Michael looked around the diner. The sheriff was easy to spot by the beige uniform and cowboy hat on the table. Half the tables had patrons, and at the counter, nearly every stool was full. The diner had a tired aura, like it was working on autopilot. Taking in the dated decor, Michael figured that nothing had changed since the midseventies.
Several people glanced over as he and Jamie stepped inside, their looks lingering a little longer than was polite, but eventually turned back to their food. Sheriff Spencer made eye contact, held it for two seconds, and then waved them over. Michael let Jamie walk ahead of him. Watching the customers, he realized Jamie in her snug shorts drew every man’s gaze, not just his own. He met the gaze of one younger man who’d discreetly watched Jamie walk by.
Yep, she’s with me.
Let them stare. He was the one who’d be walking out with the woman.
Michael inwardly frowned. Well…Jamie was with him. But not in the way he wanted. Not yet. Once he set his mind to something, he succeeded. And his mind was set on Jamie. She just needed a little convincing. He was good at that.
Sheriff Spencer was shaking Jamie’s hand, introducing himself. He reached out to Michael, and they shook. “I knew the minute you walked in the door you were the folks from Portland. We don’t get a lot of visitors through here.”
“So we’ve found out,” Jamie commented.
The sheriff gestured for them to sit at his table and waved the waitress over. “You hungry? The enchiladas here are incredible. The owner’s married to my receptionist and really knows his food.”
That explained Sara’s restaurant recommendation.
The sheriff didn’t look at all like he’d sounded on the phone. His voice was low and raspy like an older, bigger man, but he couldn’t be a day over forty or a pound over one-sixty. Thin and wiry, he looked like a runner who’d been jogging in the sun. A lot.
Michael and Jamie both ordered cheese enchiladas and dug into the bowl of tortilla chips the waitress plopped down on the table. Michael took a bite and felt it melt in his mouth. Damn, they were good. Hot, fresh, crisp.
“Watch the salsa,” warned the sheriff. “It’s got some kick.”
Jamie dipped a tentative corner into the salsa, took a bite, and sighed in appreciation.
They made polite small talk as Michael tried not to make a pig of himself with the chips. Their drive, the weather, the food. The salsa rocked. The sheriff was right; it had kick, but an awesome kick.
The sheriff rubbed his hands together. “I know you’re not here for the food. Let’s talk about this guy you’re looking for. Chris Jacobs. Now, the reason I asked you to check in with me before heading out there wasn’t just for the directions. You’ll need to watch your odometer, keeping track of the tenths of miles to know where to turn; there’s no signage out that way. You could drive around for hours and not find it. What I really wanted to do was warn you to be careful. That boy’s a crack shot with a rifle, and the rifle usually greets any visitors before he does.”
Michael noticed Jamie stop with a chip halfway to her mouth and slowly lay it back on her plate. “He shoots at people?” Her voice cracked.
“No. I’d say he’s just well prepared. I haven’t been out there for a while, but around the time of Elena’s death, I made several trips. I always saw the rifle before I saw the owner. That’s okay. There’s a lotta people around here like that. You just need to make your presence known. He doesn’t have a landline. If he has a cell phone, I don’t know what it is, and I doubt he gets much coverage if he does.”
“Back to the rifle,” interjected Michael. “He hurt anybody?”
“Nope.”
“But you know he’s a crack shot?”
“Yep, my deputies have watched him out at the firing range. Said they’ve never seen anything like his accuracy. Rifle and handgun. Seems to have quite the arsenal. They’ve seen him with half a dozen different weapons.”
Michael glanced at Jamie. She shook her head. “That’s news to me. I didn’t know he could shoot.”
Shrewd eyes studied Jamie. “How do you know him? He doesn’t speak to anyone except old Juan, his closest neighbor. Even he lives half a mile away. Jacobs has lived out there as long as I’ve been sheriff, and that’s been over ten years.”
“He’s my brother,” Jamie said simply. “He moved out when he was eighteen.”
The sheriff nodded slowly, his eyes sympathetic. “He keep in contact?”
Jamie shook her head. “Not really.”
Sheriff Spencer looked away for a few seconds, pressing his lips together as he thought. Michael watched the man wrestle with a decision. There was something he didn’t want to share, and it didn’t speak highly of Chris Jacobs.
“Spill it,” Michael ordered. He took Jamie’s hand under the table and gently squeezed. Her hands were cold.
