“No,” Mac said, shooting a warning look at Claire when he said it. “We’ve seen enough.”
Claire frowned at the square panel, trying to picture what might be up there. She remembered the broken attic window she’d noticed on a prior visit. There were probably lots of pack rats and mice up there along with even more urine and feces. Maybe bats, too. A potential rabies case, for sure.
“Let’s go back downstairs,” she said, leading the way.
The sheriff brought up the rear, easing down the steps to join them. “Where’s Veronica?”
“I think I found something,” Ronnie called from a dark open doorway on the other side of the iron lung machine. “Grady, bring your flashlight over here, please.”
“What is it?” he asked when he reached her.
Claire was on his heels. She squeezed by his wide shoulders and joined Ronnie as her sister aimed the light toward the back of the small square room.
“What the fuck is that?” Claire whispered.
Chapter Ten
Five hours and one hundred miles later …
“According to Claire, Ronnie found an antique electric chair at Joe’s old house,” Natalie told Coop and his uncle, Harvey, as they bounced along Apache Pass Road on the way to Fort Bowie National Historic Site.
“An electric chair?” Coop glanced at her in the pickup’s rearview mirror.
She nodded. “Complete with leather tie-down straps and wires poking out of it.”
“Boy howdy,” Harvey said from the front passenger seat. “Ya come across that sight on a dark and stormy night and it’d turn yer knees to puddin’.”
Natalie smirked. That was sort of the same reaction she’d experienced upon seeing Coop when he showed up to spring her from jail.
She looked out the side window at the passing scrub brush and yucca dotting the Sonoran Desert. The Chiricahua Mountains ran along the horizon to the southeast, adding a blue-brown backdrop to the desert panorama.
What in the hell was she doing here with Coop after what happened last time? He’d rejected her, plain and simple. I don’t date local girls, he’d told her without even a hint of remorse about leaving her hot and bothered in that alley. If that hadn’t been humiliating enough, when she ran into him weeks later at a bar down in Rapid City, he had a blond babe on his arm whose tongue kept trying to take up permanent residence in his mouth.
Coming on this trip with him today was a huge mistake. Thankfully Ol’ Man Harvey was playing third wheel, helping to keep the tension between her and Coop at a low simmer. Natalie had called dibs on the backseat at the get-go, claiming she wanted to spread out and be more comfortable. No sooner than the words were out of her mouth she’d regretted how lame they sounded. Who was she trying to fool? The narrow-eyed glance Coop had given her when she’d slid into the backseat made it clear he could see through her smokescreen.
Damn those detective eyes of his.
The journey south from Jackrabbit Junction had included a side trip on a dirt road up to Cochise Stronghold in the Dragoon Mountains. Harvey’s four-wheel-drive pickup had easily navigated the winding, rough Forest Service road that wove along granite domes and heart-palpitating cliffs, giving the three of them an idea of the area where the great Apache chief and his people had taken refuge.
Next up was Fort Bowie, the setting for a quarter century of conflict between the Chiricahua Apaches and the US Army. According to Harvey, the fort also sat near the old Butterfield Stage Line and included a cemetery as part of the “viewing attractions.”
“Ya think that sparky chair yer cousin found was actually used?” Harvey asked.
“Well,” Natalie said, trying to focus on what Claire had said about that chair and not the dust devil of confusion stirred up by the guy sitting behind the steering wheel. “Joe did have a history that could make a working electric chair logical.”
She hesitated on explaining further. Claire would already be giving her the zip-it motions if she were there with her. Her cousin’s parting words before heading to Tucson with Mac this morning had been to remember that Coop was an officer of the law, first and foremost. There were secrets tucked away at the Dancing Winnebago RV Park that Claire didn’t want the law to know to protect both Ruby and the RV park from being dragged through the muck. Joe’s criminal past could shut down business for a long time, if not for good.
“What sort of history?” Coop asked, watching her in the rearview mirror.
She held his stare for a moment before returning to her window view. She could always count on Coop the cop to latch onto anything criminally related. “A checkered one.”
“Hmmm,” he said, but didn’t press her for more.
They rolled along in silence for a mile or two. From the stereo, Dwight Yoakam crooned out his hit “A Long Way Home,” warning her about the hazards of dragging her heart over rocks for years and years. Too little, too late, Dwight. She sang along with him under her breath anyway, trying to focus on letting go of the past and enjoying a day of sightseeing.
Truth be told, she was eager to take a break from Jackrabbit Junction and see more of Arizona. With the sun high in the clear blue sky and the air cool enough for her to need a sweat jacket, it was a perfect day to ramble about at an old fort. Open countryside and glimpses into the past would make for a soothing change from the three stooges critiquing her handiwork … if it weren’t for Coop.
“Ya know, I could use more checkers in my past,” Harvey said, breaking the silence.
“Your past is checkered enough, Uncle Willis,” Coop said. “Don’t go hunting for trouble while we’re on vacation.”
“Vacation ain’t any fun without a li’l side action.”
“We’re supposed to be
