business,” Micah said. “I’m glad it worked out.” The genuineness in his smile and the concern in his eyes reminded Clay of Jackson.
“Let me know if you learn anything new about Jen Davis,” Clay said. “Once the informant comes forward, she may have more information.”
“We’ll pass everything on to you, Clay. I promise.”
Clay placed his arm on the small of Violet’s back as they left the office. He guided her through a maze of corridors, heading to the side door and the parking lot. As they rounded the last corner, a man in uniform—early fifties, silver-tipped hair—walked toward them. Even without reading his name tag, the rank on his uniform left no doubt he was Chief of Police Walter Howard.
“Sir.” Clay extended his hand and introduced himself.
The chief nodded. “Jackson McGraw mentioned you were in town. Stop by my office so we can talk sometime.” He turned to Violet. “I haven’t seen your parents in a while, Violet. I hope they’re doing well.”
“They’re fine, thank you.” Without further comment, she stepped around the chief and continued down the hallway.
“Have a good day, sir,” Clay mumbled, hastening to catch up with her.
Memo to self—find out what the friction was between Violet and the chief. Clay held the door for her. She hurried into the cold, no hat or mittens, coat open wide.
What was she thinking about? Micah? The women she wanted to save? Or her ill feelings toward the chief of police?
NINE
D eep in thought, Violet had little to say on the way back to her office. Clay seemed to understand. She had hoped Micah would help her free Gwyn from the control of the mob, but he needed more information and an assurance she would provide evidence and testify against the Mafia.
Gwyn had undermined the mob’s control every time she slipped information to Violet, and she’d finally escaped her boyfriend’s control. But as scared as she had looked fleeing from the coffee shop, Violet doubted Gwyn would agree to working with the law.
For Violet, coming face-to-face with the chief of police had brought back vivid memories of everything that had happened so long ago in her hometown of Granite Pass. A number of the officers on the force had shoved her dad around, but she never recalled Wayne Howard being involved. Had she misjudged him over the years?
Violet had gone into journalism to right a wrong that had happened when she was only seven years old. Her mantra—the core principle that shaped her work in journalism—was Protect the Innocent, especiallythose wrongly accused. The finger of guilt, even when misdirected, had a long memory.
As much as she hated to open old wounds, maybe she needed to have a heart-to-heart with her dad about the facts as she remembered them. He and her mom had reestablished themselves in the community and had moved on from that terrible time in their lives. Violet seemed to be the only one who still struggled with the past.
When Clay pulled to the curb in front of the Plaza Complex, Violet hesitated before opening the door. “Are you going back to Bernice’s house now?”
“Actually, I planned to hang around downtown until you get off work.” He winked. “Just in case you need me.”
Heat tingled her spine. His looks did the oddest things to her insides. Right now they felt like mush. “I won’t be too much longer. There’s a coffee shop on the first floor and an alcove with chairs on the third floor just to the right of the elevators. That is, if you need a place to hang out.”
“Are you worried about your safety?”
“No, of course not. I just don’t want you arrested for loitering. Missoula isn’t Chicago, you know.” Her lips twitched. “Guys don’t wait around on street corners, waiting to pick up girls around here.”
He laughed out loud, a good sound that turned her internal thermostat up a notch.
“Let me find a parking place, then I’ll come inside. Can I buy you a coffee?”
“No, thanks. See you
“Let me know if you learn anything new about Jen Davis,” Clay said. “Once the informant comes forward, she may have more information.”
“We’ll pass everything on to you, Clay. I promise.”
Clay placed his arm on the small of Violet’s back as they left the office. He guided her through a maze of corridors, heading to the side door and the parking lot. As they rounded the last corner, a man in uniform—early fifties, silver-tipped hair—walked toward them. Even without reading his name tag, the rank on his uniform left no doubt he was Chief of Police Walter Howard.
“Sir.” Clay extended his hand and introduced himself.
The chief nodded. “Jackson McGraw mentioned you were in town. Stop by my office so we can talk sometime.” He turned to Violet. “I haven’t seen your parents in a while, Violet. I hope they’re doing well.”
“They’re fine, thank you.” Without further comment, she stepped around the chief and continued down the hallway.
“Have a good day, sir,” Clay mumbled, hastening to catch up with her.
Memo to self—find out what the friction was between Violet and the chief. Clay held the door for her. She hurried into the cold, no hat or mittens, coat open wide.
What was she thinking about? Micah? The women she wanted to save? Or her ill feelings toward the chief of police?
NINE
D eep in thought, Violet had little to say on the way back to her office. Clay seemed to understand. She had hoped Micah would help her free Gwyn from the control of the mob, but he needed more information and an assurance she would provide evidence and testify against the Mafia.
Gwyn had undermined the mob’s control every time she slipped information to Violet, and she’d finally escaped her boyfriend’s control. But as scared as she had looked fleeing from the coffee shop, Violet doubted Gwyn would agree to working with the law.
For Violet, coming face-to-face with the chief of police had brought back vivid memories of everything that had happened so long ago in her hometown of Granite Pass. A number of the officers on the force had shoved her dad around, but she never recalled Wayne Howard being involved. Had she misjudged him over the years?
Violet had gone into journalism to right a wrong that had happened when she was only seven years old. Her mantra—the core principle that shaped her work in journalism—was Protect the Innocent, especiallythose wrongly accused. The finger of guilt, even when misdirected, had a long memory.
As much as she hated to open old wounds, maybe she needed to have a heart-to-heart with her dad about the facts as she remembered them. He and her mom had reestablished themselves in the community and had moved on from that terrible time in their lives. Violet seemed to be the only one who still struggled with the past.
When Clay pulled to the curb in front of the Plaza Complex, Violet hesitated before opening the door. “Are you going back to Bernice’s house now?”
“Actually, I planned to hang around downtown until you get off work.” He winked. “Just in case you need me.”
Heat tingled her spine. His looks did the oddest things to her insides. Right now they felt like mush. “I won’t be too much longer. There’s a coffee shop on the first floor and an alcove with chairs on the third floor just to the right of the elevators. That is, if you need a place to hang out.”
“Are you worried about your safety?”
“No, of course not. I just don’t want you arrested for loitering. Missoula isn’t Chicago, you know.” Her lips twitched. “Guys don’t wait around on street corners, waiting to pick up girls around here.”
He laughed out loud, a good sound that turned her internal thermostat up a notch.
“Let me find a parking place, then I’ll come inside. Can I buy you a coffee?”
“No, thanks. See you
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