An Obvious Fact by Craig Johnson Page A

building your last one.”
    â€œI haven’t even finished my first.”
    â€œWell, the ex got the other three—one in Palo Alto, one in Grosse Pointe, and one in Paradise Valley—so I guess I feltentitled.” He took another sip of his scotch and studied me. “So, how can I help you, Sheriff?”
    â€œYour daughter is a pretty girl.”
    â€œYes, she is, and you can see why I’m a little protective of her, especially since it’s rally week.” He put his scotch on a massive Indian drum, which had been turned into a coffee table. “I heard her try the old ‘do you know who I am’ on you.”
    â€œIt was done pretty well.”
    â€œShe’s an actress.”
    â€œYou don’t say.”
    â€œOr was till she got into trouble.” He gestured toward a few framed one sheets near the fireplace. “You mean to say you haven’t seen
Barasharktapus
or
Pagan Women of Planet X
?”
    I walked over to the posters, which were far worse than anything anybody could’ve imagined. “I’ve let my subscription to the Metropolitan Opera lapse, I’m afraid.”
    â€œCrap, all of ’em, and this is her father talking. . . . But she tries, you know?”
    â€œMust be a difficult business.”
    â€œFour years at NYU and then two more at UCLA and a stint at the Guildhall School of Music & Drama. I tell you, I sat through more crappy, esoteric one-act plays with people in black leotards than you can shake a stick at.”
    â€œI can shake a lot of sticks at crappy, esoteric one-acts.”
    â€œI wish I had. Anyway, what’s going on, Sheriff, and why am I talking to you instead of the sheriff of Crook County or Chief Nutter?”
    â€œI’m assisting the Hulett police with an investigation concerning a young man who we believe was forced off the road.”
    â€œAnd what does that have to do with my daughter?”
    I walked toward the pool table and glanced at the stairwell where Chloe Nance had disappeared. “From what I am made to understand, your daughter was a possible witness to the incident.”
    â€œShe wasn’t a witness—she just found that young man on the side of the road, after the fact, and did what any decent human being would do and tried to help.”
    I pulled the mobile from my pocket and touched the screen, then turned it so that Nance could read it. “Is that your daughter’s cell phone number?”
    He got up and came over and stared at the screen for only an instant. “Yes.”
    â€œYou’re sure?”
    â€œI pay for the damn thing once a month, so I know the number.”
    I placed it back in my shirt pocket. “How do you suppose your daughter has Bodaway Torres’s number if they’d never met before the accident?”
    Nance leaned against the pool table and fingered the adjustable comb on the Monte Carlo Turkish walnut stock of the shotgun that probably cost as much as my truck. “You shoot, Sheriff?”
    â€œTrap?” I shook my head. “Not so much lately.”
    â€œIt’s a sport known for its congeniality, like golf.” He set his glass on the bumper and picked up the 12 gauge, swinging the 30-inch barrels around toward the flying mounts of two pheasants above the fireplace. “I’ve learned that it’s the relationships in life that really matter, Sheriff Longmire, whether it’s with your family, your business associates, or your community.”
    â€œLike the MRAP?”
    He nodded. “The MRAP for the local police and why I give so much to so many charities and organizations.” He lowered the shotgun and looked out the windows. “I mentioned some trouble concerning my daughter.”
    I waited and said nothing.
    â€œShe had a little substance abuse problem in L.A.” He handed me the Krieghoff. “We’ve got a little benefit shoot tomorrow evening, and I’d like you to