Roswell's Secret Page 11

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, young lady. Unless you want to be hauled in, too, I suggest you get yourself back inside.”

  Eaton jerked Dean to his feet and hauled him toward the end of the alley, blocked with his patrol car.

  “I’m making it my business. I happen to be his counsel, and I want to know the charges.”

  Eaton stopped in his tracks, jerked Dean around, and said, in a voice that sounded as if he hadn’t slept in weeks, “You’re Dean Dreiser’s counsel?”

  “That’s right.” Lucy closed the gap between them and drew herself up to her full height. “I demand to know what your probable cause is and what evidence you have on my client.”

  “So now you’re a lawyer.”

  “There is no requirement to be a lawyer in order to represent a plaintiff in this state. Now, why are you arresting him?”

  Eaton still grasped Dean’s left arm—his injured arm. Lucy guessed he hadn’t figured that out yet. His other hand reached for his weapon. “I’m arresting Dreiser for burglary.”

  “Of?”

  “Of the morgue. You’re lucky I’m not arresting you, too. Stop playing because this isn’t a game, young lady. I do not have time for you.”

  “Oh, so you don’t have time for me—” Lucy felt what little restraint she possessed snap.

  “Lucy, let the sheriff do his job,” Dean said.

  “I’ll tell you what you don’t have time for. You don’t have time for reporters on your front doorstep, which is where they’ll be in three hours. You also don’t have time for an ACLU lawsuit, which will be filed within twelve hours.”

  “Just because you’re a cop’s daughter who thinks she knows the law—”

  “You’ll find out how much law I know. For all you know, I’m majoring in law. So, unless you have evidence, probable cause, motive, and some solid witnesses, I suggest you uncuff my client right now.”

  She watched Eaton calculate the odds. She suspected he didn’t have the time or energy to call her bluff, and he knew she’d follow through to get Dean out of his jail. With a curse, he reached into his pocket, found the keys to the cuffs and released Dean.

  The three stood there looking at each other as Eaton removed his hat and cleaned some imaginary dirt from the rim.

  “Someone stole Angie’s body from the morgue last night. You two are my primary suspects.”

  “Why would we want Angie’s body?” Dean moved to Lucy’s side, placed his hand on her back.

  “You tell me.”

  Lucy pushed her bottom lip out in a pout. “Dean hasn’t done anything. There’s no reason to arrest him. The morgue really lost her?”

  “The body should have been transferred to—” Eaton placed the Stetson back on his head. “Well, let’s just say it wasn’t, and no one knows why.”

  “Strange. Poor Jerry. He must be crazy. Is he pressing charges?”

  “No. And neither are—” Eaton stopped, as if he’d said too much. From the light of the lone street lamp, she could see the lines and miles the man had travelled. She could also see he hadn’t given up. “Bodies do not disappear on my shift in my town. I will find out what’s going on, and I don’t care who I have to arrest to do it.”

  “A bartender hears a lot of things. I’ll keep my ears open and call you if I hear anything.”

  Eaton considered the offer, then nodded. Turning to Lucy he said, “I guess you learned that bluff from your father.”

  “Actually, my mother is the tough one in the family.”

  “You two watch yourself. Because you’re walking tonight, doesn’t mean I won’t have you behind bars tomorrow.” With that, he slammed the door to his cruiser, fired the engine, and drove off, flipping the siren once.

  “Maybe we should tell him, Dean. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone on our side.”

  By way of an answer, Dean pulled her close and kissed her until she thought he would take all the breath she had.

  When he finished, he took one step back, but he didn’t let go of her hand. “We trust each other, Lucy. No one else.”

  She nodded in the darkness.

  “How’s your arm?” she whispered.

  “Good as new.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’ve been slinging cases of beer all night.”

  “You’ll pull the stitches.”

  “I won’t. You either gave me a miracle drug or you have some special kind of doctoring.”

  His laughter quieted her worries. She reached up, kissed him once more, then stepped out of the comfort of his arms and made her way back inside.

