Set the Dark on Fire Page 8

  Luke was instantly wary. “Who made this?” he asked, gesturing with the carafe.

  Garrett didn’t look up. “Me.”

  Figuring it couldn’t be any worse than the muck at the firehouse, Luke poured himself a cup and retreated to the safety of his office. He and Garrett hadn’t engaged in a lot of “getting to know you” chitchat, and that suited Luke just fine.

  He had a lot of work to do, none of which he trusted Garrett with. Picturing the look of devastation on Liliana Montes’s face when he broke the bad news, Luke picked up the phone to call the medical examiner. Accident or not, he had a mystery to solve. Moving a dead body wasn’t as stiff a crime as murder, but it was damned peculiar.

  Dr. Hoyt’s receptionist put him right through. “Sheriff Meza?” he inquired, his accent vaguely… Transylvanian. “What can I do for you?”

  Luke flipped through the autopsy photos he’d taken himself and printed out last night. “I have a few questions if you have the time.”

  “Of course.”

  “As far as the marks on her back … well, I’m no expert, but a lot of people out here drive trucks.” This morning, he’d glanced into the corrugated bed of his pickup and a lightbulb had gone off inside his head. “Could she have been lying on a bed liner?”

  “I’m almost certain she was,” Dr. Hoyt admitted. “But I’ve only seen marks like that once before, so I can’t be positive.”

  “How long would it take to make them? I’ve got witnesses who saw her alive at midnight.” He consulted a copy of the preliminary report. “You’ve estimated time of death between 1:00 and 2:00 A.M.”

  “Lividity sets in quickly. She could have visible markings after an hour or less of resting in one place.”

  “Is there a medical explanation for the lack of blood? There was a small amount on her clothing, but none at the scene.”

  “Yes. In this case, death was instantaneous. When the heart stops beating, blood stops pumping. She probably never knew what hit her.”

  Luke leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling, as if more answers might be written there. “Is there any possibility she was killed by something other than a lion?”

  “No,” Dr. Hoyt said. “The amount of pressure needed to sever a spinal cord is immense. The size of the bite, depth of penetration, the space between punctures …” He trailed off. “Even with a piece of specialized equipment, these things cannot be duplicated.”

  “Haven’t you seen Shark Week?” Luke countered, only half-joking. “They made a set of robotic jaws that could bite through steel.”

  Dr. Hoyt’s laugh reminded Luke of the Count from Sesame Street. “Yes, well, you speak of technology that does not exist, with regards to predatory cats. And the cost of such machinery would be prohibitive. A million-dollar hoax, if you will.”

  “She was moved,” Luke said quietly, any trace of humor gone.

  “Indeed she was, Sheriff. But unless you can find a mountain lion with criminal intent, she was not murdered.”

  “What about sexual assault? The mortician said you took DNA samples.”

  “Only as a matter of procedure. I found no evidence of rape, although she’d had intercourse, possibly with more than one partner, within twenty-four hours of the attack. The swabs from the wounds on the neck will be analyzed and compared with the sample from the lion at UC Davis to make a positive ID. The others will be filed.”

  Luke thanked him for his time and hung up, unable to shake the feeling that all was not what it seemed.

  Deciding it was time for another hunting expedition, he pushed away from his desk. Like a lion stalking prey, he strode out of his office and zeroed in on Garrett. If he wasn’t mistaken, his deputy had spiffed up his work area and his appearance. Other than a few folded sections of the Sunday paper, the surface of his desk was clear. His uniform was neatly pressed and Luke could count the comb lines in his slick black hair.

  Garrett Snell was not a handsome man, with his considerable bulk and gloomy, deep-set eyes, but he had a distinct presence. He reminded Luke of a carnival ringmaster. There was a flair about him, as if he were performing, rather than being.

  It also occurred to Luke that Deputy Snell wanted to make a better impression today than he had before, and Luke thought he knew why.

  He pulled up a chair in front of Garrett’s desk and stretched out his legs. When the deputy merely shot him a questioning glance over the top of his newspaper, Luke made a show of studying his fingernails. Two could play at this game. “How long have you been involved with Yesenia?”

