Chapter 11
On the way to the barbershop, Flynn popped into the police department. He had plenty of time to kill before his meeting and Gia had left to go to Reno with Dana. Despite the complications of it, he liked hanging out with her. Not just because she was beautiful. He knew a lot of beautiful women. But because she challenged him. Their back-and-forth was better than being in a courtroom.
Connie, the receptionist and dispatcher, stood up behind her desk to greet him.
“Is Rhys around?” he asked.
“Why is it that no one ever comes to visit me?”
He’d only known Connie since he’d started grazing his cattle at Rosser Ranch, but he liked the way she bossed Rhys around. She sort of reminded him of Doris, though she was young enough to be her daughter. According to town gossip, she was seeing the cook over at the Ponderosa.
“I’ll take you to lunch after I’m done talking with Rhys and getting my hair cut.” He would too.
She leaned into him ever so slightly. “I’m on to you, Barlow.”
“Oh yeah? How’s that?”
“Everyone wants to get in good with the gatekeeper.”
He laughed. She was sassy and he liked that too.
“Let me get the chief for you.”
A few minutes later Rhys came down the corridor and motioned for Flynn to follow him back to his office. “What’s up?”
Flynn made himself at home in one of Rhys’s lumpy chairs. The room was small and cluttered, the way a police chief’s office should be. “Not much; just curious what you thought of that meeting the other day with Gia and the FBI.”
Rhys sat pensive for a moment. “I’m not at liberty to talk about that; in fact, I’m not even confirming it happened.”
Flynn stretched out his legs. “Gia’s retained me as her attorney.”
“That so? Then why did your client lie about not knowing Rufus Cleo?”
“She didn’t lie. Her memory escaped her. On her way home she remembered who he was.”
“Ah, so that’s the story you’re going with. Because even I recognized the dude and I’m just a humble country cop.”
“Fact is, she served on the board of his charitable trust.”
Rhys laughed. “Look, it’s not my jurisdiction and it’s not my case. I was surprised when she asked me to sit in.”
“She trusts you and she doesn’t trust them.”
“Wise woman. No offense, Flynn, but the Bureau is really pissing me off. I don’t like them mucking around my town . . . my residents . . . without giving me a heads-up. It’s common courtesy.”
“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir. When I was an agent I wouldn’t have big-footed you like that. We’re on the same side; tell me what you thought.”
“We used to be on the same side. Not anymore.”
“We’re both on the side of justice.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rhys said. “I thought she was good until she lied. I saw Croce’s eyes light up like Christmas. They want her; they want her bad. Does she know where Laughlin is?”
“Of course she doesn’t. She’s been cooperating since the get-go.”
“Do yourself a favor, Flynn: Don’t get sucked in by a pretty face.”
“I represent lots of pretty faces,” Flynn said.
“But you like this one, I can tell. If she’s clean, I’m all for it. Love is a fine thing. But if she’s not . . .”
“I’m her lawyer.” Flynn got up. “And who said anything about love?”
Rhys walked him out. “You want to come over one night for dinner?”
The folks here certainly made him feel welcome, even if he was from Quincy. “Sure. How’s that kid of yours?”
Rhys beamed like a proud papa. “Emma’s perfect. You’re around all the time; come join one of our pickup games.”
The chief had turned the blacktop behind the police department into a basketball court. Every afternoon they played ball with whoever showed up.
“I may do that.”
Flynn walked over to Owen’s. There was already someone in the barber’s chair getting a haircut. Flynn took a seat and thumbed through his phone, reading emails. Toad was running background checks on Cleo.
“You sleeping with that financial wiz?”
Flynn popped his head up, wondering if Owen was talking to him. The barber brushed the hairs off the neck of his customer and looked at Flynn expectantly.
“Gia?”
“Yeah,” Owen said. “Everyone says you’re sleeping together.”
“Well everyone’s wrong, though it’s none of their business.”
“No need to get your back up, boy.”
Flynn just shook his head, knowing any effort to deny it was fruitless. He spent a lot of time at Rosser Ranch and people liked to talk. Owen finished with the customer at the cash register and indicated that Flynn was next.
“Where’s Darla?” he asked as he hopped up into Owen’s chair.
“She has the day off. We like to coordinate it so we’re not working at the same time.” Owen snapped a cape on him. “You want to go short?”
