Saved By The Sheriff. Cindi Myers

the street behind the blue sedan, and walked up to the passenger side of the vehicle. The driver had lowered the front windows a few inches, so Lacy leaned in and said, loudly, “What do you think you’re doing, spying on me?”

      The man juggled his phone, then dropped it. “You—you startled me!” he gasped.

      “I saw you watching me,” Lacy said. “I want to know why.”

      “I didn’t want to intrude. I was merely trying to get a feel for the neighborhood, and see how you were doing.”

      “Who are you, and why do you care how I’m doing?” She was getting more annoyed with this guy by the second.

      “I’m sorry. I should have introduced myself. Alvin Exeter. I’m a writer. I specialize in true-crime stories.” He leaned across the seat and extended his hand toward her.

      She ignored the outstretched hand. “I didn’t commit a crime,” she said. “Or don’t you read the papers?”

      “No, of course. And that’s what I want to write about,” he said. “I’m planning a book on your wrongful conviction and its aftermath.”

      “And you were planning to write about me without telling me?”

      “No, no, of course not. I would love to interview you for the book, get your side of the story. I was merely looking for the right opportunity to approach you.”

      “Get lost, Mr. Exeter,” she said. “And if you try to write about me, I’ll sue.”

      “You could try,” he said. “But you’re a public figure now. I have every right to tell your story, based on court documents, news articles and interviews with anyone associated with you. Though, of course, the story will be more complete if you agree to cooperate with me.”

      “No one I know will talk to you,” she said. Though how could she be sure of that, really?

      “That’s not true. Sheriff Travis Walker has already agreed to speak with me.”

      “Travis is going to talk to you about my case?”

      “We have an appointment in a couple days.” Alvin leaned back in his seat, relaxed. “What do you think the public will make of the man who sent you to prison speaking, while you remain silent?”

      “I think you can both go to hell,” she said, and turned and walked away. She could feel his eyes on her all the way back to the house, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her turn around. She marched onto the porch and yanked at the door—but of course it was locked, and she didn’t have her key. She had to ring the doorbell and wait for her mother to answer.

      “Lacy, where is your key?” Jeanette asked as she followed Lacy into the house.

      “I forgot and left it in my room.” Lacy stalked into the kitchen and filled a glass of water.

      “What’s wrong?” Jeanette asked. “You look all flushed. Did something happen to upset you?”

      “I’ll be fine, Mother.” She would be fine as soon as she talked to Travis, and told him what he could do with Andy’s client files. Travis Walker was the last person she would ever help with anything.

       Chapter Four

      Travis waited while Tammy Patterson snapped another photo of the red Camry with its nose buried in the pile of crumbling brick that had once been the front wall of the Cake Walk Café. She stepped back and gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Sheriff. This is going to look great on the front page of the next issue.”

      “I’ll want a copy of those pictures for my insurance company.” Iris Desmet, owner of the Cake Walk, joined Tammy and Travis on the sidewalk.

      “Sure thing, Ms. Desmet,” Tammy said. “And I’m really sorry about the café. I didn’t mean to sound like this accident was good news or anything.”

      “I know you didn’t, dear.” Iris patted Tammy’s shoulder. “I’m just relieved no one was hurt. It was our slow time of day and I didn’t have anyone sitting up front.”

      Tammy pulled out her notebook and began scribbling away. Twenty-three but looking about fifteen, Tammy was working her very first job out of college for the tiny Eagle Mountain Examiner. What she lacked in experience, she made up for in enthusiasm. “The paramedic told me they think the driver of the car is going to be okay, too. They think he had some kind of episode with his blood sugar.”

      “Better confirm that with the hospital before you go printing it,” Travis said.

      “Oh, yes, sir. I sure will.” She flashed another smile and hurried away, no doubt thrilled to have something more exciting to write about than the town council’s budget meeting or the school board’s decision to remove soda machines from the lunchroom.

      Iris moved closer to Travis. “Do you think the guy will lose his license over this?” she asked, nodding toward the pile of rubble.

      “I don’t know,” Travis said. “Maybe. Either way, he’s probably going to have trouble finding someone to insure him.”

      “I hope he’s got good insurance,” Iris said.

      “I guess you’ll have to close the café for a while, to remodel,” Travis said.

      “I imagine so. Then again, I’ve been thinking how nice it would be to visit my sister for a few days. She and her husband live up on Lake Coeur d’Alene, in Idaho. Pretty country up there. Still, it’ll be hard on my employees.”

      “I’ll keep my ears open, let you know if I hear of anyone looking for short-term help, until you can get open again.”

      “Thanks, Sheriff.” She looked him up and down. “And how are you doing?”

      “I’m fine.”

      “I guess it’s a load off your mind, with Lacy Milligan being home again, out of prison.”

      “I’m glad she’s home,” he said, cautious.

      “But now you’re back to the question you started with—who killed Andy Stenson?”

      “I’m working on that,” he said. “Do you have any ideas?”

      “No. But I’ve been thinking, the way you do when you live alone and wake up in the middle of the night and can’t sleep. I’ve always wondered about that woman.”

      “What woman?” Travis asked.

      “The dark-haired one Wade testified he saw going into Andy’s office shortly before Andy was killed,” Iris said. “If it wasn’t Lacy—and I guess it wasn’t, since she was at that basketball game—but if it wasn’t her, who was it?”

      “Maybe it was Andy’s killer,” Travis said. “Or someone who saw the killer. But again—we don’t know who it was. Do you have any ideas?”

      “Maybe look for a client of Andy’s who fits that description?” Iris shook her head. “I know I’m not helping, I just like to think about these things.”

      “Well, if you think of anything else, let me know,” Travis said.

      He walked back to his SUV and drove to the office. Adelaide rose to meet him. “Sheriff—”

      “Not now, Adelaide,” he said. “I’m not in the mood to talk.”

      “But, Sheriff—”

      He walked past her, into his office, and collided with Lacy Milligan.

      As collisions went, this one was more pleasurable than most, he thought, as he wrapped his arms around Lacy to steady them both. She squirmed against him, giving him plenty of opportunity to enjoy the sensation of her soft curves sliding against him. But he wasn’t the kind