen him. Searching the neighborhood, they found their son’s bike abandoned
