He looked surprised and smiled a little. “Is there something wrong with that?”
“No,” she said. “Someone has to be the good guy. Is it really part of your job to go and see Millie Bagley?”
He shrugged. “I guess it depends on your interpretation. I like to think it falls within the guidelines for community policing. I’m just trying to head off a problem before it happens.”
Too late for that, Libby thought. “So . . . how many people do you check on?”
“Ah . . . just a few,” he said vaguely, shifting his gaze out the window. “We’re going to see Tony next.”
A few miles up, he turned off the main road onto a little two-lane county road, which Libby knew led into Elk Valley. She saw Tony’s place on the side of the hill long before they reached it—it was a double-wide trailer perched up on a narrow patch of land. A clutter of car parts, lawn chairs, and a grill filled the small lawn below the decking attached to the house.
As they drove up the drive, a slight man emerged from the trailer and walked unevenly out onto the deck. He lazily lifted one hand as Sam pulled the truck into the trip of leveling before the house. Sam opened his truck door, and it knocked against one of the decking posts. “Watch your step getting out,” he said to Libby.
When she opened her door, she saw the reason for his caution—she had about a foot of caliche-covered drive before a drop-off into steep terrain. She walked carefully around the back of the truck and smiled hesitantly at the man on the porch decking. He was young, probably no older than Libby’s twenty-six years, but somehow, he also managed to look twice as old as she was. He had pale blue eyes that he fixed on Libby. His eyes looked sad. Deeply sad.
He nodded to her and moved toward them in an uneven gait. When he reached the steps, Libby saw why—he had a prosthetic limb from the knee down, visible because he had cut the leg from his camouflage cargo pants. At the end of his prosthesis was a clunky black shoe. His other foot was bare.
“Hey, Tony,” Sam said congenially. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Libby Tyler.”
“Hi,” Tony responded.
“How are things?” Sam asked.
“Okay, I guess.” Tony scratched his cheek. “Been flying solo.”
“Oh yeah?” Sam said. “Tess hasn’t been out?”
“Nah, man,” Tony said. “We had a big fight and she took off. Somebody down at the Rocky Creek Tavern told her they’d seen me in there with that chick Diane from Pine River.”
“You mean Dana?”
“Yeah, Dana,” Tony said, and reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. “You know me, Sam.” He tapped one out. “I don’t get out. I ain’t seen Diana, Dana, in over a year. But Tess, man, she blew up.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Sam said, but he didn’t sound the least bit sorry about it.
“Don’t be,” Tony said, pausing to light his cigarette. “She likes to create drama. You know how that is.”
“Yes, I know all about that,” Sam agreed.
Libby glanced curiously at Sam. How did he know all about that? It occurred to her that she didn’t really know when or how his marriage had ended.
“This your woman?” Tony asked, startling Libby back to the here and now.
“Woman!” Libby sputtered, surprised he would ask that question in that manner. “No,” she said quickly. She could feel Sam’s gaze shift to her, and she felt a little contrite for speaking so quickly and firmly. It was out of the realm of possibility, yes, but not because of anything to do with Sam.
Nevertheless, Sam shot her a look.
“Libby’s just helping me out today,” he said, focusing on Tony again. “And I was hoping maybe you could help her.”
Tony took a long draw off his cigarette, then exhaled skyward. “Don’t know how I’d do that.”
“Libby’s got a car that needs some work,” Sam said. “You know cars. I thought maybe you could help.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
The two men looked at Libby for an answer. She blinked. How the hell should she know? It was a car, and it wasn’t working properly—what more was there to be said? “I don’t know,” she said. “It doesn’t run sometimes.”
“Do you feel it jump sometimes? Maybe feel it trying to give out while you’re driving?”
“I don’t . . . I don’t know,” she stammered.
“See anything out the exhaust pipes? Smell anything?”
“I don’t think so.”
Tony’s gaze narrowed suspiciously, as if he suspected Libby of withholding valuable information. “All right. I’ll take a look.”
“I don’t have much money,” Libby quickly added.
Tony shrugged. “Neither do I.”
“And . . . and I’m not sure I could get all the way out here in my car. I live north of Pine River.”
Tony took another long drag from his cigarette as he studied Libby. “That’s a problem,” he agreed. “I’m not exactly driving these days.”