Fool's Puzzle by Earlene Fowler (reading eggs books .TXT) 📕

choices, none of which had been appealing in the least. He wouldn’t believe I intended telling him everything at our afternoon meeting, so there seemed no point in mentioning it.

“You know, you might find people more cooperative if you were a little friendlier,” I pointed out, trying to stall for time.

He started to slide out of the booth. “Okay, Ms. Harper, let’s go.”

“No, wait. I’d rather talk here.”

“Then talk.”

I drummed my fingers on the wood table and studied his maroon paisley tie. “Look, I’m going to be straight with you.”

“Now, there’s a novel concept.” He sat back and crossed his arms.

I gave him one last irritated look before telling him everything I’d seen in the last twenty-four hours including Eric’s argument with Marla and how all Rita’s possessions were gone. I emphasized how she couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the murder.

“And how do you know that?” he asked.

“I just do. She didn’t have any reason to.” I paused and took a deep breath. “She’s my cousin, Chief Ortiz.”

“Your family has some sort of genetic immunity to capital offenses?”

“That’s not what I mean. I know her. She’s a lot of things, but she’s not a killer. I’m not saying she didn’t see anything. She probably did, and that’s why she’s hiding. She could be in danger. We have to find her.” My voice faltered slightly. Remembering what happened to Marla, a cold knot of fear twisted my stomach.

He adjusted his glasses impatiently. “We aren’t going to do anything. I’m going to say this once, Ms. Harper, so listen up. Stay out of this investigation. I’ll find your cousin. I’ll find Ms. Chenier’s murderer. And I’ll do it without your help. Got it?”

“Excuse me, but where does it state that looking for your family is against the law?”

“Ms. Harper,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “The only law you need to worry about is the one about interfering in a police investigation. We have plenty of room in our holding cells downtown.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” I held his gaze and waited. “Is that all?”

“Don’t forget to go by the station and give your prints.” He glared at me. “We especially need them now that you’ve tampered with a possible crime scene.”

“No problem.” I slid out of the booth and stood up. “Now can I go?”

“Yes.” He waved me away with his large hand, his mind already on something else.

I walked slowly toward the exit, fighting the urge to break and run. I heaved a sigh of relief as I hit the crisp afternoon air, then groaned as I caught sight of my lopsided truck.

I jerked the cab door open, grabbed the tire jack from behind the seat and was on my knees attempting to work it under the rear axle when gravel crunched behind me.

“Looks like you have a flat,” Ortiz said.

I didn’t turn around. “I can certainly see why you were hired as chief of police.”

Inserting the handle in the jack, I pushed as hard as I could. Not a budge. The truck was heavier than I thought. To be honest, I’d watched Jack change tires on the Chevy more times than I could remember in the fifteen years we’d owned it, and I’m sure at one time I must have changed one myself. I just didn’t recall it being this difficult.

“Need any help?”

“No.” I felt a flush start up my neck.

“Truck’s pretty heavy.”

I whipped around, thinking about what else I could do with a jack handle. He wore that self-satisfied look men get when they know they can do something you can’t.

“Look, Ortiz, I castrated my first bull when I was ten years old. I doubt that changing a tire is beyond my limited female abilities.”

He looked down at me with an amused expression. “Suit yourself, Ms. Harper. Had I known, I would not have presumed to offer help to a person of such prodigious capabilities.”

He walked past me, hands in his pockets, whistling softly under his breath. It took all the social proprieties I’d ever been taught not to stick my foot out and trip him. Halfway across the parking lot, he stopped and turned around.

“The starter,” he called.

“What?” I snapped.

“Why your truck was having trouble turning over. It sounds like the starter. You probably need a new one.”

That was just great. One minute he’s threatening to arrest me, the next he’s giving me engine advice.

“Anything else, Mr. Goodwrench?”

“I don’t know.” His blue eyes lit up. “I guess I’d have to pop the hood and find out.”

Without warning, behind my eyes, a match flared. The familiar words sparked a memory of Jack in grease-stained jeans, tanned back dripping, bent over the open hood of a truck....

“Are you all right?”

I started at the suddenly close, throaty sound of Ortiz’s voice. My head felt thick and woolly, as if I’d run a fever for days. Somewhere a door slammed open. Wood against wood. A tumble of gusty voices filled the parking lot. Instinctively, my ears searched them. I closed my eyes and thought I felt the ground tremble.

“Ms. Harper? Is something the matter?”

I looked with dazed surprise at the hand gently gripping my upper arm and felt my cheeks grow warm.

“I’m fine.” I ducked my head and stepped back. For a split second, his hand hung in empty air. “I’m sure you must have better things to do than harass honest citizens.” I gave a small, embarrassed laugh.

“Yes.” He gazed at me thoughtfully. “I certainly do.”

Before stepping into the beige, unmarked police car, he turned and called in the confident voice of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

“Don’t forget that starter.”

I lifted a noncommittal hand in reply.

After he drove out of sight, I turned back to the deflated tire and gave it an aggravated kick. Then I picked up the jack handle and tried again. And again. Twenty minutes and a bruised thumb later, I stood up, brushed off my muddy knees and dug through my purse for the last birthday present my ever practical and mothering friend,