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Dela turned her head at the same time as Heath and they both stared at the older man.
Heath found his voice first. “Paul Winter cooked meth?”
“That’s why Ina sent their boy away. He started making it in their home and she didn’t want the child around the fumes.” The old man raised his cup of coffee to his mouth.
“Not to mention it can blow up.” Heath leaned back in his chair. “Why doesn’t the tribal police know about this?”
Grandfather Thunder shrugged.
Dela now understood Ina’s need to keep her boy safe from his father and anyone who wanted to take revenge on the man. “Someone had to have been in the house watching when Winter attacked me and when Heath rolled up in his tribal vehicle.” Dela spun her head to look at Heath. “How long was it between you driving up to the residence and the call that came in to take you away from there?”
“Only a couple of minutes. But if they were watching the road for traffic to sneak out and kill Winter, they would have seen the tribal car turn onto the road and could have called it in as soon as they saw me.” Heath finished off his pie and sipped his coffee. “Which means they would have had to know I would get the call and leave.”
“You think it was someone who knows police procedures?” Dela asked.
Heath shrugged. “That or someone who just knows how the tribal police operate. That could be anyone who has had dealings with us.”
Dela stood. “I’m going home. I’m glad you searched my house. I didn’t want to go back knowing it had been a stranger going through my things.”
Heath stood. “I’ll walk you out.” He put a hand on Grandfather Thunder’s shoulder. “It was good seeing you. I see Mrs. Belden keeps you well-fed.”
The elder grinned and said, “She does a fine job of making me want to eat.”
“Mrs. Belden, thank you for the pie,” Heath said, his gaze on her mother, but his hand on Dela’s elbow.
Dela leaned down, hugged Grandfather Thunder around the shoulders, and then gave her mom a hug. “Thanks for the company and the pie.”
“You’re both welcome here any time,” Mom said.
The innuendo in her mom’s voice wasn’t lost on Dela. The woman would like to see the two of them together all the time. Dela walked to the front door and out to her car.
Heath followed close behind. “I’ll do all I can to keep you out of jail.”
She stopped at the driver’s door and looked up into Heath’s face. He stood a couple of inches taller than her. His slender body was bulky from the body armor under his uniform. There was a time when she would lean against him and he’d wrap his arms around her, making her believe she was safe.
Now she lingered, staring into his eyes and keeping her body away from his. “Thank you, I’m glad you saw I didn’t kill Winter. No one else seems to believe me.”
Heath put a hand on her shoulder. “Even if I had driven up and found the man with a knife stuck in him, I wouldn’t have believed you did it. Not over a donkey.”
She eyed him. “What about self-defense?” Detective Dick’s words echoed through her head.
He studied her for only a few seconds. “If you had stabbed him in self-defense, you would have still been there trying to keep him alive when I arrived. You didn’t stab the man.”
Her arms wrapped around Heath and she leaned her head on this hard shoulder, whispering, “Thank you for believing in me.”
His hand came up and cupped her head, holding her against him. “I have always believed in you. No matter what dumb thing you did.”
She pushed away from him. “Dumb? What dumb thing?”
“You know how I felt about you going into the military.” He rested his hands on his duty belt.
“Yes, even after we’d broken up, you made it perfectly clear you thought my joining the army was wrong.” She’d never told anyone, not her mom or her friend Molly, how it had saddened her that Heath had thought her joining any military branch was the wrong thing for her to do. The year after her best friend was ripped from their lives, Dela had trouble studying, even just doing day-to-day things. The thought of someone telling her what to do had seemed like the right decision. And it had been. The military had shown her she was stronger than she thought and taught her how to deal with grief and anger.
“But you were wrong. It was the only thing that could have pulled me out of the downward spiral I’d gone into after Robin’s death.” She peered up at Heath in the growing darkness.
“I have to admit, you were strong and opinionated before but you seem to have become stronger and—”
“You better not say more opinionated.” She frowned.
Heath laughed and said, “I was going to say more open to criticism.”
“That’s a good note to end on. Good night. We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll see if anyone at the casino knew anything about the victim’s pastime of cooking up meth.” Her mind went straight to Ina’s cousin who worked in surveillance.
“I don’t mind your digging, but keep me in the loop of everything you learn and don’t go talking to anyone by yourself. We don’t know who could have killed Winter and if they tried to put it on you, they will try to make you look guilty.” He held up his hands. “I can’t control Detective Jones, he’s my superior.”
“I know. I’ll be sure to keep you in the loop.” Dela slid into her car and headed home. She was looking forward to a long soak in her deep tub and hugging Mugshot.
♠ ♣ ♥ ♦
Dela drove slowly by the Winter residence. There was a tribal car and a government SUV sitting in the driveway. Lights were on in the house. She wondered if Detective Dick had brought in FBI Special Agent Quinn Pierce or if he had heard about the murder and showed up uninvited. She was sure Dick would tell Quinn all about how she’d killed the victim.
