Page 17 of Deputy Brand Gets Her Man
“What was I gonna do? It’s a puppy.”
She laughed again. Then she nodded at his file folder. “You’re already finding things of interest, I see.”
His smile died as his eyes shifted from hers to the folder and back again.
“The pages were blowin’ all over. I noticed the red underlines when I picked ‘em up. Lucky I came along when I did, or the whole thing would’ve been gone.” Not really. It wasn’t like she’d have loaned Uncle Garrett’s only copies out without backing them up. She’d made copies.
He said, “Just…people he interacted with. I thought I might talk to some of them. What? You’re making a face.”
“I’m just wonderin’ what you hope to get out of that.” Then she shrugged. “But it’s none of my business.”
“I don’t really know what I hope to get out of it, either. I’m just…following my gut. I want to talk to who he talked to. I want to stand where he stood, see what he saw, much as I can.”
She gazed at him and her heart hurt for him. She could not imagine having the upbringing he’d had. Plenty of money, from the sounds of things. But not one bit of love.
“I can help,” she said. “We can retrace your dad’s steps through Quinn together, if you want. You know, when I’m not on duty.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Sure, I would. You’re family.” She tapped the file folder. “I gotta go. You figure out where you want to start and we can re-convene tomorrow. All right?”
“Sounds good,” he said.
She got up, gathered her rubbish and took it to the trash bin on the way back to her car. She’d read his background check three times before Uncle Garrett had interrupted her, but she didn’t think she’d really known anything real about Jeremiah until she’d seen the look in his eyes with that puppy.
A doubting little voice inside whispered that Jeremiah wasn’t like the people she knew, that he’d been raised by criminals, and that he withheld information as if he had something to hide. He assumed others did the same. He was neither trusting nor trustworthy, her little voice said.
But she knew a gangly pup who thought otherwise.
Jeremiah didn’t particularly want a peace officer following him around Quinn while he hunted for a half-million in gold that, for all he knew, might be stolen. If it wasn’t stolen, it was at least what the cops would call ill-gotten, which meant they’d confiscate it, which meant he’d be in trouble. There were issues holding up the execution of his father’s will, and his existing funds wouldn’t last forever.
He pulled over onto the side of the road in front of the address in the police file labeled The Bluebonnet Country Inn. Only it wasn’t blue and it wasn’t an inn. It was a white two-story Georgian with flower boxes, a pristine sidewalk, and a Cat Shaw Realty sign on the lawn. Cat’s headshot smiled at them from the lawn sign, right over her phone number.
Willow pulled up facing him in her personal pickup, not her Sheriff’s Department SUV. She got out and so did he, and she came walking toward him all long and lean in jeans and boots and a T shirt with a plaid flannel one over it, unbuttoned. She wore a white cowboy hat that contrasted with her jet hair.
They met at the paved driveway’s mouth, where stone pillars held a black iron gate that stood wide open. He tore his eyes off her to take a look at the place itself. Where would you bury gold around here?
“I don’t see an inn sign,” he said.
“Yeah,” Willow said. “I never heard of the Bluebonnet Inn, and I’ve lived here my whole life.”
They walked up the driveway to the place. There were no curtains in any of its tall windows, but there was a car in the driveway. Wait, he knew that car.
“Isn’t that Cat’s car?” Willow asked like she’d recognized it at the same instant. She didn’t wait for an answer, just marched up to the door, knocked twice and then opened it and leaned inside. “Cat, you in here?”
“Depends on who’s askin’!” The voice floated down from the second story, and soon her footsteps followed. Cat’s brown & silver curls were covered in a purple paisley bandana, and she was brushing her hands together. “Oh, hey Willow,” she said, then with a very curious look, “and Jeremiah!”
“Ma’am,” he said, and would’ve touched his brim, if he’d been wearing a hat, but he wasn’t quite as cowboy as his newfound little brother.
“What brings you out here?” she asked, looking from one of them to the other. Another woman came down behind her, white hair with black strands, brown skin and brown eyes.
Jeremiah said, “Willow’s helping me retrace my father’s steps when he was here. He was…Vincent de Lorean.
“Ohhh,” Cat said. “I wasn’t here then. Juanita was though, weren’t you?” she asked, turning to the woman behind her. Then she said, “Oh, Juanita, I’m sorry, this is Deputy Willow Brand and Jeremiah Thorne. You know, he’s Ethan Brand’s brother.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding at them.
“Juanita’s the owner. She inherited it from her mom, who passed recently.”
