“Dang. She’s got some moves.” JD shook his head. “Didn’t know she ever went to Teddy’s.”
“Well, it was Ladies’ Night,” said Coop, “and Alice is a lady. Sort of.”
A snort was the only reply as Coop hit play again.
“Wait, stop. Back it up.” JD tapped the screen. “There…with her back to the camera. It’s our vic, isn’t it?”
Coop hit reverse, then slowly scrolled forward until the woman appeared again. “You’re right. I’m so fricking tired, I missed it.” Coop leaned forward to study the rough image. “Looks like she’s talking with someone, but I can’t get a look at him.” He glanced down at the time stamp. “Ten forty-five.” He inched the tape forward, eyes focused on the man. “Dammit. All I can see is part of his left shoulder. And with this black and white film, can’t even tell what color the shirt is other than dark.”
JD huffed out a breath. “Can’t even see enough to judge his build.”
“Her head is tilted up, so he’s tall,” said Coop, “and judging by the smile, attractive enough to get her attention.”
“You want me to go to Teddy’s and look for tall, good-looking men?”
JD’s heavy sarcasm wasn’t lost on Coop who chose not to respond. “A few people around I recognize.” He scrolled forward slowly till the woman left the screen, her arm presumably in the crook of the unknown man. She came in camera range twice during a line dance, then disappeared. The remainder of the video provided no useful information, but they ran through it one more time to be sure.
Coop lifted a pencil from his desk, tapping it against the chair arm as he thought out loud. “At ten forty-five, she’s having a conversation with some guy at the bar. The bartender isn’t in sight so I’m assuming he or she won’t be much help but we’ll try anyway. At eleven-ten, she’s line dancing.” He paused, chewing on his lower lip. “Find out who worked the bar Sunday night and when can we talk with them. I’m going to run through the parking lot stuff one more time and see if anything pops out at me.”
“Copy that.”
“And go get some rest as soon as you finish Sam’s statement. If the bartender is working tonight, I want you to talk to them.”
“Yes sir.”
Coop pushed the other DVD into the drive.
He’s watching her.
Sam stood beside the door of the Bronco after giving her statement and debated what to do next. Even though Barbara would be here soon with her truck, Coop insisted she keep the Bronco to use, and had Jason bring him to work so she wouldn’t have to drive Ethel. Add thoughtfulness to the growing list of things I love about him.
It was almost noon and there really wasn’t much point in house-hunting now, even if she wanted to. The urge to bake something gave her an idea, so she cut across the street to the grocery store.
Inside, the narrow aisles were stacked with every conceivable item. Farm tools and implements lined the wall on the right while a meat counter off to the left offered hand-cut steaks and fresh shrimp when available. Long rods held antique ceiling fans, their oversized blades stirring the heavy air liberally scented with cedar, leather and fertilizer.
“Morning, ma’am. Anything I can help you find?”
Sam immediately liked the pleasant-looking man wearing a red apron proclaiming If Arnolds ain’t got it, you don’t need it. “I like your apron.”
“My wife’s idea. Wasn’t too sure about it, but folks seem to like it.”
“This place is wonderful. Like a general store from the old days. You really do have everything here.”
“We try. Ain’t you the new doctor taking over for Doc Harper?”
She held out her hand. “Samantha Fowler.”
“Frank Arnold.”
“So you’re the owner?”
“Yes, ma’am. This place has been in our family since 1880.” He looked around, pride and concern evident in clear, blue eyes. “We try to change with the times, but it’s getting harder to keep up.” He rubbed his hands together, eyes bright with interest. “Now, how can I help you today, Dr. Fowler?”
She listed the items needed, as he led her around the store, ending in the back at an old-fashioned soda fountain boasting a sign for root beer floats. “I’ve never had one of those.”
“What? You’ve never had a root beer float?” He grabbed his chest as though in pain. “Why, that’s plain un-American.” He turned to the young woman behind the counter. “Josie, please fix this lovely lady one of your famous root beer floats.”
Her mouth began to water in anticipation as she watched the young woman pull a tall frosted mug from the freezer and add two scoops of vanilla ice cream. Next, she slowly added the soda from a spout until the foamy head spilled over the top. A straw and long spoon were inserted as she passed it over to Sam.
The first sip of the sweet, carbonated drink slid smoothly down her throat. “Oh my goodness,” she said, “this is delicious.”
She spent the next half hour chatting with the proprietor and others who stopped by while she enjoyed the syrupy concoction, and vowed to herself this would be a frequent treat.
The straw made a slurping sound as she finished off the drink. “That was so good.”
“Frank.” The sharp command came from a woman stalking toward them from the back. “You have other customers you need to see to.”
Sam fought the urge to step back.
The woman’s resentment was obvious. A deep flush raced across her pale face like a fever. She might have been pretty at one time, but anger transformed her features into an ugly mask. Thin lips formed a tight line across a narrow face, and her dark eyes gleamed like volcanic rock.
Arnold did step back, shoulders drooping, his once jubilant expression gloomy as he faced the woman. “Um, Sweetheart, this is –”
“I know who she is.” She glared at Sam. “Are you finished?”
