CHAPTER 4

Claire Kinley was as wild as the broncs her daddy used to sell. It was that spirit I fell in love with. The fact she was a knockout didn’t hurt, either. She was named Prom Queen, Homecoming Queen, Miss Wildcat, Miss Winkler County 4-H, and adamantly declined every title. No one was going to box her into a perception of how she was supposed to look, act, or conduct herself in public. Not even me.

I programmed the number she’d scrawled on my hand into my phone, immediately considered deleting it, then saved it. The last thing I wanted was to drag her into this mess I was in. But it was just one dinner, right? What could it hurt?

I took 115 into Kermit and found the volunteer center where Rhonda was doing her daily good deed. Her SUV was parked out front of the one-story brick building. An old school bus from Garden Gate Assisted Living was parked crossways, taking up five parking spots. Not that there was a need. There were only four cars in the entire lot.

Although the air in the volunteer center was nice and cool, I drew in a breath and held it when I entered. The smell of ammonia was so strong I could taste it. A heavyset woman in flowered scrubs was leading a young woman with more challenges than anyone deserved to the restroom. The woman in scrubs eyed me suspiciously.

“I’m looking for Rhonda Walker. I’m her brother,” I said, hoping to put the woman’s mind at ease.

“Oh—so you’re Gypsy!” She smiled broadly. “Rhonda never mentioned how handsome you were.”

I winked at the woman. “You remind her for me.”

She blushed, then pointed down the hall. “She’s in the commons area, down the hall and to the left.”

I found the commons area and stood in the doorway a moment watching Rhonda do her thing. I wondered where she got her compassion. Our mother was a great nurse but had no patience, especially with kids; our grandmother, for the most part, was indifferent. I remember our father was kind, funny, and proud, but I don’t remember him being particularly compassionate. How could he have been? He walked out on his wife and two kids.

Rhonda was at a table with two women and a young man, all with various disabilities, leading them through some sort of reading exercise. She looked up at me and smiled. “Hey. Come on in. Guys, I want you to meet my brother, Gypsy.” She said it with such pride, I felt guilty. I hoped she didn’t think I was there to volunteer my time.

“Hey, Gypsy,” one of the women said, her words terribly slurred. Her eyes were magnified through ultra-thick glasses. “I’m Marion.”

“Nice to meet you, Marion.”

“This is Jared, and this is Patricia,” Rhonda said. Patricia waved with a palsy-stricken hand while Jared stared at me with untrusting eyes. Rhonda opened a children’s book and handed it to him. “Jared, will you please read to Marion and Patricia while I talk to my brother for a moment?”

Jared continued to stare at me, not even trying to hide the distrust. He finally turned his attention to the book and slowly began to read, struggling with each simple word. Rhonda praised him, then led me into the hallway.

“There’s a couple forms we’ll need to get you to fill out and we’ll have to do a background check, but—”

“Whoa, Rhonda!” I held up my hands. “I’m not here to volunteer.”

She pursed her lips, then folded her arms, looking at me with that disappointed-teacher look. “Oh. Well, then, what are you doing here?”

“I ran into Tatum and his grandfather at Dunbar’s and I have a couple questions.”

Joy replaced her disappointment. “So you’re going to take the case?”

“I didn’t say that. I said I had a couple of questions. They invited us over for dinner tonight and before I go, I want to know what I’m dealing with.”

“They’re good people, Gypsy.”

“I’m sure they are. But something’s not adding up.”

Her expression softened. “Not adding up about Burke or Ryce?”

I realized I was treading in shallow water. Rhonda saw the good in everyone, especially when there was a kid involved. “There’s some questions I have about both of them.”

“Like what kind of questions? From what I’ve seen, they were a happy family.”

I winked at her. “That’s my point. You’ve only see what’s been shown. What’s the story with Burke’s accident?”

Her eyes reflected deep concentration, then confusion. “I don’t remember that much about it. Just what was in the paper and on the news.”

“What about Rodney? Did he ever say anything about a fellow officer being injured in the line of duty?” In a town the size of Wink, a cop getting shot would have generated a loud buzz.

Now she was really confused. I could see the brain cells working overtime trying to recall everything she could about Burke McCallen’s injury. “I honestly don’t remember that much about it. What I do remember, was there was hardly any news coverage about it. Now that I think about it, that was pretty odd.”

“Exactly. In a county this size, a deputy’s ambushed and it barely makes the news? That in itself raises questions.”

Her shoulders dropped with a mounting burden. “Gypsy, the whole idea was for you to help Tatum prove his father didn’t hang himself. What’s Burke’s injury got to do with any of this?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope it was just a run of bad luck and the two aren’t connected. But I’m not going to agree to help Tatum until I know what I’m dealing with from all angles. Is the Kermit public library still open?”

She nodded. “They’ve moved over on Arlington Street, though.”

“Think they would have back issues of the Winkler Weekly microfiched or maybe even online?”

“You’d probably have better luck with the microfiche than online. What time are we supposed to be at the McCallens’?”

“Six. I’ll see you back at the house.” I gave her a peck on the cheek. As I turned to leave, she grabbed my hand.

“Gypsy, I know you want to know what you’re getting yourself into before you agree to anything. But if what you find out is going to hurt Tatum…”

I smiled warmly. “That’s why we call it preliminary work.”