  Garrett’s reaction was quite genuine, for once. His forehead turned red and his nostrils flared. “Who says I was?”

  Luke manufactured a bored look. “Come on, Garrett. You pretended not to know her.”

  “I didn’t get close enough to make a positive ID.”

  He made an impatient gesture, waving away Garrett’s denials. “I don’t care what you do off duty. I’m only asking because the medical examiner took DNA samples and I don’t want any surprises.”

  Garrett blinked several times, as if he were calculating the probability of getting caught. “My wife just had a baby,” he muttered, unable to meet Luke’s eyes. “I went with Yesenia to take the edge off.”

  “When?”

  “A week ago.”

  Luke nodded pleasantly, stifling the urge to sink his fist into Garrett’s doughy face. Funny, his deputy had been less repulsive as a liar than he was as a cheat, and Luke regretted having delved into his slimy personal business. “Have you ever investigated a homicide?”

  Garrett’s mouth fell open. “No.”

  “Me, either.”

  “You don’t think—”

  “Nah. But why would anyone move her body?”

  Something sparked in Garrett’s sunken eyes, a hint of intelligence Luke hadn’t realized was there. He decided to overlook the fact that his deputy was a disloyal creep. Devious minds were often great investigative tools.

  “They’re building a new casino on Los Coyotes,” Garrett said.

  “The Indian reservation?”

  “Yeah. No offense, but those guys don’t like a lot of interference from the outside. And a body found on federal land always brings in the FBI.”

  Luke squinted at Garrett, wondering if he should be offended. Shay Phillips had mentioned kids and illegal aliens. Now Indians were being thrown under the bus. “What does the casino have to do with anything?”

  Garrett’s face became animated. “Well, there’s been this big controversy over environmental regulations. Something about wildlife and seasonal pools. The builders are supposed to be following codes, but if they don’t, the tribal leaders have the funds to pay off inspectors. And plenty of reasons not to want the feds poking around on the reservation, looking into their business practices.”

  Ah, irony. His people had once been known for championing environmental causes. Luke couldn’t fault anyone for making a buck, and in California, Indian Gaming was making a lot of them, but he was so weary of cash, corruption, and casinos.

  Still, Garrett’s idea was plausible. For a person to tamper with evidence, and open themselves up to a murder charge, there had to be a lot at stake.

  “Okay,” he said, collecting his thoughts. He’d go over and visit the boys at Los Coyotes himself. Meanwhile, he wanted to ask Shay who else had been at the bar that night. A thrill raced through him at the thought of seeing her again, and it had nothing to do with investigative fervor. “The autopsy report hasn’t been released, but the media will be calling. Just say that we’re investigating the accident, refer them to the Department of Fish and Game, and make no comment.”

  The light in Garrett’s eyes dulled. “Sure,” he said, flapping his newspaper.

  Pleased by the exchange, Luke went back to his office. Before he spoke to Shay, he wanted to check up on Hamlet, so he rifled through the files on his desk until he found the number for the lab at UC Davis. A postgraduate student named Dr. Brenna answered. He
sounded about fourteen.

  “Did that lion have a broken tooth?” Luke asked.

  Dr. Brenna made a lot of fumbling noises. “No sir. All of his teeth were intact.” More papers rustled. “Preliminary tests are negative for human blood or tissue. We found two partially digested rabbits among the stomach contents.” He cleared his throat. “Are you sure you shot the right lion?”

  Luke sat up straight in his chair. “Didn’t he have a satellite tag?”

  “Yessir. Subject 122, otherwise known as Dark Canyon’s Hamlet. According to the GPS, he was in the general vicinity of the victim. But these tests don’t add up.”

  “Run them again,” Luke ordered, although he wasn’t sure he had the authority to make such a request.

  “We have, sir. Three times over. I need to notify the Department of Fish and Game, because it looks like your man-eater is still on the loose.”

  Shay woke up late, stretching her arms over her head. Remembering the miserable birthday she’d had the day before, she buried her face in the pillow and groaned.

