Storm Front by John Sandford

thought for a moment and then said, “We can always find the man from Texas—besides, I looked, and there is no Cadillac in the parking lot. If we hurry to the farmhouse, perhaps we will catch Jones.”
    But they didn’t.
    They did find Ellen Case talking to Ma Nobles. Ma walked over to them as Virgil and Yael got out of the truck. It was a warm day, and Ma had a fine mist of sweat on her face, and hadn’t bothered to encumber herself with a brassiere. She said, “Hey, Virgie. Want to thank you for this. We got a deal. I’ll get Rolf and Tall Bear over here to pull it down and load it up.”
    “So you gonna tell us where that fake lumber is?”
    She ignored him, and instead took a long look at Yael. “Who’s this?”
    “An investigator from Israel.”
    “Ah, looking for Ellen’s old man. She was telling me about that, about this stone,” Ma said. She looked back at Yael. “So, you’re a Jew?”
    Yael said, “Yes. You have trouble with this?”
    “No, no. Moses is a Jew, I guess. At least half.”
    Yael: “Moses?”
    “My third boy. His daddy was one good-lookin’ Hebrew, if I do say so myself. Line-dance instructor, met him down at the Coop. Used to wear these silver and turquoise bracelets around his wrist, and custom cowboy boots. That sonofabitch could talk. Talked me right out of my undies. Next thing I know, I looked like I swallowed a watermelon, and he was run off to Mexico.”
    Yael said, “Watermelon?”
    Ellen walked up. Green eyes, cool, even in the heat. She asked, “Did you find Dad?”
    “He just shot two Turks, down in Mankato,” Virgil said.
    This time she showed the shock. “Shot them? That’s impossible. There’s no—”
    “Didn’t kill them,” Virgil said. “He used snake shot. But they identified him—and he had the stone.”
    “That snake shot, that had to sting,” Ma said.
    “And would have put out their eyes, if he’d shot them in the face,” Virgil said.
    “Is that why you’re back here?” Ellen asked Virgil.
    “Yeah. He’s gotta be hiding out somewhere, and after the shooting, he must have been in a hurry to get out of sight.”
    “Well, he’s not here,” Ellen said. “Ask Ma. Or look around.”
    Virgil said, “Ahhh . . .”
    Yael said quickly, “I’ll look. We’re here, I’ll look. Can I borrow your Glock?”
    “No.”
    Yael muttered something in a foreign tongue and stalked off to the truck, got her purse, and headed for the house.
    Ma looked after her and said, “Hope she doesn’t want to use the bathroom. I can tell you, Virgie, there’s no old man in there, but there is a whole bunch of yellow jackets in the upstairs bathroom.”
    “Why would you think she’s headed for the can?” Virgil asked.
    Ma caught the speculative tone in his voice, and asked, “Why else would she take her purse?”
    “Okay.” To Ellen: “Your father is now being hunted by everyone, for aggravated assault. If you know anything about what he’s doing, or where he is, I can talk him down. If you don’t tell me, or if you really don’t know, and he runs into a nervous cop, there’s a good chance he’ll be shot to death.”
    “He never even called me when he got back in the U.S.,” she said. “He didn’t even call me from the Mayo. He did call me when he left there, and told me not to look for him, told me he was in a lot of trouble, but he didn’t tell me what it was. He said he thought he’d be dead in two or three weeks, and that was almost a week ago.” Her lower lip trembled. “But he would never shoot anyone. Never.”
    Virgil said, “Well, he did. You have to understand, he doesn’t seem to be acting like himself. Could be drugs, maybe the disease is affecting his brain, who knows?” He took out his notebook and asked, “Who are his friends? Who might be inclined to hide him? Who’d keep hiding him after the evening news? Because he’s going to be on the evening news, big-time.”
    She gave him a half-dozen names, but said that she