He turned the beam on himself. “You might be better off with the motorcycle gang. I don’t like people messing around my crime scenes. Are you some college kid who’s hazing for a sorority?”
“No.” She was studying him with narrowed eyes, her gaze going from his broad shoulders sheathed in the black leather jacket to his muscular body garbed in the tan uniform and down to his black boots. Then it traveled up to his close-cut dark hair, to his craggy cheekbones, square, defined chin, and deep-set blue eyes. “I think maybe you’re right. You look … formidable. I might be better off with a Hell’s Angel.”
“Now that we agree on that score, let’s find out who the hell you are. You’re not a college kid. Curiosity seeker? Do you belong to one of those phony witch covens and are trying to get ritual dirt for one of your spells?”
“You do have an imagination. Why don’t you just let me answer you?” She tilted her head. “You’re the local sheriff? What’s your name?”
“John Nalchek.” He pulled her to a sitting position. “And I was giving you the benefit of the doubt. My next question was going to be what you had to do with the killer who murdered the little girl who was buried in that grave.”
“Nothing. I was just examining the grave and seeing if I could tell if—” She studied his face. “You’re very tough and you’re not ready for explanations yet.” She suddenly gave him a luminous smile. “But maybe you could take these handcuffs off me. Then you could take me to the diner I saw down the road and give me a cup of coffee until you are ready.”
He started to pat her down for weapons. “Or you could tell me your name, and I’ll phone it in and get your record.”
“My name is Margaret Douglas.” She made a face. “And my way is better for all of us. Do you know anything about me?”
“No, but I will after I phone it in. Give me your driver’s license.”
“That’s kind of difficult. I don’t have one.”
“Then how did you get here?”
“I hitchhiked from San Francisco, then walked the rest of the way after I reached Sonderville. You’ve never heard of me?”
“Why should I have heard of you?”
“I thought Eve might have paved the way. I guess she wasn’t sure that I’d show up.”
He stiffened. “Eve?”
“Eve Duncan. She sent word through a friend that she needed me.”
“Why?”
“She thought I might be able to help.” She added simply, “I know pretty much about woods and animals and stuff like this.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“You’re upset. That’s why she didn’t tell you about me. I’m kind of hard to explain.”
“Because you’re a kid who looks like she’s barely out of high school and supposed to be better at tracking and recovery than I am? Yeah, that’s damn hard to explain.”
“And your pride is hurt?” She studied him. “I wouldn’t think that your ego was that fragile.”
He finished searching her. “You don’t know anything about me, Margaret Douglas.”
“No, but I think I’d like to. You’re very interesting. But you can see I’m not much of a danger to you. That patdown was very intimate, and you have to know I don’t have any weapons.”
“Not while I have you down and under control. You could have stashed them somewhere in the woods. You might look like the girl next door, but that doesn’t mean anything. When I was in Afghanistan, a young woman not much older than you came running toward my unit screaming for us to save her. When she was close enough to do damage, she pressed a button and blew herself to pieces, together with four of my buddies.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “That must have been terrible for you. No wonder you frisked me down so thoroughly.” She sighed. “Now why don’t you call Eve and tell her that you’ve captured and cuffed me and see what she says. If you don’t trust me, you’ll trust her. Everyone always trusts Eve.”
“Because she’s not a flighty kid wandering around the woods and sniffing the soil around graves.”