“It is short. I just want a trim.”
“Back in my day men wore buzz cuts. Nowadays you’re all trying to look like Fabio.”
Flynn wondered how Owen even knew who Fabio was. He’d probably seen him in one of those I-can’t-believe-it’s-not-butter commercials. “All I need are the edges cleaned up.”
Owen started snipping. “I tried to help your girl escape from those fan belt . . . uh, FBI agents the other day.”
“She’s not my girl. But yeah, she told me.”
“Big mistake her talking to those agents like that.”
“Why’s that?” Flynn just went along with Owen’s stories for the hell of it.
“Those guys will twist your words.” Owen got out his clippers and began crisping his sides. “You think she’s hiding Laughlin on Ray’s property?”
“It’s her property now and no, I don’t.” Why mention that he was at the ranch nearly every day and that he would know? It only added fuel to the gossip fires about him and Gia.
“Is it true the scoundrel also stole her money?” Owen asked.
Didn’t the old guy read newspapers? “You’d have to ask her.”
Owen spent the next twenty minutes focusing on Flynn’s hair, occasionally throwing in a piece of town gossip. Flynn didn’t know most of the people involved but pretended to anyway, figuring it would get him out of the barbershop quicker.
The door jingled open and Donna came in. “Here you are. I’ve been looking all over for you. Trevor saw your truck parked on the square.”
“Let me finish with him before you jaw his head off.” Owen waved his clippers at her.
She made a face at him, helped herself to coffee, and spit a mouthful back into her Styrofoam cup. “This is disgusting. Griffin has better coffee at the Gas and Go and that stuff is one notch above swill.”
“Then why don’t you drink your own?”
“We stop serving coffee at the Bun Boy after one.” She walked back to the bathroom and came back empty-handed.
“No one asked you to come over here.” Owen brushed Flynn’s neck, removed the cape, handed him a hand mirror, and spun the chair around for a view of the back of his head.
“Looks good,” Flynn said and got up to pay at the cash register.
“My turn now.” Donna said and shot Owen a dirty look. “I need a lawyer.”
Owen suddenly perked up, interested.
Flynn took Donna by the arm. “What do you say we do this somewhere in private?”
“You need an office here is what you need,” Donna replied but let Flynn lead her across the square to one of the empty picnic tables at the Bun Boy.
“Are you in trouble with the law again, Donna?” Flynn winked.
“Trevor and I want you to do our wills. We don’t plan on dying anytime soon, but last week Sally May Jordan over in Graeagle found two lumps in her breast. When the good Lord says it’s time to go, you want to be packed and ready.”
“Okay.” As far as Flynn knew, the Thurstons didn’t have any children. Regardless, good estate planning was important. “Depending on how you want to divide your assets, you may want to consider a living trust. But you and Trevor and I can sit down and talk about the options. In the meantime, I’ll send you some literature explaining the process and a worksheet to fill out.”
“Do we have to come to your office . . . to Sacramento?”
“Nah, I could come to your house one of the days I’m up to deal with the cattle. Just make sure you fill out that worksheet; it’ll save us time.” Flynn took down her email address so he could have Doris send her the paperwork.
“What’s going on with you and that Treadwell girl? From what I hear you’re up there every night.”
“It’s calving season, Donna.”
“Spring ain’t just for calving.” She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “And if you want to hear my ten cents”—he didn’t—“the poor woman got taken for a ride by that oily, albeit fine-looking Evan Laughlin. My guess is one look at him and Gia dropped her panties and handed over the goods.”
The comment rubbed Flynn the wrong way. He knew that was the way Donna talked—no filter on that one—and meant no harm. If anything, she was standing up for Gia. But the idea of Gia “dropping her panties” for Laughlin made him want to rip the guy’s throat out. The idea of her with Laughlin at all . . . well, it put him in a foul mood.
“Donna, Gia’s been through enough,” he said. “Don’t make the situation worse by spreading rumors about the two of us. There’s nothing going on.”
“Maybe there should be. You two would make beautiful children and your mother wants more grandbabies.”
He inwardly groaned. Nugget was worse than Quincy. “Let’s focus on your will.”
The last vision he wanted in his head was him and Gia making babies. He had enough trouble keeping his hands off her.