bright out to see inside. Probably the wife, wondering if they were coming in.
âIâm Specialist Blair, this is Specialist Delarosa.â
Cheatham shifted his weight like his feet hurt. âYâall like to come on in and sit down? Get out of the sun?â
âI appreciate the offer, Mr. Cheatham. But what would really help is for you to tell us what happened and show us where you found the ⦠the bag. Let us take a couple of pictures.â Sam held up a camera.
Sonora put a fresh tape in her recorder. Sweat trickled down the small of her back. The heat was making her queasy.
Cheatham nodded. His mouth worked in nervous little chewing motions. âMy boatâs down this way, yâall want to see?â
Sonora glanced over her shoulderâthe sheriffâs car was out of sight behind the trees. She nodded at Sam. âHead on down. I want to check on Heather, then Iâll catch up.â
âWant to bring her down?â
Sonora glanced at Cheatham. He wouldnât talk freely about dismembered body parts with a seven year old around. Neither would she.
âNope.â Sonora headed back through the trees.
A man stood next to the sheriffâs patrol car, his back to her, arms resting on the open window. She could see the top of Heatherâs head, and Clampett sitting in the driverâs side. The front dash was fogged with dog drool and snout marks.
The man wore a faded pair of Wranglers, a white cotton T-shirt. Cute butt, which didnât stop Sonora from wondering what he was doing chatting up her seven year old, and why Clampett didnât bark.
Her feet hit gravel and the man turned.
âGirl, you look like youâre going to tear my head off. Donât recognize me?â
She didnât right at first. His hair was longer than the last time sheâd seen him, thick and brown, and his face was tan. He looked fresh-scrubbed and cool, sunglasses hung from the neck of the T-shirt. His cheeks were pink from a fresh shave, arms more muscular than she remembered, coated with coarse tan hair.
âSmallwood.â
He gave her a sideways look, fluttered his lashes provocatively. âYou can call me Deputy, if you want.â
âIâm still trying to figure out why my dog doesnât bark at you.â
âI have a way with animals. Usually sheep.â
She was going to shake his hand, but he gave her a hug instead. She caught the faintest whiff of scent. He smelled good. She liked it when men smelled good. She wished she wasnât so hot and sweaty.
He nodded at Heather. âThese rookies get younger every year.â
âItâs take your daughter to work day.â
âMomâs going to take me to the morgue when Iâm older,â Heather said.
âMuch older,â Sonora muttered.
â And teach me to shoot.â Heather gave him a cheerful grin. âMommy, Iâm hot. Can Clampett and me get out of the car?â A film of sweat coated her forehead, and her cheeks were flushed.
âYeah, hop on out.â
âWhatâs going on?â Smallwood asked.
Heather was fumbling with the door handle, and he opened the door, gave her a hand out.
Sonora stepped away from the car, voice low. âGot a find here that may match up to what you got in London.â
âHead, hands, and feet,â Heather said. She looked at Sonora. âThat lady in the office told me.â
âGood of her to bring you up to date. What brings you out here, Smallwood?â
He smiled. âThis is Southern law enforcement. We all know what goes on in each otherâs backyards. Plus, we did kind of find the leg on our watch, if it turns out to be a match.â
âDid you know Julia Winchell?â
He shook his head.
âYou want to walk down with me, talk to the guy who found her, take a look around?â
Smallwood glanced at Heather. âWhat you going to do with little bit here?â
âTake her along.
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