professional attention. Three children were laughing, walking hand-in-hand as they crossed to the library. A truck was parked outside Mae's cafe, and Mae's nephew was unloading sacks of cornmeal. T.J. saw Grady's truck parked beside the bank. Near the heart of town, at least a dozen people were milling around outside Almost's historic jail, now a tourist attraction and museum.
T.J. stiffened. What in holy thunder was going on?
Music drifted through the Blazer's open window as T.J. pulled up beside Grady's truck. The high school principal waved to him as she drank from a white Styro-foam cup. Beside her, Doc Felton stood drinking from a similar cup.
As T.J. strode from the car, the music grew louder, its beat sharp and hot, flooded with a brooding bass. Fusion Spanish, he thought. Definitely no? Grady's kind of music.
The door of the historic jail swung open again. People spilled outside in a wave of laughter. T. J. recognized two women from meetings of the town zoning committee. Three others were the wives of ranchers to the north, all with pre-school-age children.
“Evening, Sheriff,” one called gaily. “Mighty nice sunset, isn't it?” T.J. noticed that she had a white cup, too.
He tipped his hat back in answer and managed a smile.
Where was Tess?
Where was Grady?
His grizzled friend emerged a moment later, balancing a tray with a dozen more neat white cups.” Anyone care for refills? Remember, drinks are on the house.”
His words produced the nearest thing T.J. had ever seen to a human stampede. Whatever was in those cups had to be pretty amazing. T.J. hoped it wasn't a controlled substance.
He was striding toward Grady when Doc Felton cut in front of him and slapped him on the back. “This was a damned good idea you had, T.J.”
“What idea?”
“We should do this more often. That young woman is right.”
“Do
what?
”
“Socialize. Laugh. Present our complaints. It improves communication. As a man of medicine, I might even speculate that it lowers blood pressure and reduces systemic stress.” The doctor thrust something into his hand. “Have a cup.”
T.J. looked down.
Not a controlled substance, but the creamy brew in the cup didn't smell like Mae's usual concoction, which was generally strong enough to bend metal. Her late-night specialty at the cafe wasn't called the Yuri Geller Surprise for nothing.
He lowered his head and took a suspicious sniff. “Is this Mae's coffee?”
The doctor laughed. “Miss O'Mara made it. I believe you're holding a double latte.
Skoal.”
He raised his own glass.
T.J. toasted back, took a sip. Definitely not Mae's coffee.
His eyes focused on Grady. “Can I see you for a minute?”
“In a second, Sheriff. Right now I've got to—”
“Now.”
T.J. caught Grady's arm and pulled him away from the others. “Where's Tess?” he hissed.
“She was here a few minutes ago.”
“Amazing as it may seem, that's not a hell of a lot of help.” TJ. took another drink of coffee his gaze sweeping the crowd. “What's going on here?”
“Nothing much. Tess and I took a walk around town. Then some of the boys from the Lazy Y came in, and the high school principal just happened to drop by when the coffee was nearly done.”
“Just happened to drop by?”
“That's right. After that Mae's brother showed up. You know Bob. He works at the Auto Palace.”
“I know Bob,” T.J. said grimly. “What I want to know is where Tess has gone to.”
“There was something wrong with her car. Doc Felton said it might need a new fuel line, so she went out to get something from the trunk. After that she was going to make a call from your office.”
T.J. strode toward Tess's car. “You'd better pray she's there.”
She wasn't at her car.
She wasn't browsing through the Wild West memorabilia in the visitors' room behind the old jail, nor was she admiring the views of the foothills from the garden behind the courthouse.
Where in heaven's name
was
the aggravating
T.J. stiffened. What in holy thunder was going on?
Music drifted through the Blazer's open window as T.J. pulled up beside Grady's truck. The high school principal waved to him as she drank from a white Styro-foam cup. Beside her, Doc Felton stood drinking from a similar cup.
As T.J. strode from the car, the music grew louder, its beat sharp and hot, flooded with a brooding bass. Fusion Spanish, he thought. Definitely no? Grady's kind of music.
The door of the historic jail swung open again. People spilled outside in a wave of laughter. T. J. recognized two women from meetings of the town zoning committee. Three others were the wives of ranchers to the north, all with pre-school-age children.
“Evening, Sheriff,” one called gaily. “Mighty nice sunset, isn't it?” T.J. noticed that she had a white cup, too.
He tipped his hat back in answer and managed a smile.
Where was Tess?
Where was Grady?
His grizzled friend emerged a moment later, balancing a tray with a dozen more neat white cups.” Anyone care for refills? Remember, drinks are on the house.”
His words produced the nearest thing T.J. had ever seen to a human stampede. Whatever was in those cups had to be pretty amazing. T.J. hoped it wasn't a controlled substance.
He was striding toward Grady when Doc Felton cut in front of him and slapped him on the back. “This was a damned good idea you had, T.J.”
“What idea?”
“We should do this more often. That young woman is right.”
“Do
what?
”
“Socialize. Laugh. Present our complaints. It improves communication. As a man of medicine, I might even speculate that it lowers blood pressure and reduces systemic stress.” The doctor thrust something into his hand. “Have a cup.”
T.J. looked down.
Not a controlled substance, but the creamy brew in the cup didn't smell like Mae's usual concoction, which was generally strong enough to bend metal. Her late-night specialty at the cafe wasn't called the Yuri Geller Surprise for nothing.
He lowered his head and took a suspicious sniff. “Is this Mae's coffee?”
The doctor laughed. “Miss O'Mara made it. I believe you're holding a double latte.
Skoal.”
He raised his own glass.
T.J. toasted back, took a sip. Definitely not Mae's coffee.
His eyes focused on Grady. “Can I see you for a minute?”
“In a second, Sheriff. Right now I've got to—”
“Now.”
T.J. caught Grady's arm and pulled him away from the others. “Where's Tess?” he hissed.
“She was here a few minutes ago.”
“Amazing as it may seem, that's not a hell of a lot of help.” TJ. took another drink of coffee his gaze sweeping the crowd. “What's going on here?”
“Nothing much. Tess and I took a walk around town. Then some of the boys from the Lazy Y came in, and the high school principal just happened to drop by when the coffee was nearly done.”
“Just happened to drop by?”
“That's right. After that Mae's brother showed up. You know Bob. He works at the Auto Palace.”
“I know Bob,” T.J. said grimly. “What I want to know is where Tess has gone to.”
“There was something wrong with her car. Doc Felton said it might need a new fuel line, so she went out to get something from the trunk. After that she was going to make a call from your office.”
T.J. strode toward Tess's car. “You'd better pray she's there.”
She wasn't at her car.
She wasn't browsing through the Wild West memorabilia in the visitors' room behind the old jail, nor was she admiring the views of the foothills from the garden behind the courthouse.
Where in heaven's name
was
the aggravating
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