John thanked him, made his excuses, and left. If Philpot had spoken with Boone since Emma’s escape, the man was a damned good liar. But John was inclined to believe him. He didn’t seem to be hiding anything.
But the fact that there’d been an earlier wedding cast a whole new light on what Boone had done to Emma. Finding out what had happened to that first bride could make all the difference. He would start with the police.
He drove to the station, only to learn that Sam Traverton was out on a case. “He’s due back after lunch,” the dispatcher said. I’ll let him know you want to see him.”
Th
at left John with time to kill. He wolfed down a burger and Coke at the drive-in and drove on up the highway to a seedy bar on the outskirts of town. He didn’t like going into bars. They tended to remind him of what his drinking years had cost him. But this place was a hangout for the wild crowd from the old days, including Boone. And John himself was no stranger here.
He stepped inside, keeping to the shadowed entryway as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He didn’t expect Boone to be here, but he scanned every face just to make sure. It didn’t take long. The bar wasn’t crowded at this time of day.
The air was stale and smoky. The TV above the bar was broadcasting a pro wrestling match. From the pool tables in the rear came the click of colliding balls.
“John Wolf!” Maisy Jo, the tough, fiftyish woman who owned the bar, greeted him with a wave. “It’s been a long time. How about a beer on the house?”
John, who’d always liked the woman, gave her a wink. “If anybody could tempt me, it would be you. But you know better than to try. I’m on the wagon.”
“Too bad, honey. There’s nobody I’d rather tempt.” Her outsized breasts jiggled through her black tee when she fluffed her bleached curls. “How about a cold ginger ale?”
“I’ll take it, but you’ve got to let me pay.” He laid a five on the bar, knowing she wouldn’t give him change. She tucked the bill into her ample cleavage before she opened the chilled bottle and poured it into a glass.
“So, if you’re not here to drink, what can I do for you?” she asked.
“Just looking for an old friend. Boone Swenson. Have you seen him around lately?”
“Boone?” She shook her head. “I haven’t seen that big galoot in weeks. Why?”
“Let’s say it’s personal. So he hasn’t talked to you?”
“Not since the salmon run ended. But you’re welcome to ask around. You know who his friends are.”
John did. He left the bar ten minutes later, having learned nothing. Either Boone was bluffing about having eyes everywhere, or he had allies John didn’t know about. Either way, he could be lying low to hide his shameful burns.
John glanced at his watch. By now Traverton should be back in his office. He drove back to the police station and found the detective just pulling up in his car. They walked inside together.
“I hear you wanted to see me.” Traverton tossed his cigarette into a nearby shrub before stepping through the automatic door. “I heard your report about the bear. Lord, that must’ve given you a shock. But we can’t arrest Boone for killing a bear, especially if he claimed it was threatening him.”
“That young bear was no more of a threat than a dog. Boone killed it to spook me. Not that it would make any difference. This is something else. What did you learn when you talked to Sherman Philpot?”
“Just that he performed the wedding as a joke.”
“Did he mention that he’d done the same thing once before?”
“No.” Traverton paused with his hand on the doorknob of his office. “When?”
“Last spring. Philpot mentioned that the woman was older and not very good-looking. When I tried to find out what happened to her, he said he’d never heard.”
“What you’re implying is pretty farfetched,” Traverton said. “I’ve known Boone most of my life. He was always wild. I could believe the part about the fake weddings—but murder? That’s a pretty big pill to swallow. The woman probably just got sick of bush life and left.”
“Maybe,” John said. “But you can’t deny that it’s possible. At least it would be worth checking around that burned-out trailer.”
“It might be. But we’re short staffed, and I know the troopers have their hands full, too. You’re talking at least a full day for a team of investigators, all based on your say-so. We’re dealing with real crimes here. We don’t have time to chase after something that probably never happened.”
John reined in his frustration. Anger would buy him nothing. “In that case, I don’t suppose you’d mind if I checked the place myself,” he said.
“Knock yourself out,” said Traverton. “If you find anything, take a photo and leave it be. Any evidence that you’ve disturbed becomes questionable—and worthless in court.”
“Understood—but one thing more. You might check the local pawnshops and see if Boone’s hocked any expensive jewelry since last spring. I could do it myself but the owners would be more likely to talk to you.”