Overkill(78)
“They only gossip among themselves. They respect your privacy.”
Zach was less confident of that. “Would it be possible to string a chain across the cutoff that goes to my house? You’ll get my vote next election.”
“How about an autograph?”
“That, too.”
“Happy to oblige. I’ll put a padlock on it and text you the combination.”
“Thank you, Sheriff Meeker. Sorry to bother you with this. I realize you have more important things to do.”
“Actually, you’re on my to-do list.”
“Yeah? How come?”
“I’ve been needing to talk to you about Dave Morris. His face is busted all to hell. What can you tell me about that?”
“The grille on my pickup did a number on his face.”
“Huh. The rumor’s true then. Y’all had a set-to. Who started it?”
“What does Morris say?”
“Not much.”
Zach gave the sheriff a watered-down version of his fight with the deputy. He didn’t tell him about Morris taking bribes from Doug Pratt to spy on him, or of his jealousy over Kate, only about his being angry over his suspension, which he blamed on Zach rather than the general manager of GreenRidge.
“I was on my way home. Morris pulled out in front of me on that narrow road. Barely avoided crashing into him. Words were exchanged. Tempers flared. You know how it goes.”
“Hmm. He came in today asking can he come back to work. But if you intend to press charges—”
“No. Hell no. We got crosswise. We worked it out.”
“All right. But it’s also a departmental issue.”
“I don’t have any say over how you run your department.”
“With discipline. If I keep Dave off duty without pay for another day or two, it’ll set an example.”
“Sounds good,” Zach said.
“What’s your ETA?”
“A couple of hours.”
“I’ll get on that chain right now. Be careful on your way up. It’s foggy and rainy.”
“Noted. Thanks. Don’t forget to text me the combination.”
“Don’t forget that autograph you owe me.”
Chapter 33
The sheriff had been as good as his word. When they reached the turnoff to Zach’s house, they found a no-nonsense chain strung across the road. He got out and opened the padlock, drove through, then relocked it.
“Nobody’s going to get past that,” he said to Kate as he got back in. “The chain is as thick as my wrist, and the lock requires six digits to open.”
“How can you see anything in this fog?”
He smiled across at her. “Practice.”
She didn’t smile back. Because of her innate fear of heights, the last fifty miles had been sheer torture. The higher the elevation, the thicker the fog. Since they’d been climbing since crossing the state line, they’d become swathed in a meteorological cotton ball.
On the tight curve of every switchback, all she’d been able to see ahead of them were the fuzzy beams of the headlights, illuminating nothing except fog. She’d gripped the safety strap above the car window with one hand and Zach’s thigh with the other.
At one point, she’d said, “There are guardrails, right?”
“Not on this stretch, but we’re good.”
Zach had laid his right hand over hers and smoothed out the death grip she had on his leg. While she’d wanted to admonish him to keep both hands on the steering wheel, she hadn’t. The strength of his wide hand had felt too reassuring.
Once past the chain, Zach’s private road leveled out. There were no cliffs on either side, only dense forest. With a short distance to go, he used an app on his phone to turn on exterior house lights. When their halos appeared through the fog, and his house took shape, the tightness in her chest began to loosen. As soon as the car rolled to a stop, she pushed open the passenger door and got out, thankful to be planting her feet on solid, flat ground.
Afraid she’d lose him if he got too far away, she followed him closely as he went up onto the porch, opened the house, and disengaged the alarm. “Go on in. I’ll get the bags.”
She went inside and tapped the wall switch she’d seen him use to turn on lamps. Their glow felt like a welcoming embrace. She located the thermostat and bumped up the heat.
Zach came in and set their bags inside the door, pushing it closed with his heel. “I exchanged texts with Bing. Melinda welcomed him into the house. He said she’s ‘in a state,’ but he’s giving her pep talks and lending a sympathetic ear.”
“No word from Cal?”
“Nothing.”
“Is he being a jackass of a husband, or has something terrible happened to him?”
“Could be either. That’s what’s got her in a state. Bing suggested that she report him missing, but she’s reluctant to because of his probation. I asked Bing to keep us posted.” He motioned toward the hearth. “Fire?”
“Yes, please.”
“Wine?”
“Yes, please.”
He grinned. “You know where it is.”
He removed his leather jacket on his way over to the fireplace. At the bar, she found the bottle of red wine he’d opened for her—how many days ago? Only that many?