“No, that’s it.” He was already turning away, his cell phone ringing, the familiar notes of the James Bond theme song. He snorted and said, “My oldest daughter did it behind my back.”
As she left, Pescoli had the uneasy suspicion that Brewster might just be human after all, a theory she hadn’t subscribed to in the past. However, most of her jaded opinions of the undersheriff were because of Heidi and her relationship with Jeremy. Maybe Brewster was just particularly touchy when it came to his youngest daughter, maybe she was his blind spot or Achilles’ heel or whatever. There was a chance, she thought, skirting Joelle who, carrying several platters covered in plastic wrap, was quickly marching down the hallway toward the lunchroom, that Brewster wasn’t the demon she’d always thought he was. But it was a small chance. A very small chance.
Chapter 11
Alvarez got nothing off Grayson’s phone but a bad case of regret. Though none of the received or outgoing calls provided her with information she found helpful, the list of photographs she viewed on the phone’s small screen gave her a deeper insight to the man. He was in a few of the shots, of course, but there were dozens of pictures of his nieces, Hattie’s twins, and a few of Hattie herself, a couple of photos of his brothers on their ranch, and too many shots to count of his dog: Sturgis sniffing at a woodpile, or splashing across a creek, or curled up by the fire, or riding in the passenger seat of Grayson’s old pickup. Picture after picture of the black Lab.
As she scrolled through his photo list, Alvarez felt like a voyeur again, as if she were treading on his personal property. Nonetheless, she kept at it, searching for clues she was certain were hidden somewhere behind the screen.
“You ready?” Pescoli asked, startling her as she studied a picture of Hattie in summer, dressed in a sundress, her two girls with her, arm in arm as they sat on a large rock somewhere in the foothills and squinted at the camera.
“To visit the wives?” She clicked off Grayson’s phone and slipped it into her pocket. She wasn’t done with it quite yet and didn’t want to leave it unattended.
“Ex-wives.”
“One of which is still in his will,” she said, rolling her chair away from the desk.
“Grayson’s probably just a busy man who never took the time to update things.”
Alvarez found her service weapon, strapped it on, then snagged her jacket from a peg near her office door. “Maybe marriage number two was rocky from the get-go. And then after the divorce, he just didn’t bother.”
“Usually when you go through the trouble of getting a divorce, you make damn sure your ex doesn’t get a dime. Especially when no kids are involved.”
“It’s a mo
ot point anyway,” Alvarez reminded her. “The sheriff’s still alive.”
“Thank God.”
They walked to Pescoli’s Jeep together, braving a blast of arctic air sweeping down from Canada.
Pescoli had just started the engine when a phone rang. “Must be yours,” Pescoli said, “not my ring tone.”
“Not mine either. Belongs to Grayson.” She was extracting the cell from her pocket and noticed the number on the screen was one of the county numbers.
She clicked on and said, “Sheriff Grayson’s phone,” she answered. “Detective Alvarez.”
“I was hopin’ someone would answer,” a gravelly male voice said. “This is Louie at Animal Control. I’ve got the sheriff’s dog.”
“You do?” Alvarez shot Pescoli a brilliant smile.
“Yeah, the black Lab. Found him off of Kordell Road, just past the Cougar Creek bridge. A woman who lives down that way called in about a stray and I picked him up myself this morning. The sheriff’s name’s on the tags and I knew he was in the hospital, but I took a chance that someone would answer his phone. How’s he doin’, by the way?”
“I think stable,” she said, mouthing to Pescoli, “Sturgis.” Pescoli gave her a relieved thumbs-up.
“Jesus, you’d think a man would be safe in his own house on Christmas morning,” the man said.
“You’d think,” she agreed.
“All of us here at Animal Control, we’re pulling for him.”
“Thanks. Everyone is,” she said. “Look, I’m in the car with my partner now. We’ll swing by and pick up the dog. We’re just ten minutes away.” She glanced at Pescoli, who was already searching for a spot to turn around.
“Good . . . that would be good.”
“Just have him ready.”
Louie cleared his throat. “I’ll . . . um . . . I’ll waive the fees?”