  When they entered the bar, all eyes were on them. Dean squeezed Lucy’s hand one final time. Lucy made doe eyes at him as she picked up her order pad. Sally squinted and grumbled, no doubt ready to kill him with her chef’s knife. But Dean had achieved the effect he’d wanted. Customers forgot about Sheriff Eaton and started gossiping about whether Dean had hooked up with Lucy. A few of his regulars even gave him the old thumbs-up as he made his way to the register.

  Fishing five bucks out of his wallet, he handed it to Nadine and gave her a wink as he picked up a map of Chaves County. “Keep the change, sweetheart.”

  “Thanks, Dean.”

  He pulled the office keys out of his pocket. The bartender’s job included locking up every room before he left. Unlocking the office, he went to Sally’s desk and pulled open the drawer. After grabbing a brand-new box of pushpins, he relocked the office, and hurried back to the bar. The crowd had grown. He caught snippets of conversations about the sightings. As Lucy had said, everyone seemed to be talking about it.

  On the way to the billiard tables, Sally croaked. “You thinking about working tonight, Dreiser?”

  He didn’t slow, but he did wink at Emily, who continued to pull drinks behind his bar. When he reached the two dart boards, the area was empty except for Bubba, Billy, and Colton.

  “Guys, want to give me a hand?”

  Colton ignored the request and continued throwing darts, but Bubba and Billy set down their beers and ambled over.

  “What ya’ need a map of Roswell for Dean? You still getting lost?” Bubba laughed at his own joke, but it was a good natured laugh.

  The boy didn’t have much sense, but he didn’t have any malice in him either.

  “Hold that corner a little higher, Bubba.” Dean positioned the map between the two dart boards, centering it high where people could see it from across the room, but not so high they couldn’t reach it.

  “Looks nice, Dean. I sort of forget how big Chaves County is.” Billy took a big gulp of his beer and leaned back against the pool table.

  “Now where did you boys go last night when you saw those lights?” Dean didn’t look at Colton straight on, but he felt him stop midway in the throw of his dart, then lower it to his side.

  Turning to look at Dean, he crossed over to where the three stood in front of the map. Bubba and Billy were scratching their head. They’d been more caught up in what they’d seen than where they’d seen it. Colton picked up one of the push pins from the container and, without hesitating, pushed it in at Bluewater Creek, southwest of town.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah.” Colton held his gaze, daring him to question what they’d seen.

  Dean shrugged. “We might never know who or what you all saw, but we can at least figure out if they return to the same spot.” With that he placed the box of pushpins on top of the jukebox and went to the bar.

  “Thanks for covering, Emily. I owe you.”

  “Not a problem, Dean.”

  Bubba had called more friends over to the map. Dean was soon too busy filling orders to stop and watch, but every time he glanced that way, one or two people stood beside the map, pushing in a pin.

  Eight hours later, Sally dropped onto a bar stool, as did the small crew that had remained to close. She didn’t need to ask for an ashtray. Dean had one out before she could light up.

  “Why did you put a map
on my wall, Dreiser?”

  Dean shrugged, then set some ice water in front of her. When her eyebrow shot up, he added a shot of whiskey beside it.

  “Wherever you get your ideas, they’re good. We didn’t slow down all night, what with everyone coming in to see The Map.”

  “And, of course, everyone who saw The Map ordered a drink or two,” Emily added.

  “I didn’t think Billy and Bubba would ever leave.” Lucy groaned.

  “Though, I did notice Colton didn’t give you any more trouble.” Sally studied her through the smoke.

  “What happened with Colton?” Dean sat down on another stool and pulled a Corona from the cooler.

  “Nothing,” Lucy said.

  “Nothing, except Lucy dropped him to his knees.”

  Sally crushed out her cigarette, considered lighting another, but pushed the pack back into her apron pocket. “Things will kill me one day.”

  “So, why did you put the map up, Dean?” Nadine held the glass of ice water to her forehead. The circles under her eyes were darker than usual.

