Alone in the Wild (Rockton #5)(69)

Dalton pivots. “Step out. There’s a gun trained on each of you.”

His gaze flicks in the other direction, and I turn that way, my gun rising.

Silence.

“Look,” Dalton says. “I don’t want to pull this shit. We’re walking to your village. We talked to a kid from it, but we need more information, and he didn’t seem the right person to give it. We appreciate your caution, but our guns do a helluva lot more damage than your bows, and they work a helluva lot faster. Also, you’re making our dog nervous.”

As if on cue, Storm growls.

“Just step out please,” Dalton says. “Then we’ll all lower our weapons and talk.”

No answer.

“Fuck,” Dalton grumbles. He turns to me and says, loud enough for them to hear, “Don’t you just get tired of this shit?”

“I do.”

“Do people pull this crap down south?”

“No, but we have cell phones. We can call before we show up.”

“Well, that’s what we need. Cell phones. Can we get a few of those?”

“Sure. First, you need a cell tower.”

“Fuck.”

“Or we could do it the old-fashioned way,” I say. “Ring their doorbell.”

“Hell, yeah.” He raises his voice more. “You guys got a doorbell? No? How’s this?” He raps his knuckles on the nearest tree. “Sheriff Eric Dalton, of Rockton, calling with my wife, Detective Casey Butler, also of Rockton. May we come in?”

A man appears from Dalton’s direction, shaking his head. “I suppose you’re trying to be funny,” he says, no rancor in his voice.

“Yeah,” Dalton says. “I make a better asshole than a comedian, but I’m trying a new tactic.”

The man’s lips quirk as he walks over. “Might want to keep working at it, but I appreciate the effort.”

He’s in his mid-forties, a tall, rangy man with weathered skin. He’s dark-haired and round-faced, and his countenance reminds me of the young man’s. A relative, I’d guess.

The other man comes into view but stops short as he sees me. “Tomas?”

“Yes?” the older man replies.

“You get a look at the girl? She’s not from Rockton. She’s Edwin’s.”

Tomas turns his gaze on me and frowns. He takes in my clothing. Then he looks at the other man. “Just because she’s partly Asian does not mean she’s related to the only Asian person you’ve met.”

“I’m not,” I say. “I know Edwin, but I’m no more likely to share ancestry with him than with you.” I glance at Dalton. “Or with him, which would be really awkward.”

Tomas chuckles. The other man’s eyes stay narrowed in suspicion.

Tomas stretches his hand to me and then to Dalton. We shake it. The other man stays where he is.

“We met a young man a few minutes ago,” I say to Tomas. “Maybe late teens? He bore a resemblance to you. Your son?”

“Nephew,” Tomas says. “But my wife and I have been raising him the last few years. We saw you tracking him and got concerned.”

“I apologize for that,” I say. “We have some questions. We found a…” I hesitate. “A body. A woman dressed in clothing that we were told came from the Second Settlement. But your nephew didn’t recognize it. He said no one’s missing, and he obviously wanted to leave it at that but … We need to find out where she belonged. Even if she’s not yours, any help would be appreciated. I understand you prefer not to have contact with Rockton.”

“Eh,” Tomas says with a shrug. “We’re not exactly hiding behind a wall with archers and a moat. We do keep to ourselves, but we’d like to help you find this poor woman’s people. That’s only right.”

The other man snorts and stalks off. Tomas shakes his head with a wry smile. “While not everyone here will be so helpful, they won’t object to me speaking to you.”

“Thank you.” I take the scrap from my pocket. “The person who sent us to you had a long-standing trade relationship with your settlement, and he was convinced someone there—maybe someone who used to live there—did the craftsmanship.”

“How is Tyrone?” Tomas asks, and I must look surprised, because he laughs. “Not many people have had that ‘long-standing trade relationship’ you mentioned. Tyrone was sheriff when my brother and I left Rockton, and I advocated for trade with him when he left himself. We had a change in leadership a few years ago and…” He shrugs. “Tyrone Cypher is an unusual man. He made our current leader nervous, and she decided to cut ties.”

“Ty’s fine, thank you,” I say. “And yes, he’s the only one who recognized this.”

I hold out the piece. The man frowns. He takes it and examines it, his frown growing.

“You don’t recognize it?” I ask.

“No, I certainly do. I was just wondering why Lane—my nephew—told you otherwise. But I shouldn’t wonder really. People here can be very secretive, and my brother always had a touch of paranoia, which is how the two of us ended up in Rockton in the first place. I apologize for Lane. He didn’t mean any harm. Yes, I definitely recognize this, because it’s my work. Well, the leatherwork is mine. The decorating is my wife’s.”