Deputy Defender. Cindi Myers

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СКАЧАТЬ hadn’t seemed that upset about the note. And really, who could take it seriously, with the yellow paper and cartoon flowers?

      She had always admired Dwight’s steadiness. When they had been in high school, he was one of the stars on the basketball team. As a cheerleader, she had attended every game and watched him lope up and down the gym on his long legs. She had watched all the players, of course, but especially him. He had thick chestnut hair and eyes the color of the Colorado sky in a ruggedly handsome face. There was something so steady about him, even then. Like many of her classmates, he was the son of a local rancher. He wore jeans and boots and Western shirts and walked with the swaggering gait that came from spending so much time on horseback.

      A town girl, she didn’t have much in common with him, and was too shy to do more than smile at him in the hall. He always returned the greeting, but that was as far as it went. He’d never asked her out, and after graduation, they’d both left for college. She had returned to town five years later as a newlywed, her husband, Andy, anxious to set up his practice in the small town he had fallen in love with on visits to meet her family. Dwight returned a year later, fresh from military service in Afghanistan. Brenda would have predicted he would go to work on the family ranch—the choice of law enforcement surprised her. But the job suited him—the steadiness and thoughtfulness she had glimpsed as a teen made him a good cop. One she was depending on to help her through this latest crisis.

      When they entered the history museum, Lacy was talking to a wiry young man with buzzed hair and tattoos covering both forearms. “Brenda!” Lacy greeted them, then her eyebrows rose as Dwight stepped in behind her. “And Dwight. Hello.” She turned to the young man. “Brenda is the person you need to talk to.”

      “Hello, Parker,” Dwight said.

      “Deputy.” The young man nodded, his expression guarded.

      “This is Parker Riddell,” Lacy said. “Paige Riddell’s brother. Parker, this is Brenda Stenson, the museum’s director.”

      Paige ran the local bed-and-breakfast and headed up the environmental group that had stopped Henry Hake’s development. Brenda couldn’t recall her ever mentioning a brother. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, offering her hand. “How can I help you?”

      Parker hesitated, then took it. “I was wanting to volunteer here,” he said.

      “Are you interested in history?” Brenda asked.

      “Yeah. And my sister said you could use some help, so...” He shrugged.

      “Well, yes. I can always use help. But now isn’t really a good time. Could you come back tomorrow?”

      “I guess so.” Parker cut his eyes to Dwight. “Is something wrong?”

      “No. Deputy Prentice is here to discuss security for our auction.” Brenda forced a smile. That sounded like a reasonable explanation for Dwight’s presence, didn’t it? And not that far from the truth.

      “Okay, I guess I’ll come back tomorrow.” Keeping his gaze on Dwight, he sidled past and left, the doorbells clanging behind him.

      “What was that about?” Lacy asked Dwight. “He was looking at you like you were a snake he was afraid would strike—or a bug he wanted to stomp on.”

      “Let’s just say Parker has a rocky history with law enforcement. I’d be careful about taking him on as a volunteer.”

      He sounded so serious. “Do you think he’s dangerous?” Brenda asked.

      Dwight shifted his weight. “I just think he’s someone who should be watched closely.”

      “I’ll keep that in mind.” Brenda turned to Lacy. “Thanks for looking after things here while I was gone. You can go home now. I’m going to go over some things with Dwight, then close up for lunch.”

      Lacy gave her a speculative look, but said nothing. “We’ll talk later,” she said, then collected her purse and left.

      Brenda crossed her arms and faced Dwight. “What’s the story on Parker Riddell?” she asked.

      He rubbed the back of his neck. “I probably shouldn’t tell you.”

      “This is a very small town—you know I’ll find out eventually. If anyone links the information back to you, you can tell them I was doing a background check prior to taking him on as a volunteer. That’s not unreasonable.”

      “All right.” He leaned back against the counter facing her. “He got into trouble with drugs, got popped for some petty theft, then a burglary charge. He did a little jail time, then went into rehab and had a chance at a deferred sentence.”

      “What does that mean?” she asked.

      “It means if he keeps his nose clean, his record will be expunged. I take it he came to live with Paige after he got out of rehab to get away from old friends and, hopefully, bad habits. And I hope he does that. That doesn’t mean I think it’s the best idea in the world for you to spend time alone with him, or leave him alone with anything around here that’s valuable.”

      “Do you think he might have sent the note?”

      He frowned. “It doesn’t fit any pattern of behavior he’s shown before—at least that I know of. But I can look into it. I will look into it.”

      “I can’t think of anyone who would do something like that,” she said. “I mean, anonymous notes—it’s so, well, sleazy. And over a stupid book.”

      “Show me the book.”

      “It’s back here.” She led the way into the workroom, to a file drawer in the back corner. She had placed The Secret History of Rayford County, Colorado inside an acid-free cardboard box. She opened the box and handed the book to Dwight.

      He read the title on the front, then opened it and flipped through it, stopped and read a few lines. “It’s a little dry,” he said.

      “Some parts are better than others,” she said. “Collectors are mainly interested because of the subject matter and its rarity.”

      He returned the book to her. “Maybe someone is upset that this top-secret information has been leaked,” he said.

      “The whole thing happened seventy years ago,” she said. “As far as I can determine, most of the details about the project are declassified, and all the people who took part are long dead.”

      “A relative who’s especially touchy about the family name?” Dwight speculated. “Someone related to the author?” He examined the spine of the book. “S. Smith.”

      “The research I did indicated the name is probably a pseudonym,” Brenda said. “In any case, since the author was supposedly part of the project, he would most likely be dead by now. Since his real identity has never been made public, what is there for the family to be upset about?”

      “Someone else, then,” Dwight said.

      “Are there any new suspicious people hanging around town?” she asked.

      He shook his head. “No one who stands out.”

      “Except СКАЧАТЬ