Fourteen

Danny turned the volume down on the remote when Ana Maria came into the living room. Arn had been doing the pecking bird, dozing while he watched reruns of Family Feud with Danny, and he rubbed his face to wake up.

“Watch the show tonight?” she asked as she dropped into a bean bag chair Danny had “found” somewhere. Tiny pellets poofed out of a rip in the seam and she batted them out of her hair. “Sergeant Slade was a ham, just like I said he’d be once he got a taste of on-air fame.”

Danny laughed. “It was like he was already running for sheriff.”

Arn turned in his one-armed recliner. “He might have been a ham, but I don’t think he came across as competent. He kept pushing that cockamamie theory that Jillie was one of the sheep rustlers.”

Ana Maria’s stomach growled and Danny stood. “Might be a good time to grab a snack,” he said.

She dropped her purse on the floor and settled back. “I haven’t eaten since this morning. Been fielding odd ball calls on the tip line.”

“Then cake and homemade ice cream might help?” Danny asked.

“It might be the perfect cure,” Ana Maria answered. She watched Danny as he left the room. “We’re getting nowhere with that tip line. Bunch of loonies that have nothing better to do than call and air their bullshit.”

“And that took you all day—listening to citizens’ rants?” Arn motioned around the room. “At least I got some painting done between naps.”

Danny returned with two bowls of ice cream with a piece of cake on the side. He handed Ana Maria one and sat in his chair in front of the television.

“Where’s mine?” Arn asked.

“You said you’re trying to get in shape. Cutting down for your blood sugar.” Danny licked melting ice cream off his hand. “Something about folks thinking you look too old and too big. I’m just doing my part to help. Besides, you’ll get a sugar dump and won’t be able to stay awake tonight watching for that rustler.”

Ana Maria put her bowl on the floor and opened her notebook. “I accomplished a lot besides listening to the tip line.” She flipped pages. “I talked with the bartender at the Outlaw the other day. He didn’t work Saturday night, but he doubts Eddie was there. And he’s sure Karen wasn’t there looking for him, either. They’ve both been eighty-sixed there for fighting.”

“Both?”

“Both,” Ana Maria answered. “Last summer Karen caught Jillie and Eddie drinking there and proceeded to put a hurt on her. It took the bartender and two other guys to drag Karen outside. Eddie jumped in, and the cops showed up and dragged him away. The bar owner even filed a restraining order on them to stay away.”

Arn thought back to Karen telling him she’d found Eddie at the Outlaw. There had been looks between them when he’d asked Eddie the same question. And Karen didn’t strike Arn as one who would drag her infant along to bars while she was looking for her husband. He’d been almost certain they were lying, before. Now he was sure of it. “Only one reason Karen said she found Eddie at the Outlaw—to give him an alibi.”

“So, we’re back to Eddie running out the door of the Boot Hill moments after Jillie did,” Ana Maria said.

“Sounds like your Eddie is back on the suspect list,” Danny said, licking the last of the ice cream and patting his belly. “Damn that was good.”

Arn ignored him and faced Ana Maria. “I checked Eddie’s arrest record at the courthouse. His last arrest was more than two years ago.”

Ana Maria smiled. “You got to have charm. That’s the other thing I did this afternoon—went on a date with a clerk from the courthouse. He clued me in that Eddie copped a plea to an assault last year and got a deferred sentence.”

“That’s why I didn’t find that arrest,” Arn said. “He must have kept his nose clean since.” A deferred sentence allowed defendants to plead guilty but not suffer consequences for a specified period of time—usually a year—if they kept out of trouble. If the defendant got in no more trouble after that, their arrest was expunged from public record and their case sealed. Provided they jumped through all the hoops. “Did your contact agree with the deferred sentence?” he asked.

Ana Maria guffawed. “Not hardly. Eddie’s been an a-hole to cops and deputies for years. My … contact thought Eddie would blow it with the shrink.”

“Shrink?”

Ana Maria nodded. “Eddie was court-ordered to see a police psychiatrist for his anger issues. Maury Oakert. Jillie Reilly’s boss.”