“Where’re the other two?” Ester asks, looking at me as though I have the answer. Considering I was unaware until moments ago that Walter had a small herd of alpacas, I don’t. “Penelope and Karen?”
“Who knows?” Gary says, lifting his ball cap and scrubbing a hand through what little hair remains. “I bet that greedy?—”
“Gary,” Ester says, her tone a warning as she nods toward the corner booth.
Gary clears his throat and tries again. “I bet he sold them to the highest bidder. I’m glad Birdie escaped.”
“But where is she now?” Delma asks, the woman near tears. “I hope she didn’t get hit by a car?—”
“Birdie is safe,” I interject.
“Oh good!” Delma says, clutching her chest.
Safe for now. But I keep that part to myself.
To my knowledge, the place Birdie escaped from hasn’t reported her missing. But that doesn’t mean I’m not racing some invisible clock to find answers before they want her back. I know in my gut Birdie is safest at the Stone Ranch. But unless I get some answers fast, her fate might be out of my hands.
“According to Annabelle Wells, Walter’s at Shady Pines,” Jean says, topping off my half empty coffee mug. Annabelle, a longtime server atThe Rusty Nail, knows almost as much about what goes on in this town as Jean does.
“Shady Pines?” Delma repeats, the dread heavy in both her tone and expression.
“Hewouldput Walter in a home that’s hardly better than a prison,” Ester mutters, shaking her head in obvious disapproval. “You know they’ve been shut down twice in the last ten years? It’s a miracle they’re even open. That grandson is a piece of work if you ask me.”
“Sheriff, if that sorry excuse for a grandson comes around, can you arrest him?” Delma asks, her tone a combination of malicious and hopeful. As though I might actually have some authority to arrest someone for just being a shitty human being.If only.
“And what would he be charged with?” Gary chimes in, playing devil’s advocate.
“Elder abuse,” Ester offers.
The redheaded woman laughs in the corner, just once, but it’s enough to draw all attention to her.
“Sorry,” she says with a sheepish smile. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Please, ignore me.”
“I don’t believe we know you, sweetie,” Ester says, turning up the charm. “Are you new to town?”
“We’re just passing through,” she says, offering another smile that doesn’t reach her tired, red-rimmed eyes.
“Headed out West?” Delma guesses.
“California!” the little girl pipes up, her expression brightening as she looks up from the picture she’s coloring.
“You’ve been driving a long time, haven’t you?” Gary asks.
The redhead clams up, suddenly uncomfortable. My first instinct suggests she’s on the run. I study her a bit closer, uncertain whether it’s the lighting playing tricks or if she’s covered a bruise beneath her left eye with thick makeup. Could just be dark circles under her eyes if they’ve been driving for days.
“Guys, let the ladies enjoy their ice cream in peace?” I interject.
The little girl giggles, no doubt at being called a lady. I’d peg her for six or seven, but her pigtails could be making her look younger than she really is.
“Sorry, I just noticed your license plate,” Gary says, waving in apology to the woman as he finally slips onto a stool beside me at the front counter.
“We’ve been drivingforever,” the little girl says dramatically. “Are you sure this isn’t California?”
“Janie,” the woman hisses.
“What? You said you were tired, Mommy.” The little girl—Janie—kicks her dangling feet against the booth as she takes another bite of a tornado ice cream concoction they’re sharing. It’s the one with frosted animal cookies that Everleigh always asks me to get when there’s an ice cream emergency. I consider swinging back by the diner to grab a couple tornadoes to go for her and my sister to apologize for my tardiness. Because after I make a pitstop toThe Rusty Nail, I will definitely be late.
“If you need a place to rest, there’s a lovely bed and breakfast just a couple blocks up the road,” Jean offers to the woman. “Owner’s a friend of mine.”
