county clerk. And see Sheriff Carlton about scheduling your community service hours.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Rachael mumbled.
“Come on, let’s get the hell out of this kangaroo court.” Jillian hustled her out the heavy wooden doors. They stepped into the hot July morning. Rachael blinked against the blinding sunlight. Her eyes hadn’t even adjusted before someone shoved a microphone in her face.
“Leesie Stringer, KRTE News, Del Rio,” the woman said in a crisp, professional manner. Del Rio was the closest town with a television station. Beside the reporter, a cameraman was filming Rachael as she descended the court-house steps. “Are you the woman that the Chicago Bears’ new wide receiver, Trace Hoolihan, jilted at the altar?”
It was the ultimate humiliation. Ambushed by the media after being sentenced for something she’d done in reaction to being dumped on her wedding day. Rachael opened her mouth to respond but no words came out.
Jillian raised an arm to shield her face from the camera. “My client has no comment.”
“Miss, miss,” the reporter insisted, staying right at her elbow, keeping the microphone thrust in Rachael’s face. “How does it feel to be thrown over for a professional football team?”
Rachael was about to offer a smart-assed retort, something completely unsuitable for the noon news, when suddenly Brody was there, getting between her and the reporter.
“You heard the lawyer. Miss Henderson has no comment and if you don’t stop harassing her, I’ll be happy to show you the inside of the Jeff Davis County Jail, Ms. Stringer.”
The next thing she knew, Brody’s arm was around Rachael’s waist and he was escorting her to his patrol car.
“Miss Henderson, Miss Henderson,” the reporter called
out as Brody opened the door and helped Rachael into the passenger seat. “Did you know Trace Hoolihan is giving an interview to
Entertainment Weekly
and he’s going to discuss why he jilted you at the altar?”
A FTER B RODY DROPPED Rachael off at Higgy’s Diner for lunch with her friends, he drove to Audie’s Hardware, which was just down the block. He parked in the alley and went in through the back entrance so he could get a look at the jimmied door.
He squatted to examine the pry marks. Big flat-head screwdriver, he surmised. The kind that was in every tool box in the county.
Audie must have heard him because he came to the back, winding his way past shelves of merchandise. “What do you think?”
Brody stood and pushed his sunglasses up on his head. “I think you need to start setting your alarm.”
“You wanna see where they took the cans?”
“Sure.” Brody followed Audie over to the paint section where he kept the premixed colors. They stood staring at the shelf where two cans of paint used to sit.
“You gonna dust for prints?”
Audie had been watching too much
CSI.
“I’ll dust the back door for prints, but this is a public place. And I know the local builders come to your back door. Plus, these shelves are littered with fingerprints. There’ll be no way of knowing who was the thief and who was thumbing through the paint cans or coming through your back door.”
“I guess you got a point.” Audie stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Oh, by the way, after I talked to you, I discovered something else was missing.”
“What’s that?”
“A pipe cutter.”
“Hmm,” Brody mused, stroking his chin with his thumb and index finger as he puzzled out what a thief would want with two gallons of black paint and a pipe cutter. Criminal mischief was clearly in the offing.
“You suppose this has got anything to do with Rachael Henderson vandalizing the billboard?”
“Maybe.” Brody was staying tight-lipped. He didn’t want any rumors getting started.
“You know that paint is for outdoor use. Oil-based. It don’t come off easy.”
“I’m sure that’s what your thief was angling for. If he or she wants to make a statement, they’ll want
“Yes, ma’am,” Rachael mumbled.
“Come on, let’s get the hell out of this kangaroo court.” Jillian hustled her out the heavy wooden doors. They stepped into the hot July morning. Rachael blinked against the blinding sunlight. Her eyes hadn’t even adjusted before someone shoved a microphone in her face.
“Leesie Stringer, KRTE News, Del Rio,” the woman said in a crisp, professional manner. Del Rio was the closest town with a television station. Beside the reporter, a cameraman was filming Rachael as she descended the court-house steps. “Are you the woman that the Chicago Bears’ new wide receiver, Trace Hoolihan, jilted at the altar?”
It was the ultimate humiliation. Ambushed by the media after being sentenced for something she’d done in reaction to being dumped on her wedding day. Rachael opened her mouth to respond but no words came out.
Jillian raised an arm to shield her face from the camera. “My client has no comment.”
“Miss, miss,” the reporter insisted, staying right at her elbow, keeping the microphone thrust in Rachael’s face. “How does it feel to be thrown over for a professional football team?”
Rachael was about to offer a smart-assed retort, something completely unsuitable for the noon news, when suddenly Brody was there, getting between her and the reporter.
“You heard the lawyer. Miss Henderson has no comment and if you don’t stop harassing her, I’ll be happy to show you the inside of the Jeff Davis County Jail, Ms. Stringer.”
The next thing she knew, Brody’s arm was around Rachael’s waist and he was escorting her to his patrol car.
“Miss Henderson, Miss Henderson,” the reporter called
out as Brody opened the door and helped Rachael into the passenger seat. “Did you know Trace Hoolihan is giving an interview to
Entertainment Weekly
and he’s going to discuss why he jilted you at the altar?”
A FTER B RODY DROPPED Rachael off at Higgy’s Diner for lunch with her friends, he drove to Audie’s Hardware, which was just down the block. He parked in the alley and went in through the back entrance so he could get a look at the jimmied door.
He squatted to examine the pry marks. Big flat-head screwdriver, he surmised. The kind that was in every tool box in the county.
Audie must have heard him because he came to the back, winding his way past shelves of merchandise. “What do you think?”
Brody stood and pushed his sunglasses up on his head. “I think you need to start setting your alarm.”
“You wanna see where they took the cans?”
“Sure.” Brody followed Audie over to the paint section where he kept the premixed colors. They stood staring at the shelf where two cans of paint used to sit.
“You gonna dust for prints?”
Audie had been watching too much
CSI.
“I’ll dust the back door for prints, but this is a public place. And I know the local builders come to your back door. Plus, these shelves are littered with fingerprints. There’ll be no way of knowing who was the thief and who was thumbing through the paint cans or coming through your back door.”
“I guess you got a point.” Audie stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Oh, by the way, after I talked to you, I discovered something else was missing.”
“What’s that?”
“A pipe cutter.”
“Hmm,” Brody mused, stroking his chin with his thumb and index finger as he puzzled out what a thief would want with two gallons of black paint and a pipe cutter. Criminal mischief was clearly in the offing.
“You suppose this has got anything to do with Rachael Henderson vandalizing the billboard?”
“Maybe.” Brody was staying tight-lipped. He didn’t want any rumors getting started.
“You know that paint is for outdoor use. Oil-based. It don’t come off easy.”
“I’m sure that’s what your thief was angling for. If he or she wants to make a statement, they’ll want
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