  Dean realized no one had probably slept much since Angie’s killing. They continued going through the motions of their days, but with no body, there had been no funeral, and therefore no closure. Jerry remained MIA, and the aura hanging over the rest was one he’d seen in covert ops that had gone bad. Their collective ache hovered beneath the surface.

  Or could the pain in Nadine’s eyes be from something else?

  Had she betrayed her friend?

  Had something caused her to cross to the other side?

  What about Sally? Or Emily? Could he even afford to trust Paul?

  “You girls noticed what was going on first,” Dean said. “Everyone seemed to be talking about spaceships. I thought if we gave them something to do with their sightings, it might help them relax.”

  Sally snorted. “And you happened to hang it ten feet from the bar, which didn’t hurt your tips.”

  Dean smiled and took a long pull from the Corona he was nursing. He didn’t defend himself, but he didn’t bother denying what she said, either.

  Emily saw the look that passed between Lucy and Dean. “It doesn’t hurt that your girlfriend is fascinated by UFOs.”

  Lucy slugged her in the arm.

  “Did you two make out in the alley?” Emily asked.

  “Eww. I’ve heard rats back there, Lucy. Both the four-legged and two-legged kind,” Nadine said. “You wouldn’t catch me back there. Not even for a few private moments with Dean.”

  That sent all three girls into peals of laughter. Sally seemed to decide dying of nicotine poisoning would beat suffering through their conversation without a buzz and lit up.

  Dean noticed Emily’s husband flashing his lights in front of the bar. He was grateful to be saved from further female interrogation.

  “Let’s go, sweetheart.” Dean walked around the counter and put his hand on Emily’s arm.

  Sally squinted through the smoke, staring after Dean and Emily. “What is he doing?”

  Nadine and Lucy exchanged looks. Already the routine had become, well, routine.

  “Dean thinks he needs to walk us out,” Nadine said. “After what happened to Angie.”

  Sally’s eyes hardened and her mouth, which never quite formed a smile, set in an even firmer line. Dean had barely made it back inside when she attacked.

  “If you think this bar had something to do with Angie’s death you can pack your bags and leave now, Dreiser.”

  “What?” Dean whirled around as Sally jumped off her stool.

  “You heard me,” Sally snarled. “We don’t need you, and we don’t need your macho man attitude.”

  He looked to Lucy and Nadine for a clue. Both shook their heads, indicating they had no idea why she was reacting so strangely. He didn’t have much time to watch them. Sally hissed like a cat that had been dumped in a pan of water.

  “Or maybe you want to accuse someone here. Is that what your little conversation with Eaton was about?” Now she had her finger poking in his chest, her smoky breath in his face. Dean didn’t usually back up from an attacker, but it was either back up or slug her. And since the minute he cold cocked his boss, he’d lose his cover, he backed up.

  “Why don’t you calm down, Sally?”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down.”

  Dean realized her eyes weren’t focused on anything in this room. He was grateful there wasn’t a weapon within reach—at least not one she knew about. As long as he kept himself between her and the bar, between her and the shotgun.

  “You think someone here had something to do with Angie’s death? You come out and say it. Or maybe you’re too smart for that. Maybe you don’t think I can protect my girls, because of what happened to her. Well she was like a daughter to me, okay? And I can protect my girls. I can, and I will.”

  The change was instantaneous. One second, Sally was on the attack. The next she deflated like a punctured balloon. Dean caught her, but barely. She sank to the floor, sobbing incoherently. The one word he could make out was Angie’s name.

  “Lucy, bring me some water. Nadine, call Eaton. See if he can get over here.”

  They stayed with her until the sheriff arrived. She remained inconsolable. The grief she’d held in poured out of her in a fountain of despair.

  “I’ll see her home safe. Thanks for calling me.” Eaton nodded to Nadine.

  Sally sat in the police cruiser’s front seat, staring straight ahead. Nadine pulled away ahead of them. Dean and Lucy closed up, then climbed into the truck. They sat there a few minutes, staring at E.T.’s.

  “I didn’t expect that from her.” Lucy drew in a deep breath. “She always seemed so strong and so remote.”

