Firebreak (Josie Gray Mysteries #4)(45)

*

Brenda stood at the window watching Billy just five feet from the door, smoking a cigarette, thinking about God only knew what. He’d snuck out of the motel room to stand in front of the window with nothing but a sheer separating him from her view. Part of her wanted to smile at his innocence; another part of her wanted to kill him for his stupidity. Was he really that guileless or was he just not very bright? It was a question Brenda continued to wonder even after twelve years of marriage. If a man was going to sneak out of a motel room, wouldn’t he slip down a side street and get on with his business?

She watched him raise his arm, draw on the cigarette, throw it onto the ground, and twist his boot to extinguish it. And then he walked off, most likely in search of a bar, but she really had no idea anymore. Their life had turned into secrets and veiled conversations whose meanings seemed to be more in what was not said than the embarrassed words they spoke. She watched his handsome backside as he, so utterly confident in his long-legged swagger, walked down the street and disappeared.

She drew the curtains closed to block out the streetlight and turned on the bedside lamp by Billy’s side of the bed. She picked up his cell phone and turned it on. She checked for text messages out of habit, but she was certain there wouldn’t be any. His hands were too big and cumbersome to use the keypad. She checked for voicemails and found none. Finally, she scrolled through his received and missed calls, recognizing every one of the numbers, her disappointment now complete. Like so many times before, she cleared the screen and shut off his phone, setting it back down and grabbing from her purse the Xanax that would finally allow her to sleep.





FIFTEEN

By the time Otto arrived, at eight o’clock, Josie had delivered two chocolate doughnuts from the gas station to the middle of his desk, made coffee, and run Ferris Sinclair through NCIC to discover his address was indeed in Presidio. Otto smiled when he got to his desk and saw his treat.

Josie was on the phone with Junior Daggy, a local real estate agent who knew almost every parcel of land in far west Texas and enough gossip to put most informants to shame.

“His name’s Ferris Sinclair,” Josie said, and read Junior his address.

“Oh, sure. That’s the old Winferd station house. The railroad conductor had a stop-off house there. Somebody bought it years ago, fixed it up, and then sold it. Real cute place. Nice tall ceilings.”

Josie cut him off. “You think Ferris owns it?”

He whistled into the phone. “Oh, yeah. He paid a pretty penny for that little gem.”

“Do you know Ferris?”

“I know who he is. That’s about it.”

Josie thanked Junior for the information and shared it with Otto. While he ate his pastry Josie called the Presidio County Sheriff’s Office and asked for Deputy Susan Spears. Presidio was a small town located thirty miles southeast of Artemis. Josie had known Susan for years and knew she had a good handle on the locals. Now in her late fifties, she was called Grandma by half the kids in Presidio. She had a big heart for cast-off kids. She had started an intramural sports league that allowed all kids equal playing time about ten years ago and it had grown so large that she had people visit from all over Texas who wanted to start similar programs.

“You heard of a guy named Ferris Sinclair?” Josie asked her.

“Looks like a weasel?”

Josie laughed. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him. I hear he lives in the Winferd station house.”

“That’s him. Yep, I know him.”

“How so?”

“He’s made several complaints. Someone’s always harassing him. I swear to you, he called one night because people were calling him names. I was like, come on, this ain’t grade school. You’re a grown man. If you don’t like these people quit hanging around the bar. Pick a different place to drink your beer.”

“Why were they calling him names?”

“Probably because of his smart mouth. He said some guys were calling him gay and hassling him. He wanted me to charge them with a hate crime.”

“Anything come of it?”

“No. He wanted me to understand he wasn’t gay. He was emphatic about that. But they thought he was gay, said hateful things, and so they should be charged with a hate crime.”

“Seriously?”

“I know. There’s plenty of hate crime out there to deal with. This just wasn’t it.”

“Can you give me a physical description?”

“Late twenties. Tall. I think some of the women think he’s a looker. He’s got these pinched features, narrow face, thin body. He just reminds me of a weasel. I can take about anybody but a whiner, and that’s Ferris. I wanted to tell him to grow a pair.”

“He ever get in any trouble himself?”

“Nope. He causing trouble in Artemis?”

“I’m not sure. I hear he hangs around Billy Nix, with Billy and the Outlaws?”

“That doesn’t surprise me. He seems to want people to notice him.”

“Would you do me a favor this morning?”

“Sure. Name it.”

“Would you drive by his house and see if he’s there? If he is, I’ll drive over and talk to him. The only phone number I can find for him goes immediately to voicemail when I call.”