Chapter 2

When faced with a problem, Ellie met it head-on instead of going out around it. Sometimes this involved using deception and her feminine wiles, and other times, it meant throwing her authority as a deputy around. Brock wasn’t the only one who was having second thoughts about the deal they’d made. Her reluctance annoyed her, though, and she told herself that she was being silly.

The defense attorney was kind, intelligent, and even-tempered. He was attractive but in a shabby, aw-shucks sort of way. She’d heard that he became a completely different person in court, but she’d never seen him in that capacity. Ellie couldn’t say why she was opposed to having Walt call on her, but something about him bothered her.

So, when he walked in with his big, battered briefcase and a smile on his face, she frowned a little. If he noticed, Walt didn’t show it.

“Hello, Miss Ellie,” he said in his soft Irish accent.

“Hi, Walt. Your client is ready for you. It’s pretty cut-and-dried, though.”

“Say no more.” Walt’s hazel eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “I never like to have a preconceived notion about a client.”

Ellie nodded. “All right. I’ll bring him into the interrogation room.”

Walt watched her walk away, taking in her fine, petite form in the trousers she wore. Taking a deep breath, he forced his mind back to the matter at hand and went into the interrogation room. Ellie entered with his client just as he was sitting down.

“Here he is. Good luck,” she said. “He won’t talk.”

Walt smiled. “Thanks.”

He knew that would change as soon as she left the room. It always did with criminals. True to form, she’d no sooner left the room before the crook leaned forward and whispered that he didn’t do it. Walt nodded, pretended to take notes, and made sympathetic responses, but he’d made up his mind about the client’s guilt after the first few sentences out of the miscreant’s mouth.

Walt was happy to let the man go on about his poor family and bad upbringing, things that had no bearing on the case. After twenty minutes, Walt informed the thief that he had all the information he needed and that he’d see him on the day of the trial, which was set for the next week. They shook hands, and Walt tapped on the door for Ellie to collect the prisoner.

Usually, Walt would have stuck around a little to invite Ellie to dinner, but he was somewhat distracted that day. As she came out of the cell area down the hall, Walt gave her a jaunty wave goodbye and headed for the door.

Ellie was tempted just to let him go, but a deal was a deal, and she’d rather get her part of it over with.

“Walt, wait!” she called.

Surprised, Walt spun around, almost dropping his briefcase. “Did ya need somethin’ then?”

Ellie was usually confident around men, but not when it came to Walt. She ran her eyes over his tall form and up to his bright hazel eyes. His dark brown hair was always tousled, giving him a slightly harried look, and he rarely looked like he’d shaven. It was hard to get a fix on his build because of his rumpled, ill-fitting clothes.

“Well, I was thinking about your last dinner invitation and thought, what the heck? What could it hurt?” she responded, cringing inwardly at the brusque statement. “That didn’t come out right. What I meant was that I’d very much like to dine with you.”

Walt smiled. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise. A very pleasant one. When does it suit ya?” It was hard to contain his excitement, but he managed it.

“How about tomorrow night? Is that too short notice?”

“Not at all. Will seven be all right?”

“That’ll be fine,” she said.

Walt nodded. “Good. I’ll come for ya then. I know where ya live.”

Ellie blinked a couple of times. “You do?”

“Aye. I know where all the law enforcement staff live. I never know when I might need one of ya,” Walt said. “Well, have a good day. I’m lookin’ forward to our evenin’.”

Ellie forced herself to say, “Me, too. See ya then.”

Walt waited until he was well away from the sheriff’s office before allowing himself to grin like an idiot.

When Brock returned to the sheriff’s office, he was dismayed to learn that Ellie had already made good on her promise to let Walt take her out.

She sent him a saccharine smile as he sat down at his desk. “Your turn.”

He frowned. “Shut up. I’m working on it. I can’t help it that I haven’t seen Daphne yet. So how is old Gainsey?”

Ellie said, “He’s not old. Come to think of it; I don’t know how old he is. I’m guessing about thirty or thereabouts. Do you know how old he is?”

Brock laughed. “No, but I’m not surprised. No one knows a whole lot about him. I guess he’s lived around here about five years or so.”

“How’d he become a lawyer?”

“You’ll have to ask him because I have no idea,” Brock said. “I’ll be interested to hear about how things went. Where’s Cy?”

“In his office,” Ellie replied. “He’s brooding about the Clifford case. Best let him be. You know how he gets when he’s like that.”

Brock let out a short hum of understanding and took out a small notepad. He quickly wrote something on it, ripped it off, and pulled out an envelope from a desk drawer. Tucking the paper inside it, he sealed it shut, and wrote on it. Ellie was nosy and tried to see what he’d written, but her desk was too far away from his.

Brock caught her watching him. “I’ll be right back, Miss Busybody.”

“Just a little hint?” Ellie coaxed.

“Nope,” Brock said, grinning before he went through the kitchen and out the back door.

Pudge sat on Cy’s desk, looking out the window, his big, dark eyes taking in the scenery outside. Cy smiled at the intense look on the pug’s face as he sketched him. Drawing often helped Cy work through tough cases, and Pudge was always a willing model.

Suddenly, Pudge yipped and jumped off the desk, scattering papers and knocking Cy’s cup of coffee over in his haste to get to the door. Pudge barked and pranced while Cy swore and rushed to mop up the mess before the coffee destroyed too many papers.

The door to the old shed that Cy had confiscated opened and Brock came inside, shutting the door quickly against the brisk wind. A scratch at the door made Brock back up and reopen the door. Slink, and Burt crowded into what Brock had dubbed the Dog House.

Cy looked at Brock. “What?”

This was how he usually greeted Brock.

Brock looked at Slink. “I see that Rob’s wife made Slink another sweater.”

Slink nudged Brock’s hand, wanting to be petted. Cy grunted as his gaze traveled over the gray and white garment with disapproval.

“I keep telling her that he’s fine without it, but she has it in her head that he’s too skinny to be able to keep warm,” Cy said.

“Well, to be fair, the poor dog doesn’t have very thick fur,” Brock said. “What’s the harm in him wearing a sweater?”

“The problem is that it makes it easier for someone to get a hold of him and hurt him,” Cy said. “It also increases the risk of him getting caught on something. If we’re out in the field and he has one on, I’m not gonna have time to stop and take it off.”

Brock accepted a kiss on his cheek from Slink. “Oh. I never thought about that.”

Cy said, “The first rule to working with dogs is to always minimize the danger to them. That’s why I’m the only one who feeds them. If they get used to accepting food from other people, it makes it easy for someone to poison them.”

“Okay, okay,” Brock said. “I didn’t come out here for a dog training lesson. Give this to Daphne.”

Cy took the envelope, read his sister’s name, and narrowed his eyes at Brock. “What is it?”

“It’s a note. Don’t read it. Any breakthroughs on the Clifford case?”

Cy sat down in his chair and motioned to the other one. “Might as well walk through it together and see what we come up with.”