Cop by Her Side. Janice Kay Johnson

found the reception area to be fancier than he’d expected. Ditto the receptionist, a twenty-something beautiful blonde who looked as slick as her boss.

      Other offices opened from the hall extending behind the receptionist’s desk. Stillwell’s was at the end, which put it on the corner of the building and allowed two large windows, in one of which Angel Butte, a small volcanic cinder cone, was framed. The deep blue carpet was so thick, his footsteps were silent on it. Clay wouldn’t have liked that. When he was absorbed working on his computer, he wanted to hear anyone approaching.

      Call it paranoia.

      The desk was a huge slab of wood from some ancient tree. He kind of thought ponderosa pines didn’t get that big. A sequoia? The chair behind the desk was scaled to make the man sitting in it look more imposing than he was.

      Clay let himself be directed to the set of four leather chairs surrounding a low table topped with a matching slab of wood.

      “Nice office,” he commented.

      Stillwell couldn’t hide his gratification, although he tried. “The appearance of success breeds success,” he murmured.

      Could be. In Clay’s world, success didn’t look quite like this. It was often the sweet click of handcuffs closing on a pair of wrists.

      “I’m getting the feeling Stillwell Trucking is a much bigger company than I’d imagined. Doesn’t have anything to do with what I’m here about, but I admit I’m curious. Are you entirely regional?”

      When he began the company, James Stillwell said, he’d had only a couple of trucks. Used ones, but with shiny new coats of paint and the logo that had now become well known. “Mostly we operated within the state,” he explained. “There were runs between Portland and Bend, The Dalles and Klamath Falls. Ten years ago, we expanded to encompass the Northwest. Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Montana. Now we cover the entire west coast.” He chuckled. “San Diego to Vancouver, B.C. We’ve kept the original business, of course. We have long-haul trucks and short-haul ones. There’s scarcely a business of any significance in the tri-county area that doesn’t turn to Stillwell Trucking for their transportation needs.”

      That was the brochure version, but Clay couldn’t really blame him.

      “So, Ms. Wilson. I gather she’s in your bookkeeping department?”

      Department, it developed, was a misnomer. There were only three people in Finance—Stillwell laid it on heavy when he corrected Clay—including, yes, a CPA as well as Ms. Wilson and a Betty Jean Bitterman. Betty Jean had been with the company the longest, but Stillwell implied that, as much as he valued her for her loyalty, she hadn’t caught on to new software well. He couldn’t imagine functioning without Melissa. He shook his head in dismay and repeated, “I just can’t imagine.”

      Clay asked a few polite questions. Did Mr. Stillwell have the sense anything had been troubling Ms. Wilson? Did he socialize with the Wilsons? Was he aware that a move out of the area was a possibility?

      Troubling her? He raised his eyebrows in surprise. Not at all. But of course he didn’t see that much of her on a day-to-day basis. Perhaps Sergeant Renner would care to speak to the people who did...? Delicate pause. Yes, Sergeant Renner would.

      Stillwell claimed he’d never been to the Wilsons’ home, but naturally had met Melissa’s husband at Christmas parties, company picnics and the like. The children, too. He’d found them delightful. Delightful.

      He did love to repeat himself.

      “Yes,” he agreed, frowning enough to make plain that he had been concerned, “she did tell me that her husband’s job hunt hadn’t borne fruit. We would hate to lose her, but certainly will understand if she and Drew have to make that choice.”

      What else could he say?

      Clay was ushered to the finance department, where utilitarian made a reappearance. Walls were white, floors vinyl, desks nothing fancy. Betty Jean, who at a guess was in her early sixties, expressed her deep emotions and assured Clay she had been praying for Melissa and that poor, poor child. As for troubled, on the contrary, she’d had the impression Melissa had been feeling especially pleased about something. Betty Jean, too, had known that a move was a possibility, but didn’t recall Melissa saying anything about it in some time. Perhaps as much as a couple of months? she said hesitantly.

      Clay had to wonder how friendly these two very disparate women really were.

      The CPA was fortyish and gave the impression that the interruption wasn’t welcome. Glenn Arnett had his own office, so although he surely interacted on a regular basis with the two women, he wouldn’t be spending the day listening to their chatter. Clay got the feeling he’d hardly known Melissa Wilson had children or a life outside Stillwell Trucking. If in fact, he had a closer relationship with her, he was a damn good actor.

      Clay thanked them all, thought about detouring back by James Stillwell’s office but decided not to. He hadn’t learned anything especially useful. It was possible Stillwell knew all his employees intimately, but his enthusiasm for Melissa, his insistence that he relied on her, had pinged on Clay’s radar. She was a lowly bookkeeper. Why would she have any special significance to him?

      Unless...

      Damn it, he thought, shaking his head as he walked to his department-issue Explorer, how could Jane not know what her sister had been up to? Was there any chance she was shielding her?

      He unlocked the vehicle and got in behind the wheel, mulling over his next step. After a moment he grimaced.

      Somehow, all he could think about was Jane.