The Ridge(40)

“I’m not saying that. But it’s my preserve, my responsibility, so…”

“Audrey.” Wes shook his head.

“It’s my responsibility,” she repeated.

“No,” he said mildly. “It is not. When you and David hired me, you made me the preserve manager, and one of the stipulations was that I live on site. I believe it is my responsibility. I take that seriously. Now, it’s been a long day. Hard on everyone. The cats, you, me.”

“I know.”

“So let’s not get to tangling with each other, okay? Let’s not do that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll be here tonight, and I’ll make sure everything is fine,” he said. “Like I always have, Audrey. Every night since I’ve worked for you.”

“I know you will, Wes. I’m sorry for being bitchy about what you told the police. I’m just… I guess I’m just scared of what will come next.”

He looked away from her and out at the rows of glittering eyes in the night and said, “That seems to be a consensus.”





16


ROY SAT IN A BACK CORNER BOOTH at Roman’s Tavern and waited for Kimble with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. The chief deputy’s insistence on talking with him was interesting, because it suggested that more than a lecture was at hand. If anger was driving Kimble, they wouldn’t have recessed to a local pub. There was a reason that this conversation was happening outside the sheriff’s department, and Roy had a feeling that reason was named Jacqueline Mathis.

He’d been waiting for about ten minutes when Kimble stepped inside with a folder in his hands. He paused and scanned the room and then nodded when Roy lifted a finger to catch his attention. Most of the bars in downtown Whitman were avoided like the plague by locals unless it was summer, winter, or spring break. Roman’s, on the other hand, had managed to create a perfect delineation over the years—the kids went upstairs, where the bartenders offered specials on terrible shots and massive speakers loomed in every corner, and anybody over thirty stayed downstairs, tucked into scarred wooden booths or on backless stools at a small, shadowed bar. Now, in the heart of winter break and on a weeknight, the place was nearly empty. Kimble sat down across from Roy, and when the waitress asked what he’d like, he said, “A glass of… um, just a Budweiser. Thanks.”

She left, and Roy said, “So are you going to arrest me?”

“Don’t laugh, old-timer. I could. You were tampering with a crime scene.”

“Technically, I think I was just observing it.”

Kimble said, “You’ve spent some time on those names, haven’t you?”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because if you went through the effort of swiping them from the lighthouse, then you’d check them out. So? What did you find?”

Roy hesitated. The waitress returned with their drinks, and he took a long swallow of his beer and said, “You weren’t down there tonight because of names on a map, Kimble. What’s up?”

“Unrelated matter.”

“Really? Blade Ridge is a hotspot for local law enforcement needs?”

Kimble looked at him with an expression that was torn between resentment and resignation, then tugged his department baseball cap off and ran a hand through his sandy hair. Emotion didn’t often show on Kimble’s face, but tonight the weariness had leaked through.

“One of the cats got out,” he said.

“There’s a tiger loose out there?”

“Cougar,” Kimble said, and sighed. He accepted the beer that was dropped on the table, then lifted the cold glass to his forehead as if it were a scalding summer day and not a December night. “The black one.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I look like I’m laughing? Frigging thing jumped right over a fourteen-foot fence, with one of my deputies watching.”

“I remember when they caught that cat,” Roy said. “I’d written probably ten stories over the years about black panther sightings around here, and ignored maybe a hundred more tips. Then word got out that they’d caught one, and I didn’t believe it, but I went out to check. Ended up putting the picture of it front page and above the fold. Wire services ran it all over the country. Made CNN and even the BBC.”

“Good as you are at this sort of game, Mr. Darmus,” Kimble said, “I’ve played a few of them myself, and I haven’t forgotten that I’m not here to give you information. It’s the other way around. Tell me—what did you find in that lighthouse?”

“Nothing but the names on the maps.”