lives.”
She nodded her understanding and patted his chest twice. She’d never seen her husband this unsure of himself and found the experience rather disquieting.
“What say we make some lunch?” she said.
Before Gilbert could agree, the sound of a slamming door brought their attention to the hard packed ground in front of the cabin. Becky appeared in the front yard.
“We’re up here,” Emelda sang.
Becky ran a hand through her hair and squinted up at the roof.
Emelda waved.
“I’m going for a walk,” Becky announced.
“Lunch is on the way,” Emelda said brightly.
Becky glowered. “I’ll catch something when I get back,” she said starting up the well worn path leading to the top of the mesa. As she stalked off, the chains and zippers on her skater pants tinkled as she moved.
Emelda started to coax her back, but Gilbert stopped her.
“Wait till she sees how steep it is,” Gilbert said under his breath.
Seven minutes later, Becky had slowed to a crawl. The steep grade and the thin air were taking their toll. She had her jacket tied around her waist; her chest burned; she’d broken into a full sweat. Under normal circumstances, this type of exertion would not have been her bailiwick, today, however, she was motivated.
Down at the cabin, the screen read NO SERVICE. But, as she’d hoped, things got better the higher she climbed. She had a bar here, halfway up, and, she figured, two maybe three by the time she got on top of this stinking hill.
By the time she reached the top and sat with her legs hanging over the sheer edge of the cliff face, she was too gassed to talk. She sat and looked out over the rugged country for a while, before pulling her right knee toward her chest, folding the monstrous cuff up to reveal yet another zippered pocket sewn on the inside of the trousers, from which she liberated her cell phone as well. “Asssssssssssss if.”
As if she didn’t know the combination to that crappy little safe in their bedroom closet. She’d known that since she was she was eight and had spent forty-five minutes watching her dumb and dumber mother fumble her way through getting it open. It never ceased to amaze her how stupid parents assumed their children to be.
Two bars! She wanted to scream in delight but thought better of it. Instead, she pushed a button and speed dialed. “Where were you at school?” came Melanie’s voice at the other end.
“You won’t believe this crap,” Becky said.
11
The relentless north wind had scoured the ground nearly clean of snow. As the Tarrant County patrol car rolled up to the barrier, shards of ice and stone popped beneath the tires like small arms fire. On the right, the foothills seemed close enough to touch. Off to the left, the ground fell steeply toward the valley floor. The digital reading on the dashboard read minus four degrees Fahrenheit. A gust of wind rocked the Sheriff’s Ford Expedition on its heavy-duty springs.
County Sheriff John Letzo looked the part. Early fifties, tall and lean as leather weathered by the wind. He eased the SUV to a stop just short of the red police barrier. On the other side of the saw-horse, a matching police SUV huddled tight against the hill with its engine running.
They’d protected the crime scene with a blue plastic tarp, anchored at the rear to a pair of pine trees, the shelter was held down along the front and sides by a collection of boulders, all very stone-age functional.
“Everything else is exactly the way we found it, as per instructions.” The sheriff’s tone made it clear he didn’t much like being told how to handle a crime scene.
“We get our share of homicides in these parts,” he said. “Tend to be more of the Mom and Pop variety…you know…cabin fever and carving knives, that sort of thing. But we do know a little something about maintaining crime scene integrity.”
He reached up over the sun visor and pulled down a manila envelope. “We found this weighted down by a
She nodded her understanding and patted his chest twice. She’d never seen her husband this unsure of himself and found the experience rather disquieting.
“What say we make some lunch?” she said.
Before Gilbert could agree, the sound of a slamming door brought their attention to the hard packed ground in front of the cabin. Becky appeared in the front yard.
“We’re up here,” Emelda sang.
Becky ran a hand through her hair and squinted up at the roof.
Emelda waved.
“I’m going for a walk,” Becky announced.
“Lunch is on the way,” Emelda said brightly.
Becky glowered. “I’ll catch something when I get back,” she said starting up the well worn path leading to the top of the mesa. As she stalked off, the chains and zippers on her skater pants tinkled as she moved.
Emelda started to coax her back, but Gilbert stopped her.
“Wait till she sees how steep it is,” Gilbert said under his breath.
Seven minutes later, Becky had slowed to a crawl. The steep grade and the thin air were taking their toll. She had her jacket tied around her waist; her chest burned; she’d broken into a full sweat. Under normal circumstances, this type of exertion would not have been her bailiwick, today, however, she was motivated.
Down at the cabin, the screen read NO SERVICE. But, as she’d hoped, things got better the higher she climbed. She had a bar here, halfway up, and, she figured, two maybe three by the time she got on top of this stinking hill.
By the time she reached the top and sat with her legs hanging over the sheer edge of the cliff face, she was too gassed to talk. She sat and looked out over the rugged country for a while, before pulling her right knee toward her chest, folding the monstrous cuff up to reveal yet another zippered pocket sewn on the inside of the trousers, from which she liberated her cell phone as well. “Asssssssssssss if.”
As if she didn’t know the combination to that crappy little safe in their bedroom closet. She’d known that since she was she was eight and had spent forty-five minutes watching her dumb and dumber mother fumble her way through getting it open. It never ceased to amaze her how stupid parents assumed their children to be.
Two bars! She wanted to scream in delight but thought better of it. Instead, she pushed a button and speed dialed. “Where were you at school?” came Melanie’s voice at the other end.
“You won’t believe this crap,” Becky said.
11
The relentless north wind had scoured the ground nearly clean of snow. As the Tarrant County patrol car rolled up to the barrier, shards of ice and stone popped beneath the tires like small arms fire. On the right, the foothills seemed close enough to touch. Off to the left, the ground fell steeply toward the valley floor. The digital reading on the dashboard read minus four degrees Fahrenheit. A gust of wind rocked the Sheriff’s Ford Expedition on its heavy-duty springs.
County Sheriff John Letzo looked the part. Early fifties, tall and lean as leather weathered by the wind. He eased the SUV to a stop just short of the red police barrier. On the other side of the saw-horse, a matching police SUV huddled tight against the hill with its engine running.
They’d protected the crime scene with a blue plastic tarp, anchored at the rear to a pair of pine trees, the shelter was held down along the front and sides by a collection of boulders, all very stone-age functional.
“Everything else is exactly the way we found it, as per instructions.” The sheriff’s tone made it clear he didn’t much like being told how to handle a crime scene.
“We get our share of homicides in these parts,” he said. “Tend to be more of the Mom and Pop variety…you know…cabin fever and carving knives, that sort of thing. But we do know a little something about maintaining crime scene integrity.”
He reached up over the sun visor and pulled down a manila envelope. “We found this weighted down by a
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