“Do you have any magazines around the house?”
She looked at him in confusion. “Magazines?”
“How about your daughter? Does she have some magazines in her room?”
“No,” Amanda said, shaking her head. “If you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to look.”
He’d been watching Tana. Her friends could have magazines, because apparently their parents had more money. They could have made the ransom demand at one of their houses. He realized that the whole county would know soon about Holly Jo’s disappearance, given the speed of the local grapevine. “Holly Jo is missing. If your daughter kidnapped her—”
Amanda let out a cry. “Kidnapped?” After hearing what her daughter had done to Gus Gardner, both of them knew the girl was capable of that or worse.
“If your daughter and her friends are holding her somewhere, Tana needs to tell me right now.”
“We didn’t do anything to her!” the girl cried, trying to turn to look at her mother. “Mother, I swear. I haven’t seen her.”
“What about your friends?” he asked.
“They don’t do anything unless I tell them to,” Tana told him, and then seemed to realize what she’d said. “Mother?” It came out a plea.
Amanda looked over her daughter’s head at him. “I’ll talk to her after you leave. If she was involved in something involving the missing girl, I’ll call you.”
He met her gaze. “Holly Jo’s life is at stake.” He didn’t have to add what something like this could do to her own daughter’s future if anything else happened to the missing girl.
“I promise I’ll take care of this,” Amanda said, her grip still firmly on her daughter’s shoulder as he nodded and left.
As he closed the door, he heard Tana cry, “Mother! I didn’t do it. Mother! You have to believe me.”
As the sheriff climbed into his patrol SUV, a call came through from Deputy Terrance Dodson to tell him that he’d spotted Brand Stafford’s pickup parked in front of the hotel.
“Bring him in for questioning, but, Deputy, make it clear that he isn’t under arrest. We just need to ask him a few questions. I’m outside of town. I’ll meet you at the office. Just don’t go cowboy on him, Dodson. You hear me?”
“Ten-four, boss.”
BRAND HAD DRIVEN into town, found a spot to park in front of the hotel and headed over to the Cattleman Café. He was still feeling rough and figured food might help the hangover. Back at the ranch, it was the housekeeper’s day off, and he didn’t feel well enough to rustle up some food for himself.
As he stepped into the café, though, he saw Birdie Malone was sitting at a table in the back. He started to turn around and leave, even as the smell of pulled pork made his stomach rumble. He hesitated. While he couldn’t keep avoiding the woman if she was determined to stay in Powder Crossing, was he up to seeing her right now?
“Brand Stafford. You’re late for our date,” Birdie called out to him. What was she up to now? He turned back to see her smiling broadly. She motioned to the chair adjacent to her. “I ordered without you.”
Everyone in the café was watching them with interest. This would have tongues wagging. The last thing he’d wanted to do was cause a scene in the café. He was the Stafford who didn’t do those things.
He walked over to Birdie’s table and pulled out the chair across from her. “Thanks a lot,” he whispered.
She laughed. “Couldn’t let you leave just because I’m here. You’re not carrying a grudge about earlier, are you?”
“Nope. I’m used to women getting the best of me.”
“I bet you are,” she said, grinning as she leaned across the table toward him. “And I thought I was the first. How disappointing.”
Is she flirting with me? No doubt for the benefit of the diners still watching them with curiosity. He wondered how many of them knew who she was. They would soon enough, and when they did, they’d wonder what he was doing with Dixon Malone’s daughter, given the latest discovery in the neighboring well. It was bound to get back to his mother, who he was already avoiding.
“Did you follow me here?” she asked and pretended to be touched by that.
“I was hungry, and today is the pulled pork sandwich special, my favorite.”
“Really? Today’s special is my favorite, too. It amazes me how much you and I have in common.”
Brand shook his head, even though he thought he should try to mend some fences since they’d probably be running into each other again, as small as Powder Crossing was. “I feel as if we got off on the wrong foot,” he said and flashed her a lopsided grin one girl had told him was killer. “Let me buy you lunch.” He motioned to the waitress that he’d take the special.
“I can buy my own lunch,” she said, openly studying him. “Seriously, what are you really doing here?”
“I told you. I was hungry, and I love their pulled pork.”
“Uh-huh.” She cocked her head at him. “You’re not sure what to make of me, are you?” Her laugh was light and breezy like the summer day. She sat back and crossed her arms. “Why don’t you just come out and ask. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
He thought about that for a moment. He realized he wanted to know a whole lot more about Birdie Malone, but at the same time, all his instincts told him to keep his distance for obvious reasons. “I’m sorry about your father.”
That seemed to surprise her. She uncrossed her arms and looked serious. “Do you remember him?”
He shook his head. “Not really. I was five when my mother married him. She had five kids in seven years and was busy running a ranch. We were raised by housekeeper-nanny types who came and went. Mostly went, because my mother didn’t have much patience with the staff. I hardly saw my mother, let alone her husband.” He stopped, realizing how much he’d told her. Birdie already had good reason to believe that Charlotte Stafford was a murderer. Now he’d also insinuated that she was a bad mother. “I shouldn’t have said that. Mother...”
“It’s all right,” she said. “My mother didn’t win any awards either, and she only had me to contend with. Fortunately, I had my father and his mother, my grandmother, my nana.”
Their pulled pork sandwiches arrived, and seeing what she’d ordered made him smile. Not that he wanted to believe they had anything in common—other than their parents. “So, have you been in town for a while?”
“For a while,” she said between bites. He watched her eat a fry before she said, “I’m sorry you didn’t get to know my father. He was a good, kind, loving man. Go ahead and say it. Everyone does. Yes, he left my mother, but he always came back to see me. He loved me,” she said simply. “He promised he would come for me soon the last time I saw him. He never broke a promise. That’s how I knew that something awful had happened to him.”
“You still saw him when he was married to my mother?”
