Page 56 of Seaside Cowboy's Second Chance

“Looks good to me, too, dear.”

Skylar pulled into the parking lot.

Minutes later, they were all seated in a corner booth well away from the noisier section by the takeout counter. The bright music danced in the air scented with grilled meat and onions while they munched cheery-orange nachos and fire-red salsa.

As they waited for their orders, Skylar leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Did your brother find out anything interesting?”

She didn’t need to say which brother. And he should’ve told her and Mrs. Rafferty already, but he selfishly didn’t prolong the shopping spree by distracting them.

His throat suddenly dry, he sipped his lemonade, the liquid tangy and refreshingly cold. “I’ll forward what Barrett sent me so far to you. But a few details stood out to me. Earl’s daughter Hart fell for a guy who bled her dry and then disappeared. Hart’s neighbor heard her and Earl arguing about money, and then Earl stormed out. Oh, and his son’s latest project ended up being a flop. Grant’s usual backers turned away from him. There’s a new project he’s been courting, but he’ll have to sell some of his things or find funds elsewhere.”

“Oh, I remember now.” Mrs. Rafferty held up a finger. “Earl told me Grant wanted him to finance his new project, promising it was going to be a hit. But Earl refused. Movies weren’t his kind of thing.”

“I imagine it caused a rift between them.” Skylar scooped up salsa with a chip.

Her grandmother grimaced. “I think so.”

A waitress brought their orders, so they stopped talking until she walked away.

He breathed in the enticing aroma of grilled beef fajitas with onions and green peppers that came with ginger-hued rice and a salad artfully arranged on the plate in vibrant splashes of green, red, brown, and orange.

Mrs. Rafferty took a forkful of her cheesy enchiladas, which arrived accompanied by the same feast for the eye and tongue of rice and salad. “But they wouldn’t do something to their father, right? I mean, they’re family.”

Family.

The memory of his father’s slaps and yells made Dallas wince, and his fingers tightened around a fork as hard and cold as his father’s heart. The delicious fajita turned to rubber in his mouth.

He flushed it down with more lemonade. “Um, I hope they wouldn’t. There’s another suspect, as well. One of Earl’s friends, Terrence Hirst, claimed Earl stole his ideas. According to Earl’s household staff, Terrence even showed up at Earl’s doorstep, yelling threats. He wasn’t allowed to enter and was escorted from the premises.”

Skylar’s eyes lit up, and she thudded her water glass back on the table. “It’s worth looking into further.” Then she turned to her grandmother. “Remember, you said someone showed up on your porch, looking for Earl, saying he was a friend?”

“Yeah, but when I described the guy, Earl said he didn’t have a friend like that.”

Dallas’s eyes narrowed, and he placed the fork back on his plate. He had an idea, and the result could be more than furthering the investigation. Would it work? His heart skipped a beat. “If an artist drew a rendering of that man, do you think you could recognize him?”

Mrs. Rafferty sighed. “Our police station is too small. They don’t have an artist on staff.” Then understanding dawned in her pale eyes, and she blinked them rapidly behind her thick glasses. “Oh!” She fished in her purse, then plunked a pencil on the table between her and Skylar. “Do you think you could draw a portrait for me?”

Skylar’s eyes widened, and her fork clattered to the plate as she eyed the innocent pencil as if it were going to start jabbing her. Her pupils dilated, her mouth slid open, and she didn’t say a word.

The pause stretched. “If you can, I believe it would help a lot.” He held his breath.

Why did this small step seem so significant? It was just a drawing. She’d done thousands of them since the time she’d known how to hold a crayon. But not anymore. Dallas and Mrs. Rafferty exchanged a glance while Skylar’s gaze stayed on the pencil.

She didn’t even blink. “It’s important, right?”

“Yes, dear.”

Thank you, Mrs. Rafferty!

Skylar’s hand slipped toward the pencil, then stopped. Then moved again.

After what seemed like an eternity, she nodded. “It’s been a while since I did any drawings, but I guess I can try.”

“Now, we just need some paper,” Skylar’s grandmother said.

Skylar flipped her paper place mat with its cartoon cacti to the blank side. “Not ideal, but why not?”

Dallas and Mrs. Rafferty seemed to exhale at the same time. “Great.”

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