Scratchgravel Road (Josie Gray Mysteries #2)(20)
Josie stood at the counter, staring at the answering machine, imagining Dillon in his Dockers and pressed white shirt and striped tie, sitting in a hotel eating conference chicken for lunch, chatting amiably with the other accountants at his table. He was the most stable, the most predictable man she had ever met. She could count on him like the earth’s rotation. She knew what his reaction would be before she knew her own. And she could not fathom why he seemed to love her when she could not offer him the same level of commitment in return.
The microwave buzzed and startled her. She dumped the contents of both containers onto a plate and sat on the couch with Chester gnawing on his rawhide at her feet. She clicked on the local news to watch the grim weather forecast, then clicked it off again. She was tired of bad news.
Her thoughts drifted to Marta, and her daughter Teresa. She wondered what dinner must be like at their house: an angry teenage girl and her frightened mother, trying to look brave and in control across a plate of food that Marta scraped together from a paycheck that never went far enough. Josie wondered if the hole in her own heart would be filled by a child, or if the emptiness she felt so often was just part of her nature. She envied Dillon, lanky and easygoing, able to say what he felt with no forethought or anxiety.
She walked into the kitchen and dug back in the cabinet beside the refrigerator to find her bottle of bourbon. She’d hid it one night after Dillon commented on how quickly the alcohol was disappearing. He had hurt her feelings and she was irritated with herself for hiding something that she knew was not a problem. She poured a juice glass full and went back to the couch, hoping to fill the hole, at least temporarily.
SIX
Tuesday morning Otto awoke at six, but before he made the ritual beeline to the kitchen coffeepot, he walked outside through a light rain to check on his small herd of milk goats that roamed freely on his sixty-five acres of pasture. He found them huddled under the stable, but as soon as they caught sight of him they stumbled up off the ground, their skinny legs propelling them forward as one group, their brown eyes concerned, bleating like scared children. Their routine had been interrupted and they were not pleased with the chaotic weather. Otto had raised goats for twenty years and never tired of their quirky personalities and social nature. He stopped to check the rain gauge on the fence post. Six inches in one night, most likely a record breaker. The desert was a place of extremes, but that year they’d experienced drought, record-high temperatures, and now possibly record-high rainfall. Otto tended to blame the weather patterns on nature’s fickle whims, but at times like these he wondered.
After feeding and watering the goats, he sat down with Delores for a breakfast of waffles and milk, and then showered, dressed, and left for work by seven thirty. On the drive to work the rain turned heavy again: from ground to sky was a gray wash. The West Texas monsoon season, when the area received most of its rainfall, typically lasted from July through September, with an average annual rainfall totaling just sixteen inches. Artemis had received eight inches in two days and it was still July. The old-timers at the Hot Tamale were predicting the hundred-year flood this season, and in his experience, the old-timers had a sense for all things weather. The lack of vegetation across the flat land made perfect conditions for flash flooding, and all officers were on alert for emergency calls.
Sitting at his desk in the office he made a few phone calls and answered e-mails while he polished off two cups of coffee. Then he called Mark Harper, Cassidy’s dad, and asked if he could stop by and see him at the shop. Mark owned a bulk food store that he operated out of a small warehouse located by the Arroyo County Jail, several miles east of town. It was a successful business, used by the jail and several restaurants in town to purchase dry goods at a reasonable price. Otto knew Mark from his membership in the Kiwanis Club. He and his wife had moved to Artemis several years ago after Cassidy had landed here. Otto wasn’t sure if they had seized a good business opportunity, or just moved to Texas to support their wayward daughter.
The wooden sign standing in front of the large warehouse read HARPER’S BULK DRY GOODS. The building was a green metal pole barn surrounded by tasteful desert landscaping that curved to the front door.
A buzzer sounded when Otto entered the empty front lobby, and a minute later Mark appeared from a door that led to the storage area beyond. He wore blue jeans and a green polo shirt with the company name embroidered across the breast pocket. He was medium height with a hefty build and thick brown hair. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and gave the impression of a confident, successful small-business man.
They said their hellos and commented on the rains and the flooding that was sure to come before Mark motioned for Otto to have a seat in a small lobby. It was furnished with two leather couches, a coffee table covered with magazines, and a dusty TV that looked as if it had never been turned on.
“What can I do for you?”
“I have some questions about Cassidy.” Otto noticed the change in his expression, from friendly to one of dread. As a police officer, Otto was used to that look when he appeared unannounced, but he thought Mark might have had conversations about his daughter frequently and had learned to anticipate the worst.
“She okay?” he asked.
Otto nodded. “Yes.”
“Is she in trouble?”
Otto put a hand up. “Don’t worry. She’s fine. I just hope you can help shed some light on her situation.”