Undercover Sheriff. Barbara Phinney

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       Chapter Two

      Rachel blinked away all the suspicions and paranoia and focused on Zane, telling herself again not to be intimidated by this abrasive version of her town’s sheriff. “I was going to check out that postcard.”

      He held it up. “The one that has your name on it? Logically, it seems to point to you, so interviewing you would be the next step, except you claim that you had nothing to do with Alex’s disappearance. Therefore, this card is a dead end, so why bother taking it?”

      Rachel felt even more heat flood into her face. Before she could answer, he continued, “I’ve been watching you, Miss Smith. I believe that as soon as you found that postcard, you realized that you might be implicated in my brother’s disappearance, which prompted you to try to dispose of it. In fact, I believe that was your sole reason for coming here. To remove any incriminating evidence because you’re involved somehow.”

      “That’s not true!” Rachel swallowed, realizing too late that her outburst wasn’t such a good idea. “You should be asking the deputy why this room hasn’t been searched.”

      “I intend to, and since we have already established that Mrs. Shrankhof trusts you—”

      Rachel tried her best to look knowing. “She’s an excellent judge of character.”

      “I disagree. You’re a thief. You stole this card. Since you clearly have Alex’s landlady in your back pocket, we will have to consider her a biased witness and disregard any statement she might make in your defense.” Zane took a step toward her as his gaze flicked up and down her frame.

      Rachel tipped her head up, something she rarely had to do with men, thanks to her height. She studied Zane. She didn’t remember seeing the tiny creases between Alex’s eyebrows, but Zane had them. He also seemed a whole lot more canny than his easygoing twin. How did he know so much about biased witnesses, statements and such? Was he also in law enforcement?

      “You have all but admitted that you have another motive rather than the noble one of finding three people,” Zane asked.

      Rachel pulled herself together. “You know this because...”

      “You call Alex by his first name.”

      Normally, Rachel wouldn’t be so improper as to call the sheriff by his first name, but Alex had insisted on Christian names once he’d learned of her ministry, saying he valued her work. She’d appreciated the friendly personality, but had kept her encounters with him as brief and as few as possible, not wanting the women she helped to believe there was more between the sheriff and her than there really was.

      Alex had understood that. He was easy to get along with, candid even, unlike this brother, who currently looked travel worn and testy, as suspicious as that postcard.

      Despite knowing why she kept her distance, Alex had been quite companionable, often greeting her in the street. This twin appeared to be the exact opposite. Rachel folded her arms. “What of calling Alex by his Christian name? We had exchanged them.”

      “Really? He’s not in your class.”

      Rachel bristled but refused to answer. Although her mother had always tried to instill in her the importance of staying within one’s class, Rachel knew, even years ago when the Lord had changed her young life, that all were equal at heart. Wasn’t that a founding principle that made the United States? She remembered the celebration when Colorado had joined the union. Hadn’t the mayor commented on that? It didn’t matter. She knew enough not to argue with this man. Not today, anyway.

      “As for another motive, it’s nearly noon,” Zane commented abruptly, “and judging by the freshness of the rouge on your cheeks and the powder under your eyes, I would say that you have only just completed your toilet.”

      “How does that indicate another motive?”

      The corners of Zane’s mouth rose slightly. “I can tell that you retired very late last night. What exactly were you doing until all hours? Whatever it was, I wonder if it’s making you feel guilty,” he speculated.

      “Not in the least.” She threw back her shoulders and tugged on the sleeves of her jacket. “The hours I keep are none of your concern.”

      He was being ridiculous, she told herself. Staying out late did not cause her to feel guilty. Was he goading her?

      “And how do you explain these?” He lifted her left hand and indicated her rough knuckles before turning it over to expose the dry, hard calluses. “Are you a washerwoman by night?”

      She yanked back her hand, regretting that she’d removed her gloves upon entering this room. “That’s none of your business.”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