  She’d love to drift back to sleep, or laze about in bed for a few more minutes, but memories of her forward behavior with Luke Meza assaulted her, stripping her continence and making her squirm with discomfort.

  Kicking off the blankets with more force than was necessary, she climbed out of bed. Dylan had left early this morning for basketball practice, as usual. Normally she used the quiet time to catch up on reading or indulge in a leisurely bubble bath, but having been away all day yesterday, she had a pile of housework waiting for her.

  Rubbing her eyes, she bypassed the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink and headed straight for the coffee -maker. After a few bolstering cups, and a hearty breakfast, her spirits revived. She wasn’t the type to mope about, especially over a man. Concern for Dylan and sorrow over Hamlet were understandable, but getting all twisted up in knots because of one momentary lapse of reason with Luke was an exercise in futility.

  So what if he didn’t like her? This wasn’t junior high. They probably wouldn’t have to work together very often, and he’d move on soon enough. He was only an interim sheriff after all. No more important, or irreplaceable, than your average, everyday temp.

  Welcoming the distraction of mindless chores, Shay turned on the portable radio as she tidied up the kitchen and living room. While she waited for a load of laundry to dry, she decided to treat herself to some basic upkeep. Last night she’d showered before bed, but she’d been too tired to shave her legs. Maybe it was vain, but it stuck in her craw that Luke Meza had seen her at her worst, with wet clothes, tangled hair, and stubbly legs.

  Humming along with the music, she carried a couple of buckets of warm water out to the old washtub on the back porch. Shaving in a tub outside wasn’t quite as relaxing as a long bubble bath, but it held a simple, rustic appeal. Shay’s mother had often scrubbed her down outdoors, weather permitting, and it was shaping up to be a fine morning. Not too hot, the perfect mix of wind and sun.

  After grabbing a towel, her razor, and some all-natural soap, she settled into a chair on the patio and sank her feet into the tub of warm water, shivering with pleasure.

  She’d only finished one leg when the doorbell rang. Muttering a string of mild curses, she hopped up to answer it, forgetting her towel on the porch and dripping a trail of water across the living room.

  It was Luke.

  Shay stifled a gasp of dismay and did quick inventory of her appearance. Dylan’s ratty old boxers were too short, barely peeking out from under the hem of her roomy blue T-shirt. Raising a hand to her hair, she was relieved to find it brushed and clean, tied back from her face in a simple ponytail.

  It could have been worse, she supposed. After yesterday, anything was an improvement.

  Luke looked even better than she remembered, which didn’t seem fair or even possible. His jaw was smooth and chiseled, his uniform military crisp. “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” she said back, feeling soapy water drip between her toes.

  “Is this a bad time?”

  Shay’s heart skipped, and she had to remind herself that this was the man who’d treated her like leftover cake. “It’s fine,” she said, stepping aside to let him in.

  When she didn’t offer him a seat, they stared at each other for a long, awkward moment. He looked away first. “Whose birthday was it?” he asked, his eyes resting on the deflating balloons she hadn’t the heart to throw away yet.

  “Mine.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday.”

  He knew better than to say something lame like happy birthday. Instead he asked, “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  His mouth curled at the edge, as if he found her age amusing.

  “How about you?”

  His manner turned gruff. “I’m thirty-six.”

  “Why, you old man,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Try not to break a hip.” Refusing to let his unexpected visit throw her, she went back outside, sat down, and picked up her razor. The water wouldn’t stay warm forever. And he wasn’t interested anyway.

  Maybe he thought he was too old for her, or that she was too white trash for him, but that didn’t stop him from following her out. It didn’t prevent him from taking a seat opposite her on the patio, or from watching as she propped one foot on the rim of the tub, lathered up, and resumed shaving.

  “Friday night,” he began, clearing his throat, “you were celebrating?”

  She ran the blade over soap-slick skin. “Mm-hmm.”

  “With whom?”

  “My girlfriends.”

  He took out his notepad to write.

