Bet spotted Rob the moment she walked into the tavern. Even with his back to the door, he stood out in the crowd. Though built like a barrel, he wasn’t a fat man. Instead, he wore his bulk like a Brahman bull, someone you wouldn’t want to mess with. Although he was dressed like the other men in the room—blue jeans, cowboy boots, denim shirts—the quality of his clothes separated him from the others. His cowboy boots, worn at the heel, were custom-made, no doubt from the skin of some exotic animal.
Bet remembered one of her professors at the university talking about social class. “Old-money people don’t care how others see them. And more importantly, they play by their own rules.”
Rob Collier was old money.
He stood in profile as she walked into the bar, and she shivered at the resemblance to the figure coming clearer from her dream—or a memory, depending on what tricks her mind was playing. She hoped Professor James was right and she wasn’t compromised psychologically. She’d passed the psychological testing required for the Los Angeles Police Department, so at least she knew she had the appropriate traits to fulfill her duties.
But it didn’t mean she wasn’t crazy.
She paused at the door, debating whether to take the empty seat next to him or sit by herself at her favorite table out on the back porch. The crowded bar might not be the best place to have a chat with the man.
As if sensing her eyes on him, Rob turned and met Bet’s gaze. The amusement she’d seen on his face when they first met returned, and he stood to push out the barstool next to his with exaggerated gallantry.
Bet didn’t have to see herself in a mirror to know what she looked like as she walked over to sit down. She wore the tan-and-brown uniform of her station, her bulky duty belt weighed down with the hardware of her profession. Her hair had escaped long ago from the bands and pins she used to keep it tucked up while she worked, and the natural curls sprang out from under her hat in runaway ringlets. Rob looked calm, cool, and collected—refined and confident in a way only the rich seemed to pull off in hot weather. Bet ignored the voice inside her head telling her to straighten her uniform and do something about her hair. She sauntered over, determined not to feel inferior just because of a social status that shouldn’t matter, yet somehow did.
“Evenin’, Sheriff,” Rob said, as Bet unhooked her fanny pack. Plunking it down on the bar next to the beaver fur hat Rob had neatly balanced on its crown, Bet realized her only accessory looked a little worse for wear. Never mind that Rob’s hat probably cost more than Bet earned in a month, the sweat stains on the inside of her fanny pack made her feel not just cheap but tacky.
Bet deftly slid the fanny pack off the bar and hung it over the back of her barstool. She stepped on her insecurities and sat down. Schweitzer squeezed in under her feet and scrunched himself into a remarkably small ball. Rob waited until she’d situated herself before he sat down again. Bet wondered if that was a display of chivalry or the opportunity to stand over her for a moment, asserting physical dominance. Bet had learned long ago that a lot of men were intimidated by her height, even more than they were by the fact that she carried a gun.
“Out for a night on the town?” Bet asked, as Rob held up his hand to get Rope’s attention.
“Not much to eat at the old homestead,” Rob said as Rope hustled over and greeted Bet.
“How’s the new tat healing?” Bet asked the bartender.
“Stopped feeling like a herd of bees used my arm for target practice,” Rope said with a grin.
Bet put in her order, including Schweitzer’s patty, and Rope glided off to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder to Tomás about an order up at the window. He raised his voice over the din of conversation, but Bet thought Tomás would have heard him even if he’d whispered. Bet felt herself relax in the familiar atmosphere, despite her unexpected dinner companion.
“George would have gotten the larder stocked if you told him you were coming.”
“I can carry my own groceries,” Rob said. “I’m not accustomed to hired help.”
“What? No staff of domestics at your place in Arlington? You shop and change your own oil. Do you cook and clean, too?”
Rob snorted in amusement and took a sip from the tumbler sitting in front of him. The amber liquid glowed in the warm, low light of the bar. Bet guessed expensive, single-malt Scotch.
“Have I ruffled your feathers in some way, Elizabeth?” Rob asked, after he savored his drink and put the glass back down.
Rope reappeared with a glass of water. He knew she never drank alcohol in uniform. It gave Bet a moment to reflect. No sense riling Collier up. She’d never learn anything that way.
“Have you decided how long you’re going to stay in town?” Bet asked.
“Nope.”
Must be nice to come and go as you please.
She wasn’t sure why Rob brought this prickly side out of her. His wealth, the stress of Jane Doe’s murder, or the fact that he looked like the memory surfacing in her mind—none of these explained her strong reaction to the man.