  Dean didn’t answer. He did pull her closer, needing to feel her by his side.

  “I guess she was closer to Angie than I realized.”

  “I’m not sure what we saw tonight was real, Lucy.”

  She tilted her head back, stared up at him in the moonlight. “Are you doubting she would have scratched your eyes out? I had my hand on my weapon. I was ready to back you up, Dreiser.”

  He reached out, held her face in both hands. Traced her profile with his thumbs. “Her anger seemed real. There was a moment there where her eyes...” He stared out into the night, tried to put into words what his instinct was telling him.

  “Hey. Talk to me, partner.”

  “I don’t know. It was like she was looking at someone else. She was angry all right. I don’t know about what, though. You can’t believe everything you see is authentic.”

  Lucy studied the boardwalk. “My abuela said that I have the gift of second sight. My mother says it’s a gift from God.”

  Dean waited, sensing she was about to trust him with something important.

  “The first day we drove into town, I parked the truck and walked up those steps. The sun was spilling across the boardwalk. That isn’t what I saw, though.” Lucy pulled her eyes from the night, gazed into his. “I saw blood splashed across them, as clearly as I’m seeing you right now.”

  Dean didn’t question her. Didn’t point out the absurdity of such visions. He pulled her closer into the protection of his arm. Then, he put the truck into reverse and drove them home.

  THE WOMAN HAD BEEN picked up by his driver on one other occasion. It was both the best and worst moment of her life—the point at which she had willingly stepped into the well from which she would never emerge. Yet, she found comfort in the darkness of her circumstances. Even now, she longed for the death which her choice would eventually bring. She found solace in reminding herself some of them would die with her. It was a small consolation for the loss of her son, but she would accept it.

  She knew the driver by sight, if not by name. He’d acted as courier several times. Tonight, apparently she would be the package.

  “I’ve been instructed to blindfold and restrain you.” He waited for her to turn around.

  “Bind them in front, or I won’t
be able to work tomorrow. My shoulder won’t tolerate being pulled back. Last thing he wants is to raise more questions in Roswell. Unless I’m never going back to work, then, well then you can bind them in the back.”

  He showed no pity, but doubt flickered in his eyes. Finally he nodded, bound her hands in front, and affixed the blindfold.

  Reaching into her jacket, he removed her weapon. “That he wants you blindfolded is good.”

  “You mean, I might come back alive.”

  “I do not pretend to know the mind of our leader. The ones I do not blindfold, he always kills. The ones I blindfold...” The sentence hung between them as he helped her into the back of the SUV and shut the door.

  The night sounds closed in around them, reminding her of that other evening so long ago. The one she’d never forget. The similarities weren’t lost on her—the hoot of an owl far off, the late hour, even the time of year—all were the same. Perhaps it was a sign. Or it could be her fate to be cursed with the same scene again and again. Surely this would be the last time though. Either their plan would work or she would die trying. She worked her hand into her pocket, though it cut against the tie to do so. Thumbing her cell phone to silent, she dared to glance down, find the maps app, press the button once. After that she kept her head up and faced the driver.

  The driver sped up, and the car fishtailed on the road. Pushing her feet against the floorboard, she struggled to right herself in the seat.

  “How long will it take to get there?”

  He didn’t answer. She hadn’t expected him to. The Land Rover bumped along into the night. She counted seven turns. Then they stopped.

  When he helped her from the back seat, the desert night surrounded her. The smell of creosote and sagebrush came to her along with the unmistakable tang of hot white sand. She sensed it though she was blindfolded. After all, she’d been born and raised in Roswell. She would have known if they’d returned to town. They hadn’t.

  It was like waking from a dream to find yourself in another part of your home. You might not remember how you got there, but you knew where you were all the same.

  The howl of a coyote pierced the night. He jerked her to a sudden stop. She heard the tiny beep of a card scan, then felt a rush of air conditioning. He nudged her forward. A door, heavy steel from the sound of it, shut behind them with the finality of the closing of a coffin.