  “Monica Reyes and Lori Snell,” she supplied with a sigh. “Why? What did the medical examiner say?”

  “Official ruling is an accident. Definitely a lion.”

  Shay nodded. The wounds were impossible to mistake, but it was reassuring to get professional confir mation.

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to investigate,” he explained. “Your people will conduct their own inquiries, I’m sure, but I’d like to find out what Yesenia Montes was doing that night. Where she went. How she ended up at the Graveyard.”

  “Did you talk to her mother?”

  His expression became shuttered. “Yes.”

  Shay’s heart went out to him. Mrs. Montes must have been destroyed by the news, and she’d have hated being the one to break it to her.

  “Lori Snell,” he said, looking down at his notepad. “Is that Garrett’s wife?”

  “The one and only,” she replied, returning her attention to her soapy leg.

  “Who else was there?”

  Moving the blade over her bended knee, she named a few names. Good old boys and regulars, mostly. Guys she’d known since grade school, like Jesse Ryan.

  “Did Yesenia talk to anyone besides Jesse?”

  “Probably,” she admitted. “I didn’t notice.”

  “Tell me what happened at closing time.”

  She swished the blade around in the water. “After last call, which is midnight in Tenaja Falls, everyone started to leave. Yesenia walked away with Jesse.”

  “How did that make you feel?”

  “It made me feel like drinking some more,” she said flippantly. “Lori had to get home to her baby, but I went over to Monica’s. She only lives a few blocks away from the Round-Up. I was there until about 2 A.M. Then I called a cab.”

  “You went home?”

  “Yep.”

  “Alone?”

  Shay froze, razor in hand. Did he really think she’d go home with a guy on Friday night and come on to him Saturday afternoon?

  “You didn’t see Jesse again? Or Yesenia?”

  She let out a slow breath. “No. But the cab ride was kind of a blur, if you know what I mean.”

  He was quiet for a moment while she finished shaving. She’d never been more acutely aware of a man’s eyes on her body, and it was all she could do to keep her hand steady. />
  “I didn’t come here just to ask questions,” he said finally.

  She nicked herself. “Ouch!”

  “Would you put that thing down for a minute?”

  Glaring at him, she set aside her razor and sluiced water over her legs, clearing away the suds. Her heart was racing now, anticipating his next words, but she picked up her towel casually and dabbed at the tiny cut on her inner thigh.

  “Did you hurt yourself?”

  She imagined him kissing it better and felt her tummy jump. “No.” She looked up at him, blood rushing through her veins, waiting for him to speak. He stared back at her in silence. Just like the previous day, on that sun-dappled rock at the bank of Deep Creek, the rest of the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them.

  The tension between them was as thick as steam.

  Then Dylan crashed through the front door at his usual breakneck pace, destroying the ambience. He was almost on top of them before he realized she had company. Stopping in his tracks, he stood there in the doorway, six feet two inches of pure angst, a basketball lodged under one skinny arm. His T-shirt was sweaty and his hair was damp.

  “What the fuck is this?” he said, summing up the situation in an instant. “I’m not allowed to have Angel in my room, but you can bring home random dudes whenever you want?”

  Shay’s mouth dropped open. Not only had she never said he couldn’t have Angel over, at a reasonable hour, she’d never brought home a man, random or otherwise. “Dylan, this is the new sheriff,” she hissed, mortified by her brother’s behavior.

  Dylan scowled at the star adorning Luke’s front shirt pocket. He hadn’t been a fan of the old sheriff.

  “We’re working together,” Shay explained, wondering why Luke didn’t stand and introduce himself. “A woman was killed by a mountain lion yesterday. Remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember,” he said, looking from the wash-tub to Luke’s face. Although Dylan had a lot to learn about the human condition, as a hormonal teenager, he was well acquainted with lust. “But I’m not stupid. You’re taking a bath in front of him.”

  Shay curled her toes up in the tub self-consciously.

  “He’s right,” Luke interjected at last. “Your brother understands the way a man thinks even if you don’t. It was inappropriate of me to watch you.”