he’s wearing a uniform,” Ruth muttered.
“You saw it?” Sam asked.
Ruth nodded.
“What’s Mallery thinking?” Sam’s annoyance was obvious. “That crime scene is probably so trampled nothing is left.” He looked at Eric. “What about the first body? The one you called in?”
“It’s a woman. She’s wearing pink polyester. She hasn’t been in there long. She still has features.”
“You know,” Rosa said slowly, “Eric made a good point. His brothers would have buried the bodies so deep only a steam shovel could have unearthed them.”
“Maybe they were in a hurry,” the minister said. Dawson had only been in Gila City for eight months. Eric’s older brothers died before his arrival. For the past few months, the Santellis name had lost much of its luster. No one was left to enforce the reputation. It amazed Ruth how quickly the public forgot, how fickle were their memories, how enhanced hers was—at least when it came to the Santellises and what they’d done in Gila City and Broken Bones. She really hadn’t needed to ask Eric about their other vices. She’d known all about them…every cop did, every cop wanted to bring the family down.
And Rosa had. Yet she and Eric Santellis called each other friend. Maybe Ruth could have forgiven Eric if he’d moved some place like Miami or New York City—some place far, far away.
“Ma’am?” It was one of the two deputies. “Sheriff said to show this to you.” He had a Ziploc baggy in his hand. “See if the number belonged to your husband.”
Ruth took what he offered and almost dropped it. Then, she grasped it so tightly that the edges dug into her palm leaving red indentations. When she finally opened her hand and stared at the badge, she felt almost surprised by how ordinary it looked. It hadn’t tarnished; Dustin would be pleased. He shone the thing every morning. And it was Dustin’s badge. It bore his number and traces of his blood.
Sam jumped up, pushed past the deputy and ran across the yard. Numbly, Ruth followed, stood on the porch, suddenly afraid to go any farther, and listened. Rosa and Eric soon joined her. Rosa took her hand and squeezed. “I’m so, so sorry. So sorry.”
Numb, Ruth swallowed back the tears and squeezed in return. The Santellises had been responsible for the death of Rosa’s parents and brother. If anyone understood Ruth’s pain, her sorrow, it would be her best friend, Rosa.
A loud confrontation began inside the shed. Ruth recognized Sam’s shouts. Words like proper procedure, common sense and idiot punctuated the air. Then, it got quiet. Next, those waiting on the porch were privy to a higher-pitched shout. Ruth guessed it to be Sheriff Mallery—a man she’d bugged off and on for the last two years, always trying to find out some info on her husband. He delivered the final blow. “…last one to see her alive.”
The deputy who’d delivered the badge looked relieved not to be part of the shed’s crowd. The door to the shed opened, and the other deputy hurried toward the porch. Sam was on his heels.
“Ma’am?” the deputy said.
Ruth gripped a porch rail, but the cop wasn’t talking to her. He was addressing Rosa.
“Yes.”
“Sheriff wants you to come to the shed. He thinks you can help with the other body.”
Rosa’s eyebrows drew together. One hand dropped to her stomach. “Me? Are you sure he meant me?”
“I’m sure.”
“Honey—” Sam’s teeth were clinched “—don’t worry, there’s no way they can tie you to this crime.”
Rosa blanched. One hand dropped to her stomach. “Sam, we overhead some of what the sheriff said. What’s going on?”
“Yes, Sam, what’s going on?” Ruth looked from the deputy to Sam to Rosa and took a step back.
FIVE
It was the preliminary identification of the pink-clad woman as Lucille Damaris Straus that ended any hope Eric had of settling in quietly at Broken Bones. The same identification moved Rosa to first place on the list of suspects. The sheriff made the necessary phone calls and government intervention arrived in the form of state agencies and the FBI.
Rosa and Sam were hustled off to who knows where. Eric, Ricky, the minister and Ruth were ordered to stay in the cabin. At first, they’d all headed for the porch, curiosity so tangible it almost pushed them. After a few stern looks, they retreated inside. Then, carefully, Eric headed for the porch and a rocker. Ruth followed, taking the second rocker.
For Eric, sitting still and simply observing was not a hardship. He’d spent a lifetime learning how to be seen and not heard. It had saved his hide more than once both growing up in the Santellis family and later while surviving in prison. If what he was observing now was true, Ruth didn’t know how to sit still. White-knuckled hands clutched the armrests of the rocking chair. Impatient feet tapped a beat that threatened to dance off the porch. Tenaciously balanced on the edge of the seat, she was poised for flight but shackled by her belief in the system.
A belief he didn’t share. “You do know that Rosa couldn’t possibly be involved in this?”
She looked at him, blinked and finally settled into the chair. “I—I—I don’t know what to think. I’ll wait—”
“Did you ever meet Lucy?”
She stared at him, as if surprised everyday conversation was possible. Her feet slowed their dance and her knuckles relaxed. “No, I think Rosa had already gotten her off the street by the time I joined the force. And, if I ran across her before that, I’d not have thought twice.”
Gila City and Broken Bones had their quota of the homeless, thanks to the lack of winter. Eric knew Ruth to be an Arizona native, which meant acclimated to the sight of men and women pushing shopping carts loaded with an odd assortment of belongings. “If I remember correctly,” Eric said, “she was mentally ill.”
Ruth nodded, but didn’t respond.
“I wonder how she wound up in my shed. Rosa said something about Lucy having a rough childhood….”
A man wearing a suit much too dignified for the middle of a desert crime scene walked toward the porch and called, “Mrs. Atkins. We’d like to show you something.”
And she was gone, before Eric could convince her of Rosa’s innocence, of his innocence.
Funny, she was the only doubter he wanted to convince.
He certainly felt no need to convince the barrage of officials who crowded into his living room. The minister was escorted home. Who knew where Ricky, the reporter, disappeared to? And the officials, convinced Eric not only knew how the bodies came to be in his shed but also who put them there, let him know that his contributions, or lack thereof, only angered them.
It didn’t matter to them that Eric hadn’t been to the cabin in a decade. It didn’t matter to them that he had alibis. And, it didn’t matter to them that other than serving time and later being exonerated, he had no criminal record.
All he could do was tell them the history of his family’s cabin. His great-great-great-grandfather had built the cabin in the 1800s. His grandfather had left it to Eric. His sister and her husband had lived in it a decade ago. Yes, Rosa knew about the cabin. Yes, Rosa had been his sister’s childhood friend. She’d been his teenage crush. His oldest brother was responsible for her brother’s death. He’d hooked up with her during an undercover sting operation four years ago. They both worked on the side of good. Ten months ago, she, her husband, Ruth and a man named Mitch Williams proved Eric innocent of murder of the police officer he’d been working with. That’s when he heard about Lucy Straus. He’d never met the woman. His story never changed. It couldn’t. It was the truth.
A truth that didn’t make the