She drove to her house and smiled as Jethro’s braying and Mugshot’s happy barks greeted her. She parked and smiled at the small stack of hay Travis had left for her at the gate to the backyard. Molly and her son, Travis, had been the best part of returning to Nixyáawii, the Umatilla tribe’s homeland, after being discharged from the army.
Travis had remodeled this house, making sure everything was fitted for her disability. And he’d insisted on a state-of-the-art dog house for Mugshot for the long, cold nights Dela worked at the casino. She’d called her friend Molly, a veterinarian who’d saved Mugshot’s life, that morning after bringing Jethro here. She’d asked if Travis could bring some hay and figure out the cost of fencing the rest of her land off into two or three pastures with fencing that would keep the donkey and Mugshot in.
At the stack of hay, she pulled a pocketknife out of her purse and cut the strings. Then she took two flakes and opened the gate. To her surprise, as she entered, Mugshot put himself between her and the donkey. Not allowing the larger animal to get close enough to bump her.
Dropping the hay on the ground for the donkey, she patted the dog on the head. “Thank you, Mugshot.”
Then she and the dog entered the house through the French doors into the dining room and kitchen. Dela hung her purse and jacket on the coat rack by the front door and heard the sound of a car door slam. A peek out the front blind and a disappointed sigh escaped. Quinn and his partner, Special Agent Milo Shaffer, were walking toward her front door.
She opened the door and asked, “What are you two doing here?”
Quinn studied her in the glow of the porch light that came on at the two men’s approach. “We’ve been called in to help with the homicide that happened down the street today.” Quinn motioned for her to open the door and let them in.
“Who called you in?” She studied his impassive face. “Oh, let me guess. Detective Dick. He wants to make sure I go down for this even though I didn’t do it.” She swung the door open and headed to the kitchen. “I just got home and was hoping to settle in for the night. Can we make this quick?” She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and turned on the faucet filling the cup to avoid Quinn’s judgmental stare.
“Milo, search the premises,” Quinn said.
Dela spun around and dropped her glass of water as she grasped the counter to keep from falling when her prosthetic foot didn’t pivot as well as her real foot. “Why are you searching my house? It was already searched.”
“By someone who is biased where you are concerned,” Quinn said.
She glared up at him. He was a couple of inches taller than Heath. Where Heath had long dark hair, Quinn’s was light brown and cropped short. Heath’s dark brown eyes shone with life and humor. Quinn’s gray eyes held censure and suspicion. “Heath would never let his feelings come into play when working a homicide.”
Quinn snorted. “That’s not what Detective Jones thinks.” He made a big deal of saying Jones.
Dela heard Agent Shaffer moving about in the living room. He stopped at the start of the hallway.
“While you’re in my bathroom, could you start the water running in the bathtub?” she asked, a smile pasted on her face.
Shaffer shook his head, and Quinn grabbed her by the elbow.
“This isn’t a joke. You are under suspicion of killing a man.” He led her over to a dining room chair and made her sit. Quinn took the seat across from her. “I heard this was the same guy who was beating up his wife a while back and you got in the middle of it. Why did you kill him over a donkey?”
Dela stared at the man she’d met in Iraq. She’d had the hots for him until he’d set a rapist free. Then she loathed him. When they’d run into each other here and worked a couple of murders that occurred at the casino, she’d been leery of the man and still a bit drawn to him. But this...his believing she would kill someone. He’d nailed the lid on any romantic feelings she might have had for him.
“I didn’t kill him.” She continued to stare into his eyes.
“The neighbor saw you and the victim fighting. You holding the murder weapon.” Quinn stared back.
“Did you read my interview?” she asked, still keeping eye contact with the man. There had been times when she would have given anything to have him take her in his arms and kiss her. But there had been just as many times she couldn’t believe the bull that came out of his mouth and the callous way he believed it was his way or no way.
“I did. You claim he came at you.” His gaze drifted over her face, lingering on the cheek where Winter had hit her, and came back to her eyes. “You could say it was self-defense and get off with a lighter sentence.”
She smacked the table with her hand and Mugshot sat up, growling, his gaze on Quinn. “I did not kill that man in anger or self-defense. He was alive when I walked away. If my prints are on the knife, it’s because when he fell to the ground clutching his crotch, I picked up the knife and stuck it in a crack inside the shed. That accounts for the murder weapon and the man when I led Jethro down the road.” She was getting sick and tired of telling the story over and over. But she knew the more times she told it and it came out the same, the more likely they were to believe her.
Shaffer returned. “I didn’t find any clothes or shoes with blood on them.”
Quinn returned his gaze to Dela. “Where are the clothes you were wearing when you had the altercation?”
