“Nothing, except my curiosity satisfied.”
“Sure it’s not some of the money you’re after?”
“What money?”
“The insurance money, what was left of it. Fourteen thousand dollars, isn’t it?”
“If you think I’m angling for a reward, you’re wrong. I told Dacy Burgess about the money yesterday because she has a right to know as next of kin. She said she didn’t want any part of it and neither do I.”
“You didn’t tell John T. about the money.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“We didn’t get along very well. And he’s not related to Anna Roebuck except by marriage.”
“Still should have told him. He had to hear it from Dacy later on.”
“And you heard it from him right after that.”
Tight ridges of muscle appeared along Espinosa’s jaw. “Tell you something, Mr. Messenger. I don’t think we’re going to get along any better than you and John T.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m not trying to make enemies.”
“No? Well, you’re up to something and I don’t like it. Whatever it is, I don’t like it.”
“Are you going to tell me to get out of town by sundown?”
“You trying to be a smart-ass?”
“No, sir. I just asked a question.”
“You haven’t done anything to make me come down on you. Yet. But I’ll be watching you. The whole town’ll be watching you. If I were you I wouldn’t step out of line. I wouldn’t jaywalk or spit on the sidewalk. Or do too much pissing against the wind.”
“You’ve made yourself clear, Sheriff.”
“Sure hope I have. All right, go on about your business.”
Messenger stood looking after the cruiser as Espinosa wheeled it away. Two warnings in less than eighteen hours. No — the same warning issued twice, in almost the same words. John T. Roebuck not only ran Beulah, it looked as though he had a hand in running the local law as well.
Heads turned when he walked into the crowded Goldtown Café. Eyes stared; voices murmured. There was one vacant booth in the section presided over by Lynette Carey. He sat down there and pretended to read the menu, pretended to ignore the staring eyes even though he could feel them crawling like insects on his skin.
Lynette Carey wasted no time in waiting on him. She was plump-breasted and heavy-hipped in her beige waitress uniform, the strawberry-blond hair teased and sprayed into a style two decades out of fashion. Thirty or so, and pretty enough in a puffy, cynical way. Cornflower-blue eyes were her best feature; he looked for hostility in them and didn’t find any. Just a natural wariness, and a curiosity that was close to being avid.
“What’ll it be?”
“Pancakes and coffee.”
“Juice? Side of ham or bacon?”
“Just pancakes and coffee, Lynette. Lynette Carey, right?”
“How’d you know my last name?”
“Jaime Orozco mentioned it.”
“He did, huh? What’d he say about me?”
“Nothing bad. I guess you know who I am.”
She glanced around at the staring eyes, but not as if they bothered her; she didn’t seem to mind being the center of attention. She leaned a little closer. “Everybody in here except the tourists knows who you are. How come you’re still hanging around town?”
“Some unfinished business.”
“You want my opinion, you’re wasting your time. Anna Roebuck was guilty as hell. Nobody’d have blamed her much if it was just that no-good bastard of a husband she blew away. But little Tess... ah, who could forgive a thing like that?”
“I’d like to talk to you, Lynette. Would you mind?”
“Talk? Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“I mean in private. Later today.”
“What for?” She was wary again. “Nothing I can tell you.”
“I’d still like to have a talk. I won’t take up much of your time.”
“Well, I don’t know...”
“I could come to your home, or—”
“No. I don’t know you, mister, and I got a kid of my own.”
“A public place, then. Anywhere you say.”
The tip of her tongue made a slow wet circuit of her lips. “Let me think about it.”
She hadn’t made up her mind yet when she returned with his coffee. When she brought the pancakes she said, “I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to be seen in public with you.” Still on the fence but leaning his way a little.
“You don’t strike me as a person who’s worried by what people think.”
“Well, that’s right, I’m not. They think what they want to anyway.”
“Ten minutes of your time, that’s all.”
She smiled suddenly. She had a nice smile, broad and sunny; it smoothed away most of the cynicism. “Tell you what. I get off work at four and I like a cold beer afterward. Over at the Saddle Bar in the next block, usually.”
“What kind of beer do you drink?”
“Heineken draft, unless I’m buying my own.”
“I’ll have one waiting for you.”
He had his first look at Buster as he drove into the Burgess ranch yard. Seventy-five pounds of snarling black and brown, tied to a long chain that allowed the animal to roam from the barn around in the front of the house. He didn’t know much about dog breeds but he thought that this one might be a rottweiler or a rottweiler mix.
Buster hurled himself at the end of the chain, barking furiously, as Messenger parked twenty yards out of range. Fangs and flying slobber glistened in the harsh sunlight. There was no other sign of life, and no sign of the canvas-topped Jeep. He stepped out into a sudden gust of wind that spun grit into his eyes. He had to duck his head and rub hard to clear them. The wind seemed to be behaving oddly out here today: It gusted so sharply for short periods that he’d seen half a dozen dust devils swirling across the desert plain, then stopping with the same suddenness, as if someone had turned off a wind machine, and a dead calm prevailed until the next flurry. It was a phenomenon that would take some getting used to.
Squinting, he saw that Lonnie Burgess had emerged from a shed attached to the barn. A long, metallic object hung from one hand. As Lonnie closed the distance between them, yelling at Buster to shut up and settle down, Messenger recognized the object as a wrench spotted with grease. Grease also streaked the boy’s hands, arms, and the coveralls he wore.
The dog subsided into a series of whines and yelps, sat back on its haunches, and grew silent when Lonnie reached down to rough its ears and scruff. But Messenger could see the animal quivering as it watched Lonnie move away. He had no doubt that at any threat to its people, the rottweiler had the strength to break loose from the chain and the nature to tear out an enemy’s throat.
“You again,” Lonnie said, but there was no animosity in his tone or expression. Matter-of-fact and reserved, nothing more.
“Me again.”
“Bought yourself some clothes.”
“How do I look?”
“Like a city man in Western duds.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. Is your mother here?”
“Out mending fence.”
“Some job in this wind and heat.”
“Well, I would’ve done it but the damn pickup quit running again. I’m better with motors than she is.” He shrugged and then spat into the dirt. “Trucks and fences,” he said. “Always something.”
“Don’t you go to school?”
“Not this term. Maybe next, if Ma has her way.”
“What grade are you in?”
“Junior. She wants me to graduate, go on down to UNLV.”
“But you don’t care?”
“I care, sure. I always wanted to study veterinary medicine.”
“Why don’t you?”
Lonnie shrugged again. “No money for it. And no time. There’s too much to do here.”