“Like that Brittney thought Derek was scary?”
Detective Williamson nodded. “And some girls like guys who scare them.”
He looked at her as if expecting her to agree. She did, but wasn’t about to have this conversation with a guy—especially not one with a badge who reminded her of why she didn’t particularly trust cops.
The detective came into the room and took the chair Max had just vacated. “I wanted to ask you a few questions, but first, why don’t you tell me about the conversation you just had with Max.”
“He mostly wanted to apologize. He assumed it was his fault. Then, he talked about being responsible for Amanda and in awe of Brittney.”
“Pretty much what we got out of him yesterday.”
“He’s worried about Amanda. She’s missed school for a couple of weeks, and he’s been trying to get ahold of her nonstop, but she’s not answering. I didn’t think I should mention that they’ve gone out of town. I didn’t want to have to lie when he asked why.”
“Amanda’s a good student?”
“She’s very talented in art.” Carefully, Janie gathered the covers and sat up. She needed to be alert for whatever Detective Williamson threw at her. Lying down made her sleepy. Of course, sitting up made her dizzy. She paused for the wooziness to ease and then waited for Detective Williamson’s next question.
“She keep an art book, too?”
“All the students did.”
“Tell me what was in Amanda’s.”
“Why?”
“I’m curious.”
“She mostly draws clothes. I think she hopes to be a fashion designer someday.” Janie smiled. Amanda often was guilty of taking what the other students were wearing and drawing mix-and-match attire. She’d pair one student’s cowboy boots with another student’s shorts and yet another student’s T-shirt.
“So, you’re quite comfortable with her style? You’d be able to identify her artwork?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Did she ever draw anything about her brother, Tommy?”
Janie almost said that Rafe had been asking questions about him, too, but she didn’t.
Detective Nathan Williamson didn’t inspire her trust. Not like Rafe did.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RAFE STARED AT the stack of papers on his desk. Some contained information he’d already memorized inside and out. Other files had joined the heap during the last few weeks, when he’d been focused on the Travis case. Now it was time to pay the piper, switch on his computer, start hobnobbing and catch up.
The benefit of being a small-town sheriff was a small paperwork-to-hands-on ratio. He’d met sheriffs who did nothing but paperwork and political posturing. Their ulcers were bigger than his.
But maybe they were slightly more sane.
Not that he could turn his back on paperwork and political posturing. It was as much a part of the job as grading was to teaching—