“I’ll do that,” he said easily. “Who’s home?”
“Mom’s sleeping. The little kids crawled into bed with her to watch TV. You know where Cody is,” Colt said, then shut the door in his face. Lucas got back in the Blazer and drove over to his cousin’s house. He knocked on the weathered door, watching it rattle in the frame as he did.
No answer. One good shot with his fist would splinter the rotting wood around the lock, but once again, he refrained. Either the Burtons or Tanya had both motive and opportunity, but an arrest wasn’t enough. Convictions counted. He’d stop by again later.
Back in the Blazer and headed into Walkers Ford, Lucas mulled over the break-in. Until recently, crime in Walkers Ford had run more to alcohol—underage drinking, driving while intoxicated, accidents—and dog problems of the loose and/or barking variety. The social fabric of a small town policed as effectively as he did. Neighbors looked after one another, kept an eye on each other’s kids. Life as the Walkers Ford chief of police was exactly the break he needed after a decade in Denver.
Then J&H Industries, the manufacturing plant on the county line, had lost a major defense contract and scaled back to two shifts, with the corresponding eddies into small businesses supported by those workers. Convenience stores, cafés and restaurants, gas stations were all directly affected by fewer people driving to and from work. Shops noticed a decrease in sales. People worried about feeding their kids and paying bills sometimes turned to drugs for relief.
Sometimes they took what they needed from someone else who had it. Like Gunther Jensen, a retired farmer making ends meet on Social Security.
Lucas drove past the library on his way into town. On impulse, he pulled into the parking lot and climbed the stairs to the front door. Through the leaded-glass windows he saw Cody, a can of Pledge in one hand and a dust rag in the other, carefully wiping down the woodwork around the front windows.
Alana stood in front of one of the library’s public access computers, guiding a patron through using a search engine. She wore a knee-length skirt made of brown fabric that looked like it would be rough to the touch, a cream sweater that hit at her hips and was belted around her waist with a very thin brown leather belt. The outfit was sophisticated, clearly expensive, and worn with a confidence only big-city money brought. But while the way her skirt clung to the curve of her ass when she leaned on the elbow-high counter made his pulse pound, it was the bright interest in her eyes as she explained the nuances of Google-fu to Mrs. Finley that tightened his heart in his chest.
He opened the door. Cody steadfastly ignored him, but Alana’s gaze flicked to the door to see who the newcomer was. Her eyes widened when she saw him, and she excused herself.
“Yes, Chief?”
He lifted his eyebrows, just as a test. As expected, she blushed, just a faint hint of pink, but enough to remind them both of unfinished business.
Relenting, he flicked a glance in Cody’s direction. “How’s he working out?”
“Considering he’s been here for all of three hours, fine. Why?”
Her stomach growled ominously, loud enough for the mom sitting in the children’s book area to look up in surprise. “I’m going to grab some lunch. You want to come along?”
She looked around the building. Mrs. Battle, the former library director who’d come out of retirement at seventy-seven to help Alana, held a book at an odd angle and peered at the call numbers on the spine, then shelved it just as the phone rang. Mrs. Battle beat Alana to it, and another mom with kids came through the front door. “I can walk over to Gina’s with you,” she said. “I can’t stay away for long.”
“Fair enough,” he said.
“Chief Ridgeway and I are going to walk over to Gina’s and talk about Cody’s community service,” she said to Mrs. Battle. Lucas wasn’t thrilled with the way she made this sound all professional, nothing personal. “I’ll bring back lunch. Minestrone soup?”
“Yes, please,” Mrs. Battle said. “Take your time.”
Alana disappeared into the office to grab her purse. Once down the steps, she shouldered the enormous bag and set off down the sidewalk. He didn’t have to ease up on his stride so she could keep up. She gave him an expectant glance as they crossed Main Street. “I just came from Gunther Jensen’s place. It was broken into this morning while he was visiting his sister at the nursing home.”
“That’s terrible,” she said.
That was life. That kept guys like him in enough work to last a lifetime. “They wrecked it pretty badly, took some jewelry, a laptop, some cash.” He waited while she processed this. “Gunther lives about a mile from Cody’s place.”
She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and looked at him. “Cody was waiting outside the library this morning. He was nearly blue with cold. I’d say he’d been outside for quite a while.”
“He have a car?”