“You’ve been gone a long time.” Bet made her tone as neutral as possible.
“Yep.”
“Did you move straight to Arlington when you left here?”
Instead of answering, Rob sang a few lines from Lynyrd Skynyrd’s southern anthem “Sweet Home Alabama” in a low, clear tenor, well suited to the song.
“I didn’t know you had such a fine voice, Mr. Collier.”
“If I remember right, you do too. Your mother and you used to do duets right here in this bar.”
Bet felt herself blushing at the compliment. Rob Collier remembers me from when I was a child? She’d never thought of herself as memorable.
“University of Alabama?” Bet asked.
“Full ride.”
Bet didn’t tell Rob she already knew this information.
“A few years in Tuscaloosa were enough, though. Arlington is more my style.”
“Not that you needed a scholarship. Your father could have paid for any school you wanted.”
“Not everything is about money.”
“Football?” Bet asked.
Rob nodded. Even Bet knew the reputation of the Crimson Tide.
“Were you any good?”
Rob laughed. “You are blunt, aren’t you, Elizabeth?”
“Either you were or you weren’t. Regardless, it was a long time ago. Something tells me you aren’t stuck in the past of your glory years.”
“Yeah. I was good. Just not good enough.”
“You wanted to play pro?”
“At the time.”
Bet thought about all the reasons a person wouldn’t show up much online and the various covert institutions and companies headquartered in that area.
“How did you end up in Arlington?”
A silence stretched out between the two of them that made Bet wonder if he’d heard the question. It seemed innocuous enough, but maybe there was more to Rob than a sizable inheritance.
“Had to go someplace.” The two fell silent as Rope came around the front of the bar. He set Bet’s chicken sandwich in front of her. Then he knelt and put the paper plate with Schweitzer’s dinner on the floor.
“There you go, big guy,” Rope said to the dog. “Need anything else?” he asked Bet.
“All set.”
Rope returned to his place behind the bar, picking up empty glasses and taking drink orders as he went.
The big dog polished his patty off in two bites, which for him constituted dainty eating. Bet tossed a french fry down to Schweitzer before dosing the rest with vinegar and black pepper. She took a few bites before resuming the conversation.
“I’d like to show you another photograph.”
Rob waited, an expectant look on his face. She handed him the photo of Seeley Lander. He gave it a thorough look, but handed it back. “Sorry. Don’t recognize him.”
She tucked the photo back in her pocket. “What did you study in school?” she asked.
“Which time?”
“Multiple degrees? Or unsuccessful the first time?”
Rob took another drink. “Interests change. What about you? College girl?”
Bet told him a little about her years studying psychology at the university in Ellensburg before attending the police academy in Los Angeles.
“Looks like you went far from home too,” he said when she finished. “What brought you back? Had enough of Southern California?”
“My father needed me.” It was pointless to hide that her father’s cancer brought her back to town. The community knew. If Rob didn’t already, he would soon enough.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Elizabeth.” The sentiment felt genuine. “And now you’re fighting for his seat.”
Bet nodded, watching Rope move around behind the bar so she didn’t have to meet Rob’s gaze. Between his intimidating air and top spot on her suspect list, she didn’t want to get into a heart-to-heart. He felt a little too good at reading faces.
“Should I throw my support behind you? The Collier name still means something here.”
Now it was Bet’s turn to sip her drink while she formulated an answer. What exactly was Rob Collier offering? And why?
“You should do what you think is best for our community.”
“You really are your father’s daughter,” he said, his tone light.
Was he hinting that Robert Collier Senior had tried to bribe Earle at some point in their history? And that Earle had turned him down, just as she was doing now?
Bet started to ask how well Rob had known her father, but he stood and picked his hat up off the bar, his expression shifted into something more serious.
“If you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day.”
What prompted the quick exit? Something in the conversation? Or did he just not like her company?
“Have a good night,” Bet said.
“Elizabeth.” Rob tipped his hat to Bet and walked away. Bet watched him cross the length of the bar and lean in to say something to Rope. Then he exited the tavern without a backward glance.
The crowd had grown as they ate. Musicians lined the room, unpacking banjos and fiddles and guitars. She slid around the L-shaped corner of the bar to a now-empty seat so she could lean back, watch the musicians, and keep her back to the wall. Schweitzer shifted around to stay under her feet.
A face caught her attention. Her heart lurched up into her throat as the man pulled his guitar out of its case and began to tune.
Well, isn’t this the week for surprises. Wonder how many other specters from my past are going to wander into town.