“Well, I’m not one to gossip—”
“Then don’t. If you don’t know it to be true, then I don’t want to hear about it,” stated Jamie. Her grip tightened on Michael’s hand.
The sheriff rubbed a hand across his mouth. “The woman. Elena. They never married. That’s no big deal, and having a kid while not wed wasn’t a big deal to most around here. They looked happy whenever I saw them. Can’t say I’ve ever seen him smile since she died—”
“What’s his name? The boy?” Jamie interrupted again.
The sheriff’s eyes widened. “You don’t know his name? Jesus H. Christ. That’s a hell of a brother you’ve got there. The boy is Brian.”
Michael watched Jamie’s lips move as she silently spoke the name. Her eyes grew wet.
“I can’t believe he wouldn’t tell you,” Sheriff Spencer snorted. “Why in the world would he refuse to tell you Brian’s name?”
“I didn’t know about him. Brian. I didn’t even know he existed.” Jamie’s voice drifted off.
“That’s even worse.” The sheriff shook his head, wonder in his eyes.
“What were you about to say about Jacobs?” Michael brought the sheriff’s focus back to the matter at hand.
A blank look crossed his face for a split second. “Crap. Lost my train of thought. I was about to say people think Chris was in the car with Elena when it crashed. Maybe somehow caused the crash. He had a big bruise on his face that day, but claims he’d accidentally whacked himself with something…I don’t remember what. It was enough to make people talk, wonder why he’d not admit to being at the scene of the accident. Made him look guilty in some way.”
“He said he wasn’t there?” Michael asked.
“He said he was home.”
“Why would he want to cause an accident? You said they seemed happy.”
The sheriff shrugged. “Elena was a Mexican gal. Probably illegal. I figure that’s why they never married. She just appeared around town one day, no family, looking for work. I’m not certain how she hooked up with your brother. Anyway, some stuff didn’t make sense at the accident. The passenger door was open. Elena’s blood was on the outside of her door, but her door and window were shut. Someone had been there after the accident. Jacobs seemed the most likely. The accident happened close enough to their home. He could have easily walked home.”
“Who found her?” whispered Jamie.
“Dean Schmidt. Driving by. Swears he didn’t touch the driver’s door. He’d noticed it was bloody when he got there. He checked Elena from the passenger side and said that door was open. He had to drive a few miles to get a cell signal to call it in.”
“He could have messed up the scene,” stated Michael.
“He could have,” the sheriff agreed. “Dean is eighty-eight years old and sharp as a whip. I guess he watches CSI all the time, said he knew not to touch anything. He checked for a pulse and that was it. A lot of the blood had already dried, and she was nearly cold by the time he found her.”
“So anyone passing by could have tampered with the scene.”
“I’d usually agree with that statement, but that road only goes to the Schmidt place or your brother’s place. The chances of anyone else driving by are slim to none.”
“Chris was never arrested for anything, right?” Jamie asked.
“Nope. I was the one to deliver the news. I saw the look on his face. That was the look of a man who’d just lost the love of his life.” The sheriff blinked hard. “I asked some questions and was satisfied he knew nothing of the accident. I’m not sure who first spread the story of him causing the accident—I’d like to kick their ass. Damn town loves gossip.”
“And telling us? That’s not spreading gossip?” Michael raised a brow.
“I’ve never repeated the story to another person, and I’ve told plenty of people to shut up about it. I’m just giving you some background on what your brother’s experienced here because you’re related. I’d say he’s rather bitter. Now you know why.”
A waitress set two huge platters of food on the table. Michael inhaled. Christ. It was heaven. He didn’t even look at Jamie as he dug in. “Holy shit. That’s good.”
Jamie nodded, her mouth full.
Sheriff Spencer grinned and pulled a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. “Here’s your directions. Like I said, watch the odometer, otherwise you’ll never know which road to turn on.” He stood, picked up his hat, and glanced at his watch. “Kinda late to drive out there tonight. You’re gonna want better light. I’d wait till morning. It’s up to you. Hotel’s just down the street.”
Michael stood to shake his hand. “Thanks for your help.”
The sheriff touched the brim of his hat at Jamie. “Good luck.”
Michael sat back down with a sigh and picked up his fork. Tomorrow morning was fine with him. He wanted to eat and then sleep. Nothing else.
“All this cheese,” Jamie said, focusing on her plate. “I’m gonna have a ton of calories to work off.”
Michael suddenly lost his need for sleep.