*   *   *

The Kermit public library was a two-story brick building with a neatly manicured front lawn. A canopy of ancient cottonwoods draped over a few scattered benches, providing ample shade for quiet reading. I’d seen much larger and more modern libraries, but Kermit’s was nice. Whether it had the information I needed remained to be seen.

The information desk was located in the back on the ground level. The attendant was an older Hispanic woman who maybe stood five feet in heels. Her black hair was streaked gray and pulled back into a short ponytail. According to her nametag, her name was Rosa. She was busy matching call slips to various magazines.

“Hi,” I said, startling her from work. “I need some help with newspaper archives. I’m looking for back issues of the Winkler Weekly.”

She stared at me over the rims of her purple-framed glasses, then her mouth dropped open. “Gypsy Moran,” she squealed. She hurried out from behind the desk and scurried to me, grabbing me around the waist in a bear hug. Her head barely reached my chest. Then it dawned on me who she was. My junior high librarian.

“My, my … look how you’ve grown. Such a handsome man.” She pulled away and looked me up and down approvingly.

“It’s good to see you again, too, Mrs. Garcia.”

“I saw your sister at a retirement party last year and she told me you were living in Las Vegas. She said you were a private investigator.” She whispered the last part, even looking around at who might hear. At least Rhonda had told her the truth and didn’t make up some grandiose story that I was an astronaut or in some other heroic field. “I always knew you’d end up on one side of the law. I just wasn’t sure which side.” She cackled and hugged me again then quickly jerked away and looked at me with a dead seriousness. “Is that why you need the newspapers? Are you looking into something that happened here in Kermit?”

“Oh, um … not really. I’m just curious about something.”

She removed her glasses, sticking the end of one of the purple arms between her lips. Her dark eyes narrowed into tiny slits as she wagged a finger at me. “You’re up to something, Gypsy Moran. You could fool others, but you never could fool me.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “I’m just gathering a little background information.”

She bobbed her head up and down, then slipped her glasses back on. “How far back you want to go?”

“Three years.”

“Those would be on microfiche. Do you know how to use the reader?”

“Oh, yeah. You taught me well.” I followed her to the resource room where large cabinets with pull-out drawers lined the walls. Four desks with microfiche readers were in the center of the room.

“The Winkler Weekly is in this cabinet. If it was a particularly big story, it may be in this special edition cabinet on a separate file.” She moved down to the next cabinet and removed one of the little boxes as an example. “Is it a big story you’re looking for?” She looked at me with devious innocence.

I half shrugged and grinned. “That depends on what the Winkler Weekly considers a big story.”

Her lips twisted into a tight smirk. “You’re a devil, Gypsy Moran. Call me if you need me.”

“Can I print from these machines?”

She turned her head and glanced out into the main room. “You’re not supposed to but since it’s you … you can print to the information desk printer. I’ll grab them for you.”

She showed me which button to push on the reader to queue a print job. As soon as she disappeared, I went to the special edition cabinet and scanned through the titles handwritten on the boxes. At least Burke’s injury was big enough to warrant a special edition. I took the box over to one of the desks, loaded the film, then found the article: DEPUTY CRITICALLY WOUNDED IN LINE OF DUTY. The dateline was August 10; Kermit, Texas. The byline: Sophia Ortez.

A deputy with the Winkler County Sheriff’s Department was critically wounded Tuesday night. Sergeant Thomas Burke McCallen was answering a call of suspicious activity at the Kermit Recreation Center on Ardmore Drive when he was shot from behind. McCallen was listed in critical condition at Winkler Regional Hospital.

Investigators have not yet been able to question the wounded officer due to his grave condition but authorities believe McCallen may have interrupted a burglary in progress.

I went back to the cabinet and scanned the other titles. Apparently his recovery or the investigation wasn’t worthy of a special edition, though. I opened the drawer for the regular editions and pulled out the rest of August and all of September and October.

There were lots of 4-H articles, articles about Back to School, Wildcats football scores, and Halloween safety tips but Sergeant Burke McCallen wasn’t mentioned again. A letter to the editor in the October 30 election issue did catch my eye.

Dear Editor:

It’s time for Sheriff Gaylord Denny to go. Winkler County deserves better. It’s a shame Burke McCallen had to withdraw from the race.

Sincerely,

LeWellan Jacobs

Burke’s injury just got a lot more interesting. I dug out the November issues and read through the postelection articles. The school board remained the same, the board of aldermen had two new members, and Gaylord Denny, who ran unopposed, won his fourth term in office. Politics in small towns were more vicious than anything on a national level but taking out your competition with a bullet? It would certainly explain Burke’s resentment toward the acting sheriff, but could he honestly blame the entire department?

I printed the article and the Letter to the Editor, then put the films back in their proper place. Mrs. Garcia had the pages ready for me at the information desk.

“Not good, Gypsy Moran,” she said as she handed me the copies. “You need to pick something else to look into.” She made a tsk-tsk sound as she glared at me over the top of her glasses.

“This is between me and you, right?”

“Oh, I don’t want to be involved with this and I don’t think you want to, either. Bad stuff, Gypsy. Bad stuff.” There was honest fear in her expression. I believed her when she said she didn’t want to be involved with this one.

I shared her sentiment. But not quite enough to walk away just yet.