Deadly Cover-Up. Julie Lindsey Anne

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       Chapter Four

      Wyatt strode back into the blazing midday sun, adjusting his worn-out Stetson and squinting against the light. A trip to the local bar had proven equally as useless as all his other stops today. Wyatt had ordered a sweet tea for the sake of manners, then asked the motley lineup at the bar what they knew about Mrs. Ames. They’d all pointedly ignored him. Though it had been Wyatt’s experience that small-town folks were occasionally tight-lipped when it came to outsiders, he’d usually had great luck with the men drinking their way through daylight. Local bars were the male equivalent of a beauty parlor for gossip and hearsay. Except not here. The handful of men who had bellied up to a beer and a shot glass at this bar had officially broken the mold. And just like the local diner, hardware store, mechanic and barber, no one had any news to share about Mrs. Ames.

      Wyatt took his leave of yet another uncooperative group and headed back onto the street. He spun his key ring around one finger and took a long look in both directions. Where to next?

      A sheriff’s cruiser slid against the curb before he’d had time to decide. The cruiser’s lights flashed. No siren. The man who climbed out was nearing fifty with narrow shoulders and a shiny star on his chest.

      Wyatt tipped his hat and stepped aside, allowing the local sheriff room to pass on the narrow sidewalk. The town was a modern-day Rockwell portrait waiting to happen. So what had brought the sheriff and his flashers out? Wyatt paused, waiting to see where the local lawman would go. Had there been another “accident” like Mrs. Ames’s? Or perhaps the bar patrons had reanimated and grown rowdy in Wyatt’s absence.

      The sheriff stopped in front of Wyatt and rested a palm on the butt of his sidearm. “Are you the stranger going door-to-door and making folks nervous?”

      Wyatt glanced over his shoulder in search of a shady, bothersome guy.

      No one was behind him. The sheriff was definitely talking to Wyatt.

      “I don’t think so, sir,” Wyatt said. “I’ve been out enjoying your lovely town. Meeting folks. That’s all.”

      The sheriff gave a long, assessing look. “Where did you come from?”

      “Lexington,” Wyatt answered, this time returning the scrutiny. Irritated, he crossed his arms and widened his stance. “You been sheriff long?”

      “Long enough.”

      Wyatt smiled. “Someone reported me for being friendly?” He’d love to know who, but didn’t have to ask to know the sheriff wasn’t telling. Too bad, because whoever had made the complaint might also be the one with something to hide. A recent B and E for example, or maybe an assault on an old lady. “Is that a crime in this town?” Wyatt had spoken to a dozen locals, but he’d been careful not to ask anything too pointed. He’d asked if anyone knew Mrs. Ames, if they’d heard about her fall, and where he might get a good locksmith after the break-in. He’d already changed the locks, of course, but he’d hoped to read folks’ expressions. See who was shocked by the news of a burglary and who already knew. Problem was that no one had paid any attention to him at all.

      The sheriff sucked his teeth and grimaced. His stance was rigid, defiant, not at all welcoming or pleasantly confident. Wyatt pegged him for a bully. “What business brings you to River Gorge?”

      “I’m visiting.”

      “Who?”

      Wyatt homed in on the sheriff’s features, the beating pulse in his throat, the dilation of his pupils. “Gladys Ames. Do you know her?”

      The sheriff nodded. “I know everyone, but I’ve never seen you. Are you a relative?”

      “No. Mrs. Ames is my girlfriend’s grandma,” he improvised. “I came to watch over her while she’s here. Seems there was a break-in last night. You were there, right?” Hadn’t Violet said it was a Sheriff Masterson whose cruiser had forced his truck into the grass on the narrow gravel road? “Got any idea who would’ve done something like that?”

      A pinch of guilt tugged in his mind for announcing Violet as his girlfriend, but Wyatt wasn’t about to tell the sheriff who he really was or why he’d come to River Gorge. Not considering the inquisition he was getting just for speaking to locals. For all Wyatt knew, the sheriff could be the reason Mrs. Ames needed his help in the first place. She certainly could have chosen to talk to the sheriff instead. And if he was being honest, the idea of being Violet’s boyfriend wasn’t a bad one. Which was confusing all by itself, because Wyatt didn’t do relationships.

      Sheriff Masterson cocked his hip. “Funny. Violet didn’t say anything about a boyfriend when I spoke to her last night. She surely didn’t mention anything about a man coming here to stay with her.”

      “Can you blame me? She was attacked inside her grandma’s home. I couldn’t stay away after that. Turns out I’m the overprotective sort.” He straightened to his full height and locked his jaw, an intentional reminder that Sheriff Masterson might have the star, but Wyatt was there to protect Violet and Maggie. Anyone with different plans would have to go through him, and no one ever had. “Any leads on the break-in? Seems strange, doesn’t it? Someone busts into an old lady’s house, tears it up but takes nothing. She lives on a widow’s pension. What was there to take? And the crime occurred on the same day she allegedly fell from a ladder.” Wyatt furrowed his brow. “As the sheriff, that must send up some red flags.”

      “Crime happens everywhere. I’m looking into the break-in, but old ladies fall all the time.” He gave Wyatt a more thorough look then, trailing him head to toe, lingering on his jacket, sides and ankles. Looking for signs of a weapon? If he had anything to say about the gun nestled against his back, or knife in his boot, Wyatt had a permit to carry concealed firearms and more training than the good sheriff could fathom for the knife. “Military?” he asked.

      “Ranger.”

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