The Price of Redemption. Pamela Tracy

Kenny.” Ruth stopped pacing and stared out the front door. The action by the shed reminded Eric of ants scurrying in and out of the nest.

      Eric shook his head. “Kenny won’t set foot near this place. He has a bounty on his head.”

      “I agree,” Ricky said. “Besides, why move them for Kenny to find. He’d never have called them in. He’d have torched the shed to get rid of the smell and the evidence.”

      Ruth looked a little ill.

      “You have the right to be sick at all this,” Ricky said gently, “but all we’re doing right now is supposing. We’re even supposing the body is Dustin’s.”

      “It’s Dustin,” Ruth said.

      “Who else could it be?” Eric agreed.

      “No other cop is missing.” She started pacing again, this time with the quick, jerky motions of someone who was highly agitated. “But why was he in Broken Bones? It’s not our jurisdiction—”

      “Why are you in Broken Bones?” Eric asked. “It’s not your jurisdiction.”

      She glared. “I got a call. You know that.”

      “Right, you got a call. Probably the same thing happened to Dustin. For some reason, be it a call, a hunch, whatever, he wound up here on Prospector’s Way.”

      “Maybe he was looking into your brothers’ involvement in the drug trade.”

      “That I believe, but they weren’t working out of this cabin. It’s mine. I told them to stay away.”

      “And they’d listen to you?”

      “Yes.”

      Something flickered in her eyes—briefly replacing the sorrow—and clear enough to let Eric know she neither believed or trusted him.

      He’d feel the same way if their roles were reversed.

      This time she stopped by a window so dirty there were only a few streaks of cleanliness. She pointed outside, to where the road would be, and demanded, “Why would he be on this road?”

      “Because this isn’t the only cabin,” Eric guessed.

      She bent and stared out the smudge. “I hate this road, always did.” She turned and glared at him. “What else were your brothers involved in?”

      “You’re a cop. You probably know more of their activities than I do. The only other person who might know is my father.”

      “Yano? I thought he died.”

      “He’s has Alzheimer’s. Right now he’s in assisted living. Half the time, he doesn’t even know when I’m there.”

      “He should be in prison,” she said snidely.

      Eric thought the same thing. And the part of him that still craved his father’s acceptance, his father’s love, thought that at least in prison the old man wouldn’t be alone. Kenny was missing, Mary and her boy, Justin, were missing. Mom had died years ago. Tony and Sardi were dead, and if Yano’s daughter-in-laws were smart, they’d remarry, have the new hubbies adopt the children and erase the Santellis name from all documentation.

      “Off the top of your head, what else were your brothers involved in?”

      “Prostitution. Money laundering. Chop shops. Extortion.” He could have gone on, but the sheriff came in, gave Eric a dirty look, glanced back outside at the sound of more cars arriving and said, “Mrs. Atkins, you might want to wait outside. You have no idea how much he’s involved.”

      “It’s Officer Atkins, and since this man was in prison when Dustin disappeared, I’d say his alibi is airtight.” Ruth had no idea why she defended Eric. Ricky had been right. He looked like a Santellis—somewhat. Maybe it was the somewhat that swayed her. The men in that family were all solid, dark, walking refrigerators who crushed what got in their way and never smiled. Eric had already shed his prison weight—not the muscles—and was a slender dark man who lived in a hovel and never smiled.

      “We will connect him to the murders,” the sheriff argued.

      “No, you won’t,” came a voice from the doorway. “He didn’t have to call the bodies in. He could have simply dug their graves a little deeper and forgotten about them.” Rosa Packard, still wearing her dress blues from the funeral—stretched tight due to pregnancy—stepped into the room followed by her husband, Sam, and Steve Dawson, the preacher who had just done Jose’s funeral service.

      Sam Packard nodded at Eric but went straight to Ruth, sat down next to her on the couch and wrapped his arms around her. For a moment, Ruth lost herself. She knew this man, had known him for years. She’d been two years behind Dustin and Sam in school and had envied their friendship. They’d done almost everything together: Boy Scouts, high-school baseball team and finally Sam had been the best man at Ruth and Dustin’s wedding. In a pinch, he even babysat Megan.

      When Sam joined the police force, he and Dustin had been partners—until Dustin’s disappearance. When Ruth decided to join the police force—good money, good benefits, good way to keep active the investigation into Dustin’s disappearance, Sam had been there to tell her it was a bad idea and later to help her learn to shoot a gun.

      She began to train, get in shape, and after two months she earned her badge. A year later, instead of Dustin, Ruth served as Sam’s partner on the Gila City police force. Then, yet another year passed, and Ruth walked down the aisle at Rosa and Sam’s wedding. She’d fought back tears because Dustin deserved to be at his best friend’s side. He deserved the chance to tell Sam that marriage meant bad breath in the morning and long kisses goodbye. Marriage meant fighting over whether or not to put mushrooms in the gravy and going to bed before you’re tired just so you can go to bed at the same time. Marriage meant watching the stick turn blue together and knowing that in nine months there’d be cries in the middle of the night and a little baby that looked like daddy.

      A fairy tale.

      She cried at Sam’s wedding because she was so very happy for Sam, and so very unhappy without Dustin.

      Why were all these thoughts surfacing now? Was it because any tiny shred of hope concerning Dustin was probably about to dissolve? Staring across the room, she studied Eric Santellis. He sat next to Rosa and gazed at her intently. They spoke in low intimate tones.

      Next to Ruth, Sam offered platitudes. Then, the minister offered more, and all the while, Rosa and Eric whispered about his big brothers.

      His brothers.

      If they weren’t already dead…

      “Did you know Eric had moved here?” Ruth shifted, freeing herself from the comfort of Sam’s arms.

      “Yes,” Sam admitted. “He called Rosa last week.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me?”

      “Never seemed like the right time. Jose died Monday night, and, well, okay, I kept finding reasons to put off telling you.”

      “That’s so lame. You knew I’d want to know about Eric Santellis moving to Broken Bones, taking up residence in this cabin, on this road.”

      Sam took one of Ruth’s hands and explained to Steve. “This is the road where they found Dustin’s cruiser. From the beginning, the Santellises were suspects. We searched for miles. I know we went inside that shed. If his body was there, back then, we’d have found it.”

      “They’re saying his body was moved,” Ruth mumbled.

      The minister took Ruth’s other hand. “It might not be Dustin.”

      “It’s Dustin,” Eric stated. “Who else could it be?”

      “Someone from Phoenix,” Sam guessed, looking at Eric. “Your family made plenty of enemies there. This would be a perfect place to hide